Ren materialized in the center of the Teleport Gate of the Starting Town.
The soft blue light around him slowly dispersed, merging with countless other shimmering trails, players coming and going like tiny motes of light drifting in a hazy world.
As the teleportation effect faded, Ren stepped down from the stone platform, feeling a faint wave of dizziness.
The moment his boots touched the plaza floor, he became the center of attention.
First, because of his armor, jet-black with a silver-gray sheen, fitted so tightly that it reflected every ray of the afternoon sun.
In a place where most players still wore worn leather gear or low-tier steel armor, Ren's presence was like a bold stroke of ink across a pale canvas, out of place, yet unmistakably striking.
Then their eyes moved from the armor… to the one wearing it.
Ren could feel the mixture of curiosity and caution in their glances. Some recognized him. Others merely whispered among themselves.
It felt… strange.
He could hear fragments of conversation drifting through the plaza.
"That armor… looks like something from a legion's custom set, doesn't it?"
"No way. A low-level player couldn't get gear like that."
"Who is that guy…?"
The voices blended with footsteps and the ambient hum of the system, echoing faintly before fading away.
Ren exhaled quietly.
He tugged his cloak slightly over one shoulder and slipped away, blending into the stream of people spreading out across the central marketplace.
The Starting Town felt utterly transformed. Not just because of the crowd bustling along the cobbled streets, but because of something else, a subtle sensation Ren couldn't quite name.
The air itself… seemed to breathe.
The sound of boots tapping against stone mixed with the cries of merchants, laughter, and the ringing of steel against steel from nearby forges, all merging into a single, living rhythm.
Ren realized it had been far too long since he'd last heard this kind of life. Something inside him stirred, a trace of nostalgia, a hint of peace, but he shook his head, dismissing the feeling.
He made his way toward a bookshop at the corner of the main square.
Inside, rows of wooden shelves were stacked with glowing skill books, each radiating a faint, system-born light. Ren pulled out a pale-blue volume engraved with a wing symbol, [Dash].
"There it is."
He paid a few Cor, opened his menu, and slotted the skill into an empty slot on his active skill bar. The words [Skill Installed] flashed briefly in the air before fading away.
But Ren didn't stop there. He switched to the Passive Skill section, and immediately found himself lost in a maze.
The list went on endlessly: combat, evasion, movement, defense, resistance… each with its own effects and detailed descriptions.
Unfortunately, all of them were basic-tier skills with modest bonuses.
Ren frowned slightly. He could only choose one to start with.
After several minutes of quiet reading and re-reading, he finally settled on one: [Quick Step].
A small, simple skill, but practical enough to be worth it.
It reduced the cooldown time for instant-movement abilities like [Dash].
The description appeared before his eyes:
[Quick Step – Passive]
Reduces cooldown time for instant burst-movement skills by 25%.
Slightly increases reaction speed when dodging.
The moment he confirmed it, a thin shimmer of light wrapped around his legs, then faded away like dust in the air.
The cooldown for [Dash] dropped from 20 seconds to 15 seconds.
A small change... but Ren could feel the difference immediately. His body felt lighter, more responsive… just a little closer to the precision he'd been missing.
Ren took a bit of time before sunset to stop by the training yard, the place where the kids he once taught were now gathering.
Laughter rang out from afar, so familiar that it drew a faint smile from Ren's lips.
Most of the kids had clearly improved, their sword swings were less clumsy, their dodges sharper and more decisive.
Their levels had increased noticeably, and their gear wasn't bad either, a few even wore brand-new leather armor, holding polished weapons that gleamed under the fading light.
Watching them, Ren felt a quiet sense of relief, like seeing something he had once nurtured with his own hands now learning to stand on its own.
"Ren!"
The shout came in unison, and within seconds, the whole group had rushed toward him.
Some tugged at his sleeve, others pulled on his cloak, a few tried to reach for the sword at his side, all of them laughing brightly.
"Tell us more about the giant turtle on the fourth floor!"
"No, no! Tell the story about that huge spider you fought!"
"Hey, this armor.. it really doesn't come off? Let me try—"
"Don't—" Ren barely got the word out before a sharp clang! rang in his ears. The smallest kid had tried to pry at his shoulder plate, but it didn't budge an inch, only made Ren wince slightly from the impact.
"It doesn't come off," he said with a chuckle, rubbing the kid's head, messing up his brown hair.
The children burst out laughing again, circling him like a flock of noisy little birds.
