In a world governed by an unyielding order, a boy moved with an effortless grace, his body flowing in harmony with nature itself. Each motion was a reflection of his intense training, executed with precision and devoid of any mistakes. Though he felt flawless in his technique, a lingering emptiness resonated within him—a stark contrast to the satisfaction others seemed to find in their own mastery.
At the edge of a cliff, he held a Buddhist sword, swinging it in a relentless series of vertical slashes. The repetition became both a meditation and a torment, the rhythm of his actions punctuated by a nagging thought: When would this training culminate in true swordsmanship? His master had left him in this desolate expanse, a temporary solitude meant to forge his skills. Despite having shelter, a solid ground beneath his feet, and the beauty of nature surrounding him, he felt a profound disconnection from the world.
The grueling training began to weigh heavily on him, casting doubt upon its purpose. Yet, deep down, he recognized the evolution taking place within him—steps toward a strength he had not previously possessed. With every swing, he counted the countless challenges he had yet to face, reminding himself that each completed lesson brought him closer to his ultimate goal.
As he concluded his practice, the scent of the earth and the edge of exhaustion enveloped him. Approaching the main door, he was greeted by the sight of his master. A small, knowing smile graced the older man's face as he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, saying, "There are visitors waiting to see you. Let's go greet them."
Curiosity flickered within him despite his reservations. As they made their way through the dense woods, the boy's mind raced, pondering who might be visiting at such an hour. When they finally arrived, he spotted Bron and Aleyas standing near the forest's entrance, an expansive training ground unfurling behind them. Their demeanor was calm, yet a gleam of excitement danced in their eyes.
"What brings you here?" he asked, his voice colder than he intended, a fortress built from isolation.
Bron, attempting to lighten the mood, replied, "We just wanted to chat." Behind them, an elderly man held a liquor bottle, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as he waved his hand as he glanced at the boy.
The boy's irritation simmered. "I'd rather not. I'm busy," he retorted, starting to turn away. But his master's firm grip on his shoulder halted him.
"Have a little patience; it's been months since you last spoke with anyone," his master implored.
"Are you counting yourself among the animals now?" the boy shot back, testing his master's temper.
"Keep that up, and I'll give you a punch you won't forget," his master replied, the anger flaring in his voice.
Undeterred, the boy stepped toward Bron and Aleyas, feeling an odd sense of relief at their presence. "You came all this way just to see me?" he questioned, skeptical.
Aleyas, betraying her concern, frowned. "We just wanted to check on you. We were worried you might be hurt or in danger."
"I'm fine. Nothing has changed. Really, you can go back now," he stated coldly, intent on dismissing their worries.
But before he could finish, Bron interjected, "Ray, I want to challenge you. Right here, right now."
With a newfound spark in his eyes, the boy replied, calm yet firm, "If you lose, don't bother coming back." Confidence surged within him, ready to embrace the battle that awaited.
Dark clouds gathered ominously, cloaking the sun as if trapped in a swirling ocean. In the midst of this tempestuous scene, two boys stood defiantly in the concrete arena, poised to unleash their fury. Outside the makeshift battleground, three figures watched intently—two men and a girl. The taller of the two men stepped forward, raising his hand high before lowering it with authority, signaling the clash to begin.
Bron, adrenaline pumping, was ready to launch himself at Ray. But before he could react, Ray was upon him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Caught off guard, Bron fought against the rising tide of panic. The first psychic blast slammed into his ear, a jarring attack that left him reeling. He struggled to regain his footing, but Ray relentlessly pressed the offensive, attacking from all angles—left, right, up, down—leaving Bron with no room to maneuver.
Bron dropped to one knee, gasping for breath as he glanced up. Ray loomed above him, an unsettling calm radiating from him. Determination coursed through Bron as he pushed himself up, knowing he had to face Ray. But with every strike he attempted—each desperate attack fueled by sheer will—Ray evaded with ease, as if Bron's moves were nothing more than a child's playful jabs.
With every effort, Bron felt the weight of despair settle on him as his attacks went unanswered, met only by Ray's effortless dodges. It was as if he were trapped in a nightmare, fighting against an immovable force. Frustration turned to resignation, and he finally fell back, breathless and defeated, while the two men on the sidelines exchanged glances.
One man, clad in casual shorts, laughed heartily and teased the other, who was dressed more formally but bore the look of a seasoned mentor. "I didn't expect you to turn this kid into such a monster so quickly, Lucius."
Lucius, unfazed, replied with a knowing smile, "Believe me, he was always a monster. It was just a matter of unlocking his potential." His voice held an edge of pride. "You see, Rudolf, genius and talent don't do justice to what this boy possesses. If I had to sum it up in one word, Ray is an anomaly of existence.