Three years later—
Morning sunlight filtered through the cabin window, scattering golden patches across the wooden floor. I stirred awake, my small hands curling against the blanket.
Three years… three whole years of humiliation.
Three years of being fed like a toddler, spoken to in singsong tones, and carried around like baggage. I had lived forty-five years already—fought battles, led armies, faced death itself—and yet here I was, stuck in a child's body.
If there were awards for indignity, I'd win them all.
With a sigh, I pushed myself up, stretched, and stepped outside.
In the clearing, a girl was already waiting—hands glowing faintly with magic, her green eyes sharp with focus.
That girl was Lyra, now eighteen years old. The man who trained us both was her uncle, Garrick, thirty-seven. Why the two of them lived out here in this secluded forest cabin, I still didn't know. But right now, none of that mattered.
What mattered was the festival—the one held every year in the nearby village.
Today, I was finally going to see it.
"Ready to lose, Kaien?" Lyra smirked, sparks dancing at her fingertips.
I gripped the wooden dagger Garrick had carved for me. "Keep dreaming, girl."
Her brow twitched. "Don't call me girl! I'm older than you."
I snorted. I'm forty-five, I said in my head.
"You're only four!" she snapped, already releasing her first spell.
A dart of flame hissed through the air. I ducked, rolled, and closed the gap before she could cast another. The dull edge of my dagger tapped her thigh.
Her eyes widened. "Tch—!"
"Point for me."
Lyra puffed her cheeks, clearly frustrated. "That doesn't count! That was just a warm-up." Sparks flared again at her fingertips. "Let's do it properly. Magic against magic."
I tilted my head, feigning thought. "Are you sure about that? You do remember what happened last time, right?"
Her lips pressed tight. "Ugh…" She turned away, shoulders stiff with embarrassment.
I smirked—but my grin faded as another image surfaced in my mind: Garrick.
His wooden sword whistled through the air faster than my eyes could follow.
No matter how many spells I unleashed, no matter how clever my tactics were, he cut them all down like swatting flies.
I'd never beaten him. Not once.
My grip tightened on the dagger. How do I beat that old man…?
"Oi!" Lyra's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "Stop spacing out! We're not done yet."
I shrugged. "Just thinking how I can't win against that old man."
Lyra dropped her stance instantly. "Don't call him that! You should say Uncle Garrick."
I raised a brow. "You call him 'old man' all the time."
"That's—! Tch…" She bit her lip, then jabbed a finger at me. "Anyway, you can't call him that. And another thing—you shouldn't call me girl either. You should call me…" She puffed up proudly. "…Big Sister."
"Big sister?!" I blurted, staring at her like she'd lost her mind.
Inside, my thoughts twisted. You're younger than me by almost three decades.
The words nearly slipped out, but I caught myself just in time.
"Oi!" Lyra snapped again, glaring.
I straightened, pretending to ignore her. "More importantly—there's a festival today, right?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Ha? What about it?"
"Can I go?"
"Go where?"
"To the festival, obviously."
"Haaa?!" Her voice rose an octave.
Her smile faded quickly. "No."
"Why not?"
Her tone dropped, serious. "You already know why. I told you before—people with pure black hair in the South are seen as cursed. Some villages even… burn them alive, to stop the misfortune from spreading."
My hand instinctively brushed my bangs. I knew that curse well; Lyra had read about it to me.
My hair was darker than midnight itself.
"Just once," I muttered.
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "No. It's too dangerous for someone like you to show up in a crowd. Especially during the festival."
"Please," I said, softening my voice. "I'll behave. I won't cause trouble. And…" I hesitated, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "…from now on, I'll call you Big Sis."
Her jaw dropped. "W-what did you just say?"
"Big Sis Lyra," I repeated, bowing my head.
"Y-you can't just say that to get your way!"
But her face turned red. For a moment, she froze—then her lips curled into the smuggest grin imaginable.
"Heh heh heh… I like the sound of that." She leaned down, hands on her hips, eyes gleaming mischievously.
"What can I do? This Big Sis of yours will be merciful and grant your wish."
Inside my head, I smirked. Works every time.
Then—pat, pat—her hand ruffled my hair.
"You better be a good boy, alright? Keep your invisibility spell up, and stay close to me. Understood?"
My eye twitched. Endure… endure… endure…
"Y-yes, Big Sis."
