Nathaniel ignored Thorn's frantic warnings echoing in his mind. Every fiber of his body screamed caution, every instinct begged him to retreat, but his blood boiled with a fierce, untamed pride. He would not back down—not from a human, not from an elder, and certainly not from anyone who dared to challenge him.
Retreat?
Not a chance.
His muscles coiled like tightly wound springs. With a flash of speed, he propelled himself forward, each movement a blur. His fists, his feet, his sword—all became instruments of relentless offense. He envisioned overwhelming this frail-looking old man with sheer agility, with precision, with the raw force of his youth and training. His blades sliced through the air, arcs of energy following each swing, lightning crackling along the edge of his attacks. He darted like a scarlet streak across the clearing, each step a drumbeat of unstoppable momentum.
Yet the old man moved like flowing water, every strike slipping through his grasp. Not only did he evade, but he anticipated, countering with minimal effort. A flick of the cane redirected Nathaniel's momentum; a subtle shift of the palm sent him stumbling into the dirt. It was almost playful, almost casual—but devastatingly effective.
"Too slow," the old man muttered, almost pitying him.
Nathaniel's fists slammed against the air, igniting shockwaves, arcs of fire, and concentrated bursts of elemental energy. Trees splintered, the ground cracked, and the echoes of his attacks reverberated across the forest. Yet still—the elder stood untouched.
Then—boom!
A single, casual backhand from the old man sent Nathaniel flying. He crashed through a line of trees with terrifying force, wood splintering, leaves shredding, bark exploding like fireworks. He skidded across the dirt, pain flaring through his ribs, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His body had been carved through the forest, leaving a chaotic trail in his wake.
And yet, Nathaniel's resolve did not falter. Within seconds, his form blurred, reassembling upright with a crooked grin smeared across his bloodied face.
"For a grandpa… you're pretty good," he spat, mocking. "But I'm not done. Not even close."
He lunged again, every strike an orchestration of his martial mastery and elemental affinity. Fire erupted from his palms, arcs of lightning danced across his skin, and the air itself tore as his sword cut through it with condensed force. Explosions lit the forest like miniature suns; the very mountains trembled from the shockwaves. The ground quaked beneath the assault, the sky ignited with the dazzling display of power.
And yet—when the smoke cleared—the old man remained. Not a speck of dust marred his robes, not a hair out of place.
Nathaniel froze, chest heaving, muscles trembling. Sweat streamed down his back, and blood still dripped from shallow cuts.
"How…?!" he whispered.
He had unleashed enough energy to level a battlefield, yet this man—this seemingly frail elder—stood without flaw, unmoved, untouchable. The weight of realization struck him. He had underestimated the power of experience, of mastery that transcended raw energy.
For the first time, the thought of using his ultimate techniques—Online Smash and Valve Smash—crossed his mind. The pulses of energy he had stored, the destructive potential capable of bending the laws of reality itself, could finally bring a reaction from this old man.
But hesitation gripped him. What if he killed him? This was no mindless monster or bandit; it was a man. A living being. Nathaniel's fists clenched around his sword, jaw tight. No. He would not stain his hands without reason.
Thorn's voice thundered in his mind, urgent and alarmed:
~ Alert ~
~ Type: Unknown ~
~ Power: Sky-defying. Incomparable. ~
~ Solution: Immediate retreat recommended! ~
Nathaniel only chuckled, bloodied teeth flashing through the dirt on his lips.
"Retreat? No way. If I run from a wrinkled old man, how the hell will I ever avenge my mother?"
He straightened, grit burning in his eyes. "Let's go, old man!"
The elder's eyes narrowed, abandoning their playful glint, now sharp and resolute. "…My turn."
Then he moved.
Just one step.
But in that single motion, the world itself seemed to bend. Space folded, time staggered, reality itself paused. Leaves hung suspended in the air, the wind ceased mid-breath, and Nathaniel's heartbeat seemed to skip as the very laws of motion bowed to this one movement. The ground beneath him felt unsteady, as if the earth itself acknowledged the impossibility of the strike.
And then—pain.
A kick, delivered with the ease of a casual stroll, slammed into Nathaniel's chest.
CRACK!
He flew like a ragdoll, breaking through tree after tree. Bones screamed under the impact, reinforced barriers shattering as though they had never existed. His cultivated resilience, his enhanced reflexes, his elemental shields—none mattered. The world became black, stars spinning as he spiraled into unconsciousness.
…
Hours passed.
Nathaniel awoke under the night sky, stars blinking softly through the shattered canopy. His body was sprawled, chest heaving, ribs aching. Dried blood crusted his lips. Pain lanced through every muscle, but even so, his mind burned with the same insatiable determination that had driven him since youth.
Slowly, he sat up, hands trembling as he pressed against his ribs. "What… what happened? One step… one strike…" His voice cracked, eyes wide in disbelief. The memory of the kick, of the air itself warping around it, seared itself into his mind.
Tears threatened, fueled by frustration and helplessness. Memories of his mother's face—blurred, bloodied, impossible—flashed across his vision. He slammed a fist into the dirt, voice breaking.
"I'm nothing… NOTHING!"
For the first time in years, Nathaniel felt the crushing weight of insignificance.
Then, Thorn's voice rang out, firm yet grounding.
"Master, calm yourself. That old man… was no ordinary elder. His power rivals that of a Deathburst. Against such a being, survival alone is miraculous. You never had a chance, yet you endured."
Nathaniel froze, sobs quieting.
"Many warriors—older, stronger, more experienced—have faced such power and not even left a trace behind. You, young master, survived. That is not weakness. That is proof of your potential."
Nathaniel's eyes widened, understanding dawning. The despair that had weighed him down began to transmute into something sharper—fury, determination, and resolve.
"You mean… he could have killed me. But he didn't."
"Yes," Thorn confirmed gravely. "If he wished, your body would already be scattered to the winds. The fact you still breathe… that alone is significant. Why he spared you is unknown. But take this to heart: surviving is the first step toward true strength."
Nathaniel clenched his fists, eyes flicking to the blackened canopy above. Pride had been shattered, pain had wracked his body, yet a fire now burned brighter in his chest than before.
"Then I'll get stronger. Strong enough to demand answers. Strong enough to crush anything in my path. I will never forget this defeat."
He exhaled, wiped his tears, and forced a crooked, determined grin.
"Thanks, Thorn… and thanks for patching me up."
"Internal injuries were severe. Several organs ruptured. Without intervention, you would already be gone. I have stabilized you," Thorn added, quietly, almost as if proud of the young master.
Nathaniel chuckled bitterly. "Good. Because I'm not done yet."
Step by step, he rose, muscles still trembling, chest aching. The night stretched infinitely above him, stars twinkling like witnesses to his resolve. Each movement carried stubborn pride and unbreakable determination.
…
Far away, under the same night sky, the old man stood atop a hill, hands folded behind his back, expression calm, eyes sharp and calculating. Beside him, a towering, emerald-scaled humanoid lizardman lowered his head respectfully.
"So, you found him?" the lizardman asked, voice deep, reverent.
The old man's lips curved in a thin, amused smile. "Yes. I met him today."
"And…?"
The elder's eyes glimmered with curiosity and intrigue. "He survived."