The moon hung high over the Demon Realm, a pale disc wreathed in violet clouds. Its cold glow painted the black towers of the Demon King's castle in shades of silver, making the fortress look less like stone and more like the jagged skeleton of some long-dead titan. The air was cool and sharp, carrying the faint hum of mana through the night.
Soft footsteps echoed faintly down the corridors.
Asura padded barefoot across the polished floors, clutching a long, cloth-wrapped object to his chest. Each step carried him farther from the warmth of his chamber, farther from Selene's quiet care, and deeper into the forbidden thrill of secrecy.
His golden eyes gleamed with restless light.
"Tonight," he whispered to himself, his grin curling mischievously, "we level up."
The castle slept, but he did not.
At the gate, the armored guards stood as vigilant as statues, their crimson eyes scanning the horizon. But Asura had already tested his method the night before, and tonight it was even easier.
"Teleport," he murmured.
The world blinked.
One instant he stood in the shadow of the gate. The next, he was outside the walls, the guards oblivious as ever. Asura exhaled, stretching his arms with satisfaction. "Heh. Easiest cheat code ever."
The wilderness stretched before him, black trees glowing faintly with crimson veins. Their twisted shapes clawed toward the moon as though trying to drag it down from the sky. Strange cries echoed in the distance, but tonight Asura's focus was elsewhere.
With a grin, he knelt in the grass and carefully unwrapped the cloth bundle.
Inside lay his prize: a crude, simple wooden katana. It was nothing more than a stick he had cut, shaped, and sanded down by hand—a far cry from the legendary blades he had admired in anime and history alike. Yet to Asura, it was priceless.
He grasped it with both hands, lifting it high.
The wood cut cleanly through the air, whistling in a way that surprised even him. The sound was sharp, crisp, almost like steel.
Asura's grin widened.
"Not bad for a beginner weapon," he muttered. "If the Pirate Hunter could start with training swords, then so can I."
He stepped back, planting his bare feet firmly into the glowing soil. His golden eyes narrowed as he lifted the katana before him, recalling every stance he had ever studied, every anime he had ever mimicked in front of a mirror, every martial arts video he had ever paused and replayed.
The night around him was silent, waiting.
Asura exhaled slowly, the katana steady in his hands.
And then, with all the seriousness of a warrior far older than his small frame suggested, he whispered:
"First step… master the cut."
✦ The Choice
Not far from where he stood, half-buried in the glowing earth, lay another weapon.
A greatsword.
It was massive, easily longer than he was tall, with a blade broad enough to split a wagon in two and thick enough to crush stone under its weight alone. Its edges gleamed faintly in the moonlight, scarred with old nicks from battles long past. Even discarded, it radiated menace.
Asura had found it earlier, stashed near the training grounds, and curiosity had gnawed at him until he gave in.
Now he stepped closer, wrapping his small fingers around the leather-bound hilt.
With a grunt, he pulled. The earth cracked as the greatsword lifted free, dust scattering into the air.
And then, effortlessly, he raised it higher.
The weapon that would take two fully grown knights to even shift rose into the air as though it were no heavier than a broom. His golden eyes blinked in astonishment as he balanced it with one hand, the moonlight glinting along its brutal edge.
"…Huh," he muttered. "So this is what my stats can really do."
He swung it lightly, and the sheer weight of the blade split the air with a thunderous whoosh. The sound echoed through the clearing, rattling the leaves in the trees.
For a moment, he almost smiled. He looked down at the weapon, then at his tiny hands clutching it. The image was absurd: a boy no taller than the blade itself holding it with casual ease.
But the grin didn't last.
"…Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Way too much Guts cosplay. I'm not ready for that anime route yet."
He let the greatsword fall with a heavy thud, the ground trembling as the blade bit deep into the glowing soil.
Turning back, he gripped the wooden katana with both hands. The simple weapon was unpolished, uneven, and unimpressive compared to the massive greatsword. But when he held it, something clicked.
"This feels right," he whispered, swinging it lightly. The sound of wood cutting the air was crisp, clean, almost sharp.
His golden eyes gleamed, the reflection of the moon dancing within them.
"…Always liked katanas more anyway."
He shifted into stance, his small body steady and sharp under the moonlight. The wooden blade gleamed faintly as though it agreed with his choice.
✦ The Practice
The clearing stretched wide beneath the moon, its glow spilling silver over the crimson-veined ground. The forest surrounding Asura breathed with faint whispers—rustling leaves, distant howls of unseen beasts, the subtle thrum of mana that made the very air feel alive.
In that stillness, a boy stood barefoot, wooden katana clutched in both hands.
Asura drew a breath. The night air was cool and sharp, searing his lungs as he inhaled deeply. His heartbeat slowed, syncing with the rhythm of the quiet world around him.