To her, it was playful.
To anyone else, it might've looked like a sweet, sisterly gesture.
But to me—a grown man trapped in a child's body—it was torture.
---
Later that afternoon—
After a quick spar and some preparations—hoods, charms, and wards—we made our way to the village.
The streets were alive with color. Stalls lined the paths, banners fluttered in the wind, and the air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and sweet bread. Blacksmiths hammered proudly at gleaming swords while children ran past, chasing ribbons that sparkled in the sun.
My heart clenched. For the first time since being reborn, I felt… alive.
So this is what this world truly looks like… nothing like Earth.
We wandered through the stalls, Lyra buying food while keeping me close.
When the crowd thickened, she guided me to a quiet alley behind the main square where I could finally lower my hood and eat in peace.
"See? This Big Sis of yours always finds a way," Lyra said proudly, handing me a skewer of grilled meat.
I rolled my eyes but took it anyway. "Thanks… Big Sis."
She froze, blinking in disbelief. "You actually said it?"
I just smirked. "Don't get used to it."
She laughed lightly—and for a moment, I allowed myself to relax.
As I chewed, my gaze drifted toward the open square beyond the alley. A wooden stage was being set up, banners of red and gold swaying above it. My heart quickened.
So that's where the Sword Tournament will be held.
That was the real reason I'd wanted to come. Every year, swordsmen from the nearby villages competed there—displaying their techniques, their flow, their killing intent.
And I wanted to see it.
Not just for entertainment, but to learn.
Even in this small body, my mind was still sharp. In my past life, one glance at a technique was enough for me to copy its rhythm. With a few tries, I could replicate it perfectly.
If I could just watch those swordsmen fight—feel the pattern of their movements—I could grow stronger. Even without a blade, even without mana, I'd find a way to adapt.
My fingers tightened around the wooden skewer. I'll get stronger again. No matter what it takes.
Then Lyra leaned closer, breaking my thoughts. "You're spacing out again, Kaien. Thinking about the food?"
"Something like that," I muttered.
Her grin returned. "You really are easy to read, huh? Good thing you've got this Big Sis of yours to look after you."
Endure… endure… endure… I chanted inwardly again.
---
Then the world went dark.
At first, people thought clouds had rolled in too fast. But as shadows spread across the sky, laughter faded into uneasy murmurs.
The heavens churned—black ink bleeding across the light.
"Ebonveil…" Lyra whispered. "It's too sudden… too fast…"
Screams erupted. Bells clanged in warning. Guards shouted orders as mothers pulled their children close.
Then came the Veylith.
Pale, eyeless horrors spilled from the storm, crawling through the streets like nightmares given form. A guard swung his blade—one Veylith split in two—only for both halves to rise again, hissing.
My mind sharpened. Magic won't work. Just like before.
Even invisibility was useless. The Veylith could see without eyes.
"Lyra, run!" I shouted. My childish voice didn't match the authority behind it.
We sprinted through chaos—Lyra weaving a speed spell around us. She could only maintain one at a time, so fighting was impossible. Survival was all that mattered.
Then—
A scream.
A little girl, no older than me, stood frozen beside a toppled stall. A Veylith loomed over her.
Without thinking, I drew the dagger from my belt and dashed forward. "Haste!"
I shoved the girl aside and drove the blade straight into the creature's hollow eye.
It shrieked and dissolved into black mist.
"Run!" I shouted, and the girl fled into the smoke.
"Kaien!" Lyra's voice cracked with fear, but I ignored it—cutting down another Veylith, then another—until the street fell silent behind me. My small hands trembled, slick with shadow and blood.
We ran. Faster. The village burned behind us, swallowed by the storm's veil.
At last, the cabin came into view.
I skidded to a stop, dropped to my knees, and slammed my palm to the floorboards.
"Resonare," I whispered.
Faint ripples of energy spread outward, mapping the faint presence of life around us—small threads flickering in the dark.
But it didn't reach far. My power was still shallow, like echoes fading in a pond.
"Damn it…" I hissed. "I can't reach the village."
Lyra stood near the window, trembling as she sealed the doors and cast protective wards.
Somewhere beyond the veil… Garrick was still out there.
I clenched my dagger tighter, my voice barely a whisper.
"This time… I won't run."
---End of Chapter 6---