Nine months slipped by like a long-held breath.
Freya's pregnancy reached its final day beneath a pale morning sky, and Zane wasted no time. He wrapped her carefully in a cloak and took her westward in Almsworth, where the finest obstetrician in the region resided.
The mansion gates closed behind them, heavy with expectation and quiet hope.
For the first time in a long while, Ethan was alone.
Three full days, maybe more, with the entire house to himself. He had imagined this moment many times, though not for the reasons most sons would. There was a strange freedom in the silence, a sense of space where no one watched, no one worried, no one hovered.
He stepped outside with a faint smile.
Before leaving the grounds, the familiar chime echoed softly in his mind. Ethan paused, completing the system's daily quests with practiced ease, movements precise, emotions restrained. The system never forgot, and neither did he
.
Then he left the mansion behind.
Over the past months, Ethan had made friends, real ones. Two girls, both different as fire and wind, yet equally drawn to him. It wasn't something he tried to cultivate; it simply happened. His calm confidence, sharpened by hardship and power, had a way of pulling people in.
Ane was the quieter of the two.
She was kind-hearted to a fault, her eyes always darting away when conversations grew too intense. Social situations unsettled her, yet she tried, always tried for the sake of others. Around Ethan, she felt safe enough to speak, even if her voice sometimes trembled.
Bolivia, on the other hand, was a storm.
Hot-headed, stubborn, and unapologetically blunt, she spoke her mind without hesitation. Her temper flared easily, but beneath it lay a fierce loyalty and an unyielding will. Where Ane hesitated, Bolivia charged forward, and somehow, they balanced each other perfectly.
They were sisters from the Flores family.
Strict and disciplined. Known for relentless family training that forged both strength and resilience. It was no surprise they carried themselves the way they did, each step sharp, each word deliberate.
As Ethan approached them that day, hands in his pockets and purple eyes calm beneath the sun, he couldn't help but feel it.
Today's training promised to be different.
Ethan had pushed himself relentlessly over the past months, far beyond what most boys his age could endure.
The forest had become familiar territory, its dangers routine. Hellfang foxes fell easily beneath his blade now, their snarls no longer stirring fear in his chest. Yet no matter how many he killed, his level refused to rise, frozen ever since the day he defeated the Goblin Leader.
It bothered him more than he admitted.
He slowed his steps as he arrived at the Flores estate and knocked gently at the gate. A maid emerged from the courtyard, bowing politely before ushering him inside. The moment Ethan crossed the threshold, the sharp clang of steel filled the air.
Bolivia was relentless.
Her sword crashed against Ane's again and again, forcing her sister backward across the training ground. Ane's movements were defensive, hesitant, her arms trembling as she barely kept up. Each strike Bolivia delivered was heavy, merciless, and precise.
Laughter echoed nearby.
Mr. Wills sat comfortably beneath a shaded canopy, watching the scene with a wide, satisfied grin as if the struggle before him were nothing more than entertainment.
Ethan's jaw tightened.
He wanted to step in. Wanted to stop it, especially seeing Ane's strained expression, knowing how gentle she truly was. But he didn't move. This was the Flores household. Their rules. Their methods.
"Hey, Ethan," Wills called out cheerfully, rising to his feet. "Welcome once more, little man."
He approached with hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp and evaluative. "I hope you're taking your training seriously?"
"Yes, sir," Ethan replied calmly, bowing his head in respect. "It's a pleasure to be here."
He turned toward the sisters, preparing to greet them....
DING!
— QUEST —
[Quest Assigned: Defeat Mr. Wills in a sword play]
Ethan froze, his gaze flicked back to the grinning man before him, the weight of the message sinking in. Of all the tasks the system could have given him… this was the one it chose.
You really know how to ruin the mood.
Ethan thought, irritation flickering through him as the system's message lingered in his mind.
Without another word, he walked toward the rack near the wall where wooden swords were stacked carelessly in a basket. His movements were calm, deliberate. He reached in, tested the weight of one blade, then chose it, simple, worn, unremarkable.
He turned.
Bolivia had just forced Ane back a step when Ethan raised the wooden sword and pointed it straight at her chest.
"I challenge you to a sword play, Bolivia," he said.
His voice was steady, too steady. For a moment, Bolivia couldn't tell whether he was joking or dead serious. Her brows furrowed, heat flaring in her eyes as she straightened her stance.
Mr. Wills burst out laughing.
"Hah! That's a good one!" he said loudly, clapping his hands together. "Go on then, Ethan. Make this interesting."
Ethan's lips curved into a faint grin.