He shifted his stance—left foot forward, right foot angled back, knees bent, shoulders square. The stance felt natural, as if he'd done it countless times before. In truth, he had… though only with broomsticks and shadows back in his old world.
"Okay," he murmured to himself, golden eyes narrowing, "first, the basics."
He swung the blade downward.
The wooden katana sliced the air with a crisp whoosh. Mana stirred faintly, responding to the motion, a thin streak of silver trailing the edge.
He swung again. Downward, across, thrust, parry. Each motion grew smoother, sharper, less like a child's mimicry and more like the practiced strikes of a swordsman. His feet shifted, sliding through stances he had memorized from endless anime battles and late-night martial arts clips.
Asura's body moved with an instinct born of obsession, of years longing for this chance.
His breath came steady. His muscles, though small, obeyed flawlessly. His strikes grew faster, the wooden blade cutting arcs through the moonlit air, leaving trails of faint mana light.
"'Raijin-ryu… Dragon Fang!'" he shouted, slamming the katana downward with exaggerated force.
The strike hit with a crack, a ripple of mana spreading outward. The ground quivered faintly, dust scattering at his feet. His eyes widened—that wasn't imagination.
He spun, the katana whistling. "'Water Technique, Form One—Rising Tide!'"
The blade swept upward, fluid and graceful, as though it were carving through an invisible current. For a heartbeat, droplets shimmered in the air—illusory beads of silver water that sparkled before fading.
Excitement surged through his veins. His golden eyes burned as he shifted again.
"…And the classic—Slaying Moon!"
The katana rose high above his head. He exhaled, then brought it down in a clean, decisive arc.
The air screamed.
A shockwave ripped through the clearing, bending grass and shaking the trees. The branches above rattled violently as though struck by a storm. Asura staggered slightly, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Ha… haha…" His breath came fast, uneven, but his lips curled into a grin.
"HAHAHA!" His laughter rang into the night, raw and unrestrained. "This is it—this is what I wanted!"
His heart raced, his body trembled—not from fear, but exhilaration.
Every swing cut deeper into the illusion of his past life, every strike carving away the chains of that dull existence. He wasn't just playing with broomsticks in his room anymore. He wasn't just pretending.
Here, his fantasies had weight. Here, his "anime moves" weren't childish imitations—they worked.
Tears stung faintly at the corners of his eyes, but he ignored them, gripping the wooden katana tighter.
"I'm alive," he whispered, his voice trembling with joy. "Really alive."
Asura reset his stance, ready for another flurry. His body ached faintly, but he didn't care. Each breath filled him with strength, each swing pulled more mana into motion. The world itself seemed to lean closer, watching him practice, waiting for the inevitable breakthrough.
And though he didn't know it yet, every cut, every strike, every name he shouted brought him closer to awakening his first true skill.
✦ The Awakening
The clearing fell still.
Not the stillness of ordinary night, but something heavier—like the entire forest had drawn in a breath and held it. The crimson veins of mana glowing beneath the earth pulsed once, then dimmed, as though waiting.
Then it happened.
Ding!
A sharp chime rang inside his skull, clear and resonant, vibrating through his bones like the note of a perfect bell. His golden eyes widened. A translucent screen burst into existence before him, flooding the clearing with golden light.
The glow spilled across the trees, casting long, trembling shadows. The grass bent faintly under the unseen weight of the notification. For the first time, Asura felt not just like the system was speaking to him—
…but like the world itself was watching.
The words burned themselves into his vision:
New Skill Acquired!
Swordsmanship – Beginner Lv. 1
Derived Techniques: Basic Slash, Quick Draw, Counter
Asura's breath caught. His fingers slackened against the wooden hilt, his pulse hammering in his ears.
"…No way," he whispered. His voice was thin, childlike, yet trembling with awe. "I… I just…"
He blinked once. Twice. The text remained.
"I just learned swordsmanship… by practicing anime moves?"
Ding!
Another flare of light seared across his vision, brighter than the first. His golden eyes went wide as a second notification unfolded like a banner of destiny.
Unique Skill Acquired!
Adaptive Sword Style – Lv. 1
(Can mimic and evolve techniques from observation or memory.)
The katana slipped from his hands. It hit the ground with a dull clack, the sound almost lost beneath the pounding in his ears.
He stumbled backward, legs folding under him until he dropped unceremoniously onto the glowing grass.
His mouth hung open. His golden eyes stared blankly at the screen.
"…I actually…" His voice cracked, breaking into a disbelieving wheeze. "I actually have a broken system!"
And then he laughed.