Ren let them chatter for a while, then sat down in the middle of the yard. His voice was calm and low as he began to tell his stories, sometimes adding humor, sometimes letting suspense hang. Each time he described a close call, the kids gasped and cheered with excitement.
The last light of the day turned amber, soft and warm, filtering through the wooden beams and spilling across the training ground. The children's laughter mixed with the distant clanging of metal, then slowly faded into the evening air.
Ren smiled. It was a peaceful feeling, one he hadn't felt in a very long time.
Before nightfall, Ren stopped by the familiar forge at the end of the street. The wooden door creaked open, and the smell of hot iron and oil filled the air.
The old blacksmith was still there, tall, broad, his posture straight as ever. The hammer in his hand rose and fell in steady rhythm over a glowing piece of metal. When he noticed Ren, he looked up, squinting slightly before letting out a soft laugh.
"You… don't look like the same kid who first walked in here."
Ren simply smiled. They spoke briefly of steel, of fire, of the swords that had passed through the old man's hands. Few words were needed; the blacksmith understood that Ren had long surpassed the path he once imagined for him.
Leaving the forge, Ren made his way toward a small barracks near the town's center, where Captain Gareth was usually stationed.
When Ren entered, Gareth was wiping his greatsword. He looked up, calm as ever, surprise flickering in his eyes before softening into a warm smile.
"It's been a while."
"Yes. I just returned from the third floor," Ren replied evenly, recounting the battle between the Elves, the missions, and the companions he had met.
Of course, he left most of it unsaid, telling only the surface, never touching what truly lay beneath.
Gareth listened in silence, then set the sword down.
"You've grown, stronger, more mature." His voice was deep and deliberate, carrying both pride and a touch of wistfulness.
In the torchlight, his green eyes reflected the image of another warrior, one he had once taught to hold a sword, now far beyond his reach.
Ren merely nodded, replying softly, "I'm still learning."
Gareth chuckled, the sound echoing in the quiet wooden room.
"Good. Never forget how you began, Ren."
"If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
Ren bowed slightly, his voice quiet but firm.
Gareth nodded. He watched the boy in the black-and-silver armor fade beyond the doorway, his figure merging with the dim twilight at the end of the corridor.
The metallic echo of Ren's footsteps slowly faded away, leaving only the whisper of the wind through the wooden gaps and the flicker of the torchlight.
Gareth stood there for a long time. His lips parted as if to call out, but no words came. In the end, only a heavy sigh escaped.
The green of his eyes reflected the firelight, uncertain whether it was pride, regret, or simply the quiet ache of a teacher realizing his student had truly stepped beyond his reach… or perhaps something else entirely.
Ren wandered through the Town of Beginnings.
He passed the church, where faint golden light spilled through the stained glass windows, then through the crowded market filled with laughter, the clatter of metal, and the smell of baked bread drifting in the air.
Eventually, his steps led him to a narrow alley, the same one where he had turned down Kirito's offer on that very first day in this world.
He stood there for a while.
Would things have been different, he wondered, if he had said yes back then?
Ren smiled faintly and shook his head. Questions like that no longer mattered.
His feet carried him toward a small inn hidden behind a row of old buildings, the one where he and Klein's group had once stayed.
The wooden door creaked the same as ever. The faint scent of ale and old timber still lingered in the air.
Ren smiled softly and stepped inside.
He decided he would stay for one night.
Tomorrow, when the first light touched the rooftops, he would return to the frontlines.
After storing away his gear, Ren changed into a simple outfit, a dark cloth shirt and gray trousers.
He sat on the bed and stretched. The old mattress sagged under his weight, creaking faintly, just like before.
There was no bathhouse here, but Ren had long since grown used to that.
He set a bucket of hot water and a few clean towels beside him, then began to wash carefully, methodically, unhurried, like a quiet ritual after a long journey.
When everything was done, Ren didn't eat at the inn.
The innkeeper, who still remembered him as a regular, looked mildly surprised as Ren passed the counter with only a polite nod before disappearing into the night.
The streets glowed with the soft, uneven light of oil lamps, golden streaks scattered across the cobblestones.
Ren jogged lightly along the main street, his steps unburdened and free, a rare feeling.
He wanted to eat somewhere else tonight, a new restaurant he had stumbled upon earlier while walking around the plaza.
What caught his attention wasn't the menu, but the fact that it had been built and run by players themselves.