Dawn was beginning to break through the window when Seraphius rose, his body still echoing the pain from yesterday's training, but his mind sharp and alert. He washed his face with cold water from a clay basin, staring at his reflection; those strong red eyes seemed calmer today. He dressed in his coarse clothes, still carrying the scent of the old house, and descended to the ground floor to find his father had already prepared a list of items he would need from the blacksmith.
"Remember, Arthur," Edgar said, handing him a small leather satchel containing some bent metal pieces, "Baron the blacksmith is sharp-tempered, but he has a heart of gold. He was my companion in youth, so don't try to provoke him with your usual silence."
Seraphius nodded, took the satchel, and stepped out into the refreshing morning air, heading toward the heart of the village.
The path to the village center was dusty, lined with massive oak trees that seemed like guardians of time itself. As he approached the center, the sounds of life grew louder: roosters crowing, neighbors exchanging morning greetings. When he reached the blacksmith's workshop, the pounding of hammer on anvil filled the air, mingling with the smell of burning coal.
He paused at the entrance to see a massive man with bulging forearms covered in soot, swinging a heavy hammer onto a glowing piece of iron.
"You're Edgar's son, aren't you?" Baron shouted without raising his eyes from his work, as if he had known the visitor by the sound of his footsteps. He set the hammer aside, wiped his brow with a dirty towel, and finally turned to regard Seraphius closely.
"You've grown, boy. Last time I saw you, you barely reached your father's waist. Your red eyes always remind me of our old days in the arenas."
Seraphius handed the satchel to the blacksmith and began helping organize some scattered tools around the anvil, moving with method and calm. As Baron inspected the metal pieces, he spoke in a booming voice:
"Your father told me you've taken an interest in the sword again. That's good, but the sword isn't everything in this world."
He paused, gazing toward the distant horizon where mountain peaks loomed.
"Have you heard of the 'Magic Academy' in the capital? Some traders passed through here yesterday. They spoke of registration opening for the new year. They say the mana in this world has begun to fluctuate, and the academy seeks anyone with talent, whether with the blade or with magic."
Seraphius' heart clenched at the mention of the academy. It might be the thread that connects him to his sisters—or perhaps the key to understanding the world in which he was trapped.
Lost in thought, three youths about his age entered the workshop, wearing simple hunting clothes with bows slung across their backs.
"Look who it is! Arthur finally leaves his cave!" one of them shouted with a teasing laugh that still held a note of old friendship.
They approached, exchanging chatter about hunting and village life. Yet Seraphius felt a chasm between himself and them; they spoke of daily routines, while he thought of the academy and the digital world that had vanished.
While assisting Baron in repairing a piece, he learned from his friends that the village was not as safe as it seemed. Rumors had spread about monsters appearing in the nearby Dark Forest, and the guards in Oukhar had begun warning villagers to be careful.
Seraphius left the workshop after finishing his work, his mind carrying far more than his hands. The academy, the monsters, his sisters in the capital—all of it began to intertwine. His mysterious power was no longer his primary concern; understanding the academy and the rules of this boiling world was.
He walked the village alleys slowly, weighed down by new knowledge. "Magic Academy," "Mana fluctuations," "Monsters approaching"—these words repeated in his mind as he watched villagers hurry to close their shops at dusk. The village appeared peaceful, but now he could see the hidden tension in the guards' eyes and the quick pace of the people.
Arriving at his home, he paused to examine his hands. Helping Baron had strengthened his body and balance, but he knew it would not be enough for what lay ahead. He opened the door to find his mother, Elena, tending the fireplace, while his father, Edgar, sat on his wooden chair, hand on his chin, deep in thought.
Seraphius set the satchel repaired by Baron on the wooden table, producing a metallic clink that caught his father's attention.
"You're late. Was Baron in his usual mood?" Edgar asked in a rough voice.
"He was busy, but he fixed everything. He also spoke of the capital's traders, the academy, and the monsters appearing in the Dark Forest," Seraphius replied calmly, sitting across from his father.
A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. Elena watched them with concern as she placed plates on the table, while Edgar narrowed his red eyes, speaking cautiously.
"The capital is far, and talking about it takes time. But the Dark Forest is very close. If Baron mentioned monsters, it means the threat is real."
Seraphius said little, eating quietly, recalling the conversations with his friends at the workshop. He now understood that his family was not just a rural household—they sacrificed much so his sisters could live in the capital, while he, in this new body, faced responsibilities he had never asked for.
After dinner, he went to his small room upstairs. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he gazed at the horizon, where the Dark Forest appeared as a dark mass under the dim starlight. Thoughts of Thomas, Elias, and tomorrow's hunt swirled in his mind. Hunting had become more than just chasing deer—it was exploration of this reality he now lived in.
He closed his eyes, recalling the system interface in his mind for a few moments, checking his stats quietly before sleep. He knew tomorrow would be his first venture beyond the village's safety, and that he would finally confront the secrets lurking in that forest.
He lay back on his bed, the quiet wrapping the house, awaiting the dawn of a new day.