CHAPTER 4:
Five years passed.
For Hexia, they were bliss. He learned to walk, to talk, to laugh without forcing it. His parents—Jerkin, a B-rank adventurer skilled with sword and shield, and Marie, a former B-rank mage—raised him with patience and warmth.
He helped around their small house in Korn Village. He played in the yard. He listened to his mother's lessons on basic magic and watched his father maintain his equipment.
Simple. Peaceful. Everything he'd wished for.
But the memories remained.
On a quiet afternoon, lying in the grass and watching clouds drift across a perfect blue sky, Hexia let his mind wander to that other life. The mockery. The humiliation. The crushing weight of failure that had driven him to that rooftop.
I thought death would give me peace. Instead, I got reincarnated. Forbidden from ending my own life. But at least here, I have a chance. A real chance.
"Son! Hexia, do you have a moment?"
His father's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Jerkin stood in the yard, holding two wooden swords.
"Yes, Dad?"
"Here, catch!" Jerkin tossed one of the swords. "It's time you learn the basics of handling a sword."
Hexia caught it easily, his adult coordination trapped in a child's body making the movement smoother than it should have been. "Don't you think I'm still too young?"
"It's always better to start learning now than to live with regret later. That's what my father told me when I was your age. And look at me now—B-rank adventurer."
Hexia smiled—genuinely smiled. "You're right. Thanks, Dad. So what are the basics?"
"First, get a feel for your sword. Adjust your grip. Balance your posture. Then we'll do slow swings, horizontal and vertical. We'll do this every day. After today, we start early tomorrow before sunrise. Physical training. You got me?"
"Yes, Dad."
I might as well train early. Better to learn now than regret it later. In this life, I'll become productive. I'll become strong. Strong enough that nobody can hurt me again. Strong enough to protect my peace.
And if anybody dares to threaten it—heads. Will. Roll.
"A promise and a prophecy has been made in silence."
Training became routine. Sword work with his father. Magic lessons with his mother. Days turning to weeks, weeks to months.
The sun hadn't yet risen when Hexia met his father in the yard. His breath misted in the cold morning air. The wooden sword felt heavier today—or perhaps his arms were just tired from yesterday's session.
"Good, you're on time," Jerkin said, already moving through warm-up stretches. "Today we work on footwork. Your strikes are improving, but you're rooted like a tree. A swordsman who can't move is a dead swordsman."
They drilled. Step forward, strike. Step back, guard. Sidestep, counter. Over and over until Hexia's legs burned and sweat soaked through his shirt despite the morning chill.
"Again," Jerkin commanded.
Hexia's foot slipped. He stumbled, fell hard on his backside.
"Get up."
He got up.
"Again."
They drilled until the sun crested the horizon. Until Hexia could barely stand. Until every muscle screamed.
"Good," Jerkin finally said. "That's enough for today. Go wash up. Breakfast will be ready soon."
Hexia limped toward the house, every step agony. But beneath the pain, something else stirred. Satisfaction. Progress. The knowledge that yesterday he would have fallen sooner.
This is what it means to grow stronger. Not just in body, but in will.
One year later, Hexia was six years old. He'd mastered the basics of swordsmanship and progressed to intermediate level. His magical aptitude surprised even his mother—the blessings from the angel manifesting as raw power that grew with each passing day.
"Hexia, focus," Marie said, her hands glowing with gentle blue light. "Magic is about intent and visualization. You need to see the result before you can manifest it. Now, try again. A simple light spell."
Hexia closed his eyes. Breathed. Reached for that place inside him where the power lived—warm, vast, waiting.
He whispered the incantation his mother taught him. "Lux."
Light bloomed in his palm. Not the weak flicker he'd managed yesterday, but a steady glow that pushed back the shadows of their home.
Marie gasped. "That's... Hexia, that's intermediate level. You shouldn't be able to..."
She trailed off, staring at her son with a mixture of pride and concern.
"Is something wrong, Mom?"
"No, sweetheart. Nothing's wrong. You're just... special. Very special." She pulled him into a hug. "Your father and I are so proud of you."
Special. The word tasted strange. In my old life, being special meant being a target. Meant standing out. Meant being torn down by those who couldn't match you.
But here? Maybe special is good. Maybe special means survival.
