The forest north of Vale Village was quiet that morning—too quiet. The usual song of birds had been replaced by an eerie stillness, broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath a boy's boots.
Arden moved like a shadow, his bow in hand, his eyes sharp. At six years old, he already carried the aura of someone who had seen battle for decades. His breathing was steady, each step calculated.
Something's wrong. The goblins have been restless these past few nights.
He knelt, touching a muddy footprint—small, clawed, and fresh. The tracks led toward the old quarry, where villagers rarely ventured. But mixed among the goblin prints were heavier ones.
Human.
And chained drag marks.
His gaze darkened. Bandits.
When he reached the quarry, smoke rose faintly from a camp below. Half a dozen bandits lounged near a bonfire, laughing crudely. Beside them were wooden cages—inside, two small figures.
One had silver hair and pointed ears—an Elf. The other, with tanned skin and feline ears twitching nervously, was a Catkin. Both were young, perhaps around his age, their clothes torn, faces dirtied with soot.
A bandit sneered, kicking the cage. "We'll fetch a fine price for these two. The elf's worth a fortune—heh, nobles love their fancy pets."
The others roared with laughter.
Arden's fingers tightened on his bowstring.
In my past life, I killed tyrants for less.
He exhaled slowly, lowering his stance. His Qi condensed along the arrow's shaft, invisible yet sharp as a blade.
"Qi Arrow—Piercing Gale."
Thwip!
The arrow whistled through the air, punching clean through a bandit's throat before anyone noticed.
Silence. Then panic.
"W–What the hell!?"
"Arrows! We're under attack!"
Before they could draw swords, two more arrows flew—thwip, thwip!—each finding their mark.
Arden stepped out from the trees, his expression cold, almost emotionless.
A scarred man, clearly the leader, snarled. "A brat? You think you can kill us, boy?"
Arden dropped his bow and drew a small hunting knife. His stance shifted—low, balanced, predatory.
"I don't think," he said softly. "I know."
The bandit charged, swinging his blade. Arden sidestepped, slicing through the man's wrist, then twisted and kicked him square in the chest. The bandit fell, gasping, blood spraying from his mouth.
Another came from behind, but Arden pivoted smoothly and slammed his palm into the man's chin. A crack echoed—the jaw shattered instantly.
When the dust settled, six men lay dead on the ground. The boy barely broke a sweat.
He sheathed his knife and walked toward the cages. The two girls shrank back, trembling.
"D–Don't hurt us!" the cat girl cried, voice hoarse.
Arden crouched, meeting her gaze calmly. "I'm not your enemy. You're safe now."
The elf looked at him suspiciously. Her violet eyes were sharp, full of pride. "Why would a human help us?"
He smiled faintly. "Because I despise seeing the strong prey on the weak."
He sliced the ropes holding the cage lock, pushing the door open. "You can call me Arden."
The cat girl hesitated, then stepped forward cautiously. "M–My name is Mira... thank you."
The elf crossed her arms. "I am Elyndra, of the Silverwood Clan. I owe you a debt, human."
Her voice carried the tone of nobility and stubborn pride, but Arden didn't mind. He recognized it—she reminded him of his former disciples back in Murim.
"You owe me nothing," he said. "But if you wish to survive, follow me."
They returned to the village that evening. The villagers were shocked—two demi-humans entering a human settlement usually caused panic. Yet when they saw Arden leading them, calm and unflinching, no one objected.
In the days that followed, Arden gave them food, clothes, and a roof to sleep under. Mira often followed him around, mimicking his movements, trying to learn his training forms. Elyndra, on the other hand, kept her distance—watching, analyzing.
One evening, as the sun set, Elyndra approached him.
"I've seen you move," she said. "That was no child's fighting style. You wield Qi… yet, you are no elf, no beastkin, and clearly no mage."
Arden didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the horizon.
"In my previous life," he said slowly, "I was a cultivator—a martial artist who walked the path of strength."
Elyndra frowned. "Previous… life?"
Mira blinked. "You mean you're a ghost!?"
He chuckled softly. "No. Just someone who lived long enough to start over."
Elyndra studied him silently, then bowed her head slightly. "Then… teach me."
Arden turned to her, surprised.
"I want to learn your strength," she said. "The strength to protect myself… and those I care about."
Mira jumped in eagerly. "Me too! I wanna punch goblins like you!"
Arden looked at them both, his expression unreadable for a long moment—then, a faint smile curved his lips.
"Very well," he said finally. "From today onward, you'll be my disciples."
He looked toward the northern mountains, the wind rustling his hair.
Murim, another life… another chance. This time, I'll build a legacy that no god can erase.
The moon rose high, silver and silent, as the first three of the Northern Sovereignty trained beneath its light.