"Ugh… ahh… haaa… aa…" There were gasps of breath. Under a large tree, by the riverbank, Kinyel breathed in the silence of the forest.
"Ugh… finally," he breathed again. After eight years of training, his mana had increased exponentially. It was practically endless. He had become a 3rd-star early master mage. His left hand was red from excessive mana consumption.
His right hand was covered in calluses. His sword looked strained from five years of daily practice.
He had now reached the advanced 2nd-star level. While he still struggled to wield the Veyhiron sword as he intended, he was almost perfect with magic. When he fought his father, his father had reached the peak of his 4th-star swordsmanship, so even with magic, he couldn't defeat him.
His mother, on the other hand, was at the advanced stage of the 5th star. After 4th level, she had to train diligently in what he called the "true warrior path," as it required considerable skill. Not everyone could make it past Stage 6.
Leaning against the tree, Kinyel was now 5.3 ft (163 cm) tall. Since 15 was considered an adult in this world, he probably wouldn't even reach 180 cm at 16.
Just then, he stripped off his clothes and entered the river.
"Tch... Maybe I'm not my old height, but whatever. I'm 2 inches taller than most people my age," he muttered.
"Ah, this place is so refreshing. I'm so glad I found it," he thought. After one last dip, he emerged from the river, tossing back his hair. His beautiful blue eyes were sparkling. He truly took after his mother; even from here, it was obvious.
"The indestructible union of the Free Republics, the Great Russian..." Looking toward his former village home, Kinyel hummed the Soviet anthem. The town was a bit larger now, and the explosions seemed normal to him; after all, there were blacksmiths there now.
"We'll change clothes later, let's see what happens first," he thought.
Just then, as he continued along the paths, the cries of people began to grow louder.
The riverside path was covered in mud. The sound of water echoed with every step, mixing with the distant roar. The smell of smoke hit his nose; Kinyel frowned.
"No way… that smell…" he muttered to himself.
The wind picked up. Ashes whipped against his face. On the horizon, he saw the dance of fires rising above the town.