Location: The Greyrat Courtyard Time: Dawn Age: 7 (The Next Morning)
The sun hadn't fully risen yet. The world was painted in shades of cold grey and pale blue. The mist clung to the ground like a ghost, swirling around my ankles as I stood in the center of the courtyard.
I was vibrating.
Not from cold. From intent.
I held my wooden sword. It was chipped, dented, and stained with dirt from a thousand failed attempts. Today, I wasn't going to fail. Today, I was going to force the issue.
"You're up early," a groggy voice called out.
Paul walked onto the porch, scratching his stomach and yawning. He was wearing loose trousers and a tunic, looking every bit the relaxed, retired adventurer. He didn't look like a threat.
That was the problem.
As long as he looked at me and saw "Sol, his son," he would hold back. He would pull his punches. He would regulate his speed to match mine. And as long as he did that, my body would never learn to survive.
I needed him to stop being "Dad." I needed him to be Paul Greyrat, the A-Rank adventurer.
"Pick up your sword," I said. My voice was calm, but it felt jagged in my throat.
Paul blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Coffee first, kid. Then we can—"
"Pick. It. Up."
The tone made him stop. He looked at me. He saw my stance—feet wide, center of gravity low, sword tip pointed directly at his throat. He saw the lack of a smile.
Paul sighed, the playfulness vanishing from his face. He walked over to the rack and grabbed his wooden practice sword.
"You're in a mood," he muttered, stepping onto the grass. "Did Rudy snore all night again?"
"I heard you last night," I said.
Paul froze mid-step.
"I heard you telling Mother that I'm hitting a wall," I continued, circling him slowly. "You said I was trying to drive a carriage with no wheels. You said I was breaking myself."
Paul's expression softened. "Sol, look. I didn't mean it as an insult. It's just biology. You're seven. Your body isn't ready for—"
"Shut up."
I snapped the words like a whip.
Paul's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"You're patronizing me," I spat. "You stand there, relaxed, weight on your back foot, guard down. You think this is playtime. You think I'm a child playing soldier."
I stopped circling. I dropped my stance lower.
"If you don't fight me with the intent to kill," I whispered, letting all my frustration and arrogance bleed into the air, "I am going to take your eye out. And I won't apologize."
Paul stared at me. For a long, silent moment, the only sound was the wind in the trees.
Then, the atmosphere changed.
It was subtle at first. The air grew heavy. The birds stopped singing. Paul didn't move, but his presence expanded. The "scent" of him changed from lazy morning to sharp steel.
He shifted his weight forward. He raised his sword.
"Fine," Paul said softly. His eyes were cold. "You want the real thing? You want to see the wall you're trying to climb?"
He took a breath.
"Come climb it."
The Fight
I didn't scream. I didn't announce my attack.
I launched.
I pushed off my back foot with enough force to tear the grass. I covered the distance in a heartbeat.
Feint high. Strike low.
I flicked my sword toward his face. Paul didn't flinch. He knew it was a feint. He didn't even block.
I dropped, spinning into a low sweep aimed at his knee.
CLACK.
His sword was there before I arrived. He blocked my sweep with the tip of his blade, staring down at me with bored eyes.
"Too slow," he said.
He didn't counter-attack. He just waited.
I gritted my teeth. I rolled away, springing to my feet.
Again.
I attacked from the left. Blocked. I attacked from the right. Blocked. I tried a dirty trick—kicking dirt into his face. He just closed his eyes and blocked my follow-up strike by sound alone.
"Is that it?" Paul taunted. "Dirty tricks? I thought you wanted to be a Swordsman."
Rage flickered in my chest.
"I want to win!" I shouted.
I abandoned defense. I went into a frenzy. I swung the wooden sword like a madman, aiming for his wrists, his neck, his ribs.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.
He parried everything. He wasn't even moving his feet. He was standing in one spot, dismantling my entire existence with flick of his wrist.
It was humiliating.
It was exactly what I needed.
My lungs were burning. My arms felt like lead. My vision was starting to tunnel.
Push harder, I screamed internally. Break the limit. Move faster!
"You're slowing down," Paul noted.
Then, he moved.
He didn't just block. He stepped in.
The speed was incomprehensible. One moment he was three feet away; the next, he was inside my guard.
His shoulder checked me in the chest.
WHAM.
It felt like being hit by a carriage. I flew backward, tumbling through the grass, gasping for air.
I lay there, staring at the grey sky. Black spots danced in my vision.
"Stay down, Sol," Paul said, his voice distant. "You're done."
Done?
I coughed, tasting blood. I must have bit my tongue.
No.
I rolled over. I pushed myself up. My arms shook violently.
"I'm... not... done," I wheezed.
Paul looked at me. He saw the blood on my lip. He saw the trembling limbs.
And then, he made a mistake. Or maybe it was a gift.
He got annoyed.