Not a soft chuckle, not a polite smile—but raw, unrestrained, manic laughter that poured out of him like a dam bursting. His small hands clutched at his stomach as he doubled over, rolling slightly onto his side. His cheeks burned red, tears stung his eyes, and still he couldn't stop.
"Haha—! HAHAHA! O-oh my god—hahaha!" His voice carried through the clearing, bouncing off the black trees, rising into the endless night.
Every bit of suffocating dullness from his past life—the school, the job, the gray days of nothingness—cracked apart under that laugh. Every lonely night spent rewatching fight scenes, every bitter wish for a chance to live in the worlds he loved… all of it crashed into this single, shining moment.
He was no longer an ordinary boy. No longer a faceless cog in a machine.
Here, in this world, he mattered.
Finally, when the laughter burned his lungs and left him gasping for air, he collapsed back onto the grass. His chest rose and fell quickly, sweat dampening his hair. The translucent system window still glowed above him, patiently waiting.
Asura wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, sniffling once before breaking into a shaky grin.
"…This is it," he murmured, voice husky with emotion. "This is the life I wanted. This is my story."
He reached out, fingers brushing the wooden katana lying in the grass beside him. Gripping it tightly once more, he pulled himself upright.
The laughter faded, replaced by something fiercer—an ember that caught and grew until it blazed in his golden eyes.
"My system… my power… my world."
He rose fully, feet planting firmly in the glowing soil. His small frame straightened, stance sharp beneath the moonlight. The katana hummed faintly in his grip, as though it too acknowledged his awakening.
The forest seemed to lean closer. The night air thickened, buzzing with unseen energy. Somewhere in the distance, a beast howled—then fell silent, as if even monsters knew better than to intrude upon this boy's resolve.
"…From now on," Asura whispered, tightening his grip, "I'll carve my destiny with this blade."
The system's golden glow dimmed at last, leaving only the boy, the moon, and the katana in the clearing.
But something fundamental had shifted.
And the world would never be the same.
✦ The Oath Under the Moon
The moon hung high, pale and merciless, suspended like a watchful eye above the Demon Realm. Its silver glow spilled across the forest clearing, painting the earth in cold light and shadow. The crimson veins of mana in the soil pulsed faintly, as though the ground itself were listening.
Asura stood there, barefoot and small, his horns gleaming faintly. The wooden katana rested against his shoulder, its crude frame made noble in the moon's glow.
To anyone who might have seen him, the sight would have been absurd—a child no older than four, holding a stick like a sword. Yet the air carried weight. It pressed down upon the clearing, restless and charged, as if nature itself knew that this boy was no ordinary child.
The trees rustled faintly, though there was no breeze. Eyes glimmered in the dark between the trunks—monsters, their instincts warning them to stay back. They could sense it. Power. Hunger. Destiny.
Asura's golden eyes, sharp and clear, lifted toward the horizon.
"In my old world…" His voice was quiet, but it rang through the clearing all the same, steady and sure. "I only dreamed of this."
Images flitted through his mind—gray skies, the lifeless monotony of classrooms, the dull grind of endless work. Nights spent in his room, a screen glowing in the dark, showing him worlds he could never touch. Heroes who lived, fought, and died with purpose while he drifted nameless through life.
"Swinging a blade… fighting monsters… living as a hero…"
His hand tightened on the katana. The wood trembled faintly, a shimmer of mana tracing its edge like a spark waiting to ignite.
"…But now? Now it's real."
He lifted the blade, pointing it outward. His small hands trembled—not from fear, but from the enormity of the moment, from the sheer thrill burning in his chest.
"I'll master every technique—" His voice grew louder, sharper, carrying across the trees. "—real or fake, remembered or imagined. From anime, games, history… every style, every strike, every dream. I'll make them mine."
The monsters in the dark shifted nervously. One gave a low growl, but quickly fell silent. Even they understood: something dangerous stood before them, though his frame was small and his weapon plain.
Asura's fangs flashed in the moonlight as his grin widened.
"Let the world come," he declared. His golden eyes gleamed with the reckless, boundless fire of youth, and the crushing, demonic aura of one born with power beyond reason.
"I'm ready."
The forest fell still.
The shadows froze, as though the very night had stopped to carve his words into eternity. The monsters in the distance slunk back into the trees, their glowing eyes vanishing one by one.
The crimson mana veins pulsed once more, stronger, brighter, as though acknowledging his vow. Above, the pale moon shone brighter, bathing him in silver light until he seemed carved of it—an omen of something yet to come.
Asura lowered the katana, his breath heavy but his grin unshaken. For the first time since being reborn, he felt as though he had spoken not as a child, not as a grandson, but as himself.
The oath hung in the air, alive, binding.
And the Demon Realm, silent and watchful, bore witness to the birth of a calamity.