On a sunny afternoon, Marie asked Hexia to accompany her to the nearby town of Alean to buy groceries.
Hexia cleaned himself up and walked beside his mother down the dusty road. The town bustled with life—merchants hawking wares, adventurers negotiating contracts at the guild hall, children playing in the streets.
It was his first time visiting a town in this world. Everything felt simultaneously foreign and familiar—the medieval architecture, the smell of baked bread and horse manure, the cacophony of human commerce.
They gathered their groceries and browsed the market. Hexia's attention wandered to a weapons stall, admiring the steel blades that gleamed in the afternoon sun. One day, he'd wield something like that. One day—
"Please stop! It hurts!"
A child's voice. Desperate. Afraid.
Hexia's head snapped toward the sound. His mother had heard it too.
On the way back to their village, Hexia spotted something that made him stop cold.
Three children surrounding a smaller girl. Rocks in their hands.
The first boy threw. The stone struck the girl's head. Blood welled.
The second and third boys followed, stones hitting her in rapid succession.
Memory flashed—Ayronee as a child, cornered by bullies, fists and words raining down. The helplessness. The fear. The burning shame of being unable to defend himself.
Something inside Hexia shifted. Hardened. Became cold.
He moved before conscious thought.
The first boy never saw him coming. Hexia grabbed his wrist and twisted, using the momentum to throw him to the ground. The boy hit hard, breath exploding from his lungs.
The second and third boys turned, fists raised. Hexia slipped past their clumsy punches with ease—an adult's combat instincts in a child's body—and swept their legs. They crashed down beside their friend.
All three lay gasping.
Marie rushed to the girl, hands already glowing with healing magic. "Are you okay? Let me heal your wounds. Healing Light!"
The girl sobbed, blood washing away under golden light. "Thank you so much for helping me."
"Don't mention it." Hexia's voice was flat. "I can't stand by and do nothing."
He turned back to the bullies, his gaze cold. "The three of you—stand up."
They scrambled to their feet, trembling.
Hexia grabbed the first two by their hair and dragged them toward the girl. They struggled, crying out.
"Now, let's be good kids and apologize to the little girl you hurt." His smile didn't reach his eyes.
When they hesitated, he slammed their faces into the ground. Once. Twice. Their heads bounced off the packed earth with sickening thuds. Blood streamed from their noses.
The third boy wet himself, immediately dropping to his knees and begging the girl for forgiveness.
The girl's eyes widened in shock. "D-don't you think it's a bit too much? I think they learned their lesson. I'm okay now, and I forgive them. Please, heal them and let them go."
Hexia studied her for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish. But here's some friendly advice for you three: If I ever catch you bullying any kids in our village again, we'll be having another heart-to-heart. Understood?"
He healed them with a touch, golden light closing wounds and easing pain. They scrambled away like frightened rabbits.
Marie watched her son with an expression caught between pride and concern.
He's so young. But there's something in his eyes. Something cold. Something that's seen too much.
"May I ask your names, please?" the girl asked, her voice small.
"Name's Hexia. And this is Marie, my mother. Nice to meet you. What's your name?"
"My name is Lhoralaine. I live in a nearby village." She pointed toward Korn Village.
"Oh, we also live in the same village!" Marie smiled warmly. "Why don't we accompany you to your house?"
Lhoralaine nodded, and the three of them walked together.
As they walked, Hexia felt the weight of his mother's gaze. She didn't ask questions. Didn't comment on his brutality. Just walked beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his shoulder.
She knows. Somehow, she knows I'm different. That I'm not just a six-year-old child.
But she loves me anyway.
The sun began to set as they reached Lhoralaine's home, painting the sky in shades of amber and crimson. Her parents thanked them profusely, promising to visit soon.
On the walk back to their own home, Marie finally spoke.
"You didn't hesitate."
"No."
"You knew exactly what to do. How to move. Where to strike."
"Yes."
A long silence.
"Hexia... I don't know what you've been through. But I want you to know—your father and I love you. Exactly as you are. Whatever darkness you carry, you don't have to carry it alone."
Hexia's throat tightened. "I know, Mom. Thank you."
Maybe in this life, I don't have to be alone. Maybe in this life, I can be both strong and loved.
Maybe.
To be continued...