"Stay down!" Paul roared, raising his sword high. "If this was a real battlefield, you'd be dead ten times over! Do you want to die?"
He swung.
It wasn't a lethal swing—he was aiming for the ground next to me to scare me—but it was a Sword God Style strike.
The air shrieked.
My eyes—my special, cursed, beautiful eyes—saw it happen in slow motion.
I saw the mana in Paul's body flood into his arm. I saw the muscles contract with explosive force. I saw the air distort around the wooden blade as it broke the sound barrier.
It was coming down. If I didn't move, the shockwave alone would break my ribs.
Move.
My brain sent the signal.
MOVE.
My body screamed back: I can't! No energy!
My instincts took over. My survival drive—the thing that had kept me alive in the underground cages of my past life—hijacked my nervous system. It reached into the deep, dormant well of mana inside me and yanked the valve open.
SNAP.
Something inside me broke.
Suddenly, the pain vanished.
The exhaustion vanished.
A sensation like molten lead flooded my veins. It was hot. Excruciatingly hot. But it wasn't burning me; it was hardeningme.
The world turned grey. Time seemed to stop.
I could see the dust motes suspended in the air. I could see the sweat droplet flying off Paul's nose. I could see the wooden sword inching toward me.
I felt... heavy. I felt powerful.
I didn't think. I moved.
I raised my sword.
CLAAAANG!
The sound wasn't wood hitting wood. It sounded like a gunshot.
Paul's sword stopped.
He blinked.
He looked down.
I was standing there. My feet had sunk two inches into the dirt from the impact. My wooden sword was held high, blocking his strike.
Smoke—actual steam—was rising from my skin.
My eyes were wide, burning. I could feel the energy coating me, a second skin of pure aggression.
"Sol?" Paul whispered, his eyes wide with shock.
I looked at him. I felt the grin spreading across my face. It felt savage.
"Found it," I rasped.
Then, the energy cut out.
The world rushed back in at normal speed. The exhaustion hit me like a falling building. My eyes rolled back into my head.
The last thing I saw was Paul dropping his sword and rushing to catch me before I hit the ground.
Location: The Bedroom Time: Late Afternoon
I woke up to the smell of herbs.
I tried to move, but my body felt like it had been chewed up and spat out by a dragon. Every muscle fiber was screaming.
"He's awake!"
Rudeus's face popped into my vision. He looked worried.
"Sol! Are you okay? Dad said you exploded!"
I groaned, shifting in the bed. "I didn't explode, Rudy. I just... upgraded."
I looked at my hands. They were bandaged.
I focused. I tried to recall the feeling from the courtyard. The heat. The flow.
It was faint, like a distant echo, but it was there. The door was unlocked. I just had to push it open again.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice raspy.
"Dad carried you in," Rudeus said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "He looked... scared. But also happy? He kept muttering 'He did it, the crazy brat actually did it.'"
I smiled. It hurt my face.
"Where is he?"
"Outside. Drinking with Mom. He said not to disturb you."
I closed my eyes, sinking back into the pillow.
I had done it. I had touched the Battle Aura. I had blocked a Sword Saint's strike.
"Hey, Rudy?" I asked softly.
"Yeah?"
"You better keep practicing that magic of yours."
"Why?"
I opened one eye and looked at him.
"Because I just got a lot faster. If you want to keep up, you're going to need more than just rain clouds."
Rudeus laughed, but I saw the spark in his eyes. He felt the shift, too. The balance of power in the room had changed.
I wasn't just the physical twin anymore. I was a Swordsman.
And I was hungry for more.
Location: The Porch Time: Evening
Later that night, I managed to limp out to the porch.
Paul was sitting there, polishing his real sword. Zenith was sitting next to him, looking concerned.
When Paul saw me, he stopped.
He stood up.
He didn't ruffle my hair. He didn't pick me up. He didn't make a joke.
He looked me in the eye, man to man.
"You blocked it," Paul said quietly.
"I did," I replied, leaning against the doorframe for support.
"You used Touki. At seven years old."
"I told you I would."
Paul let out a long breath, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, a slow, proud grin spread across his face.
"Well," he said, picking up a cup of water and tossing it to me. "Looks like I can't treat you like a kid anymore."
I caught the cup. My hand was steady.
"Does this mean you'll teach me the advanced techniques?" I asked.
Paul laughed. "Teach you? Sol, if you keep growing at this rate, in two years, you might be teaching me."
He sat back down.
"Rest up, Sol. Tomorrow, the real training begins. No more wooden swords. Tomorrow, we start conditioning your body to hold that aura for more than one second without passing out."
I nodded and took a sip of water.
I looked up at the moon. It was full and bright.
Ghislaine, I thought, the name floating into my mind from the stories Paul had told about his old party. The Beast King. The Sword King.
I'm coming.
Just wait a little longer. I'm building a body worthy of standing next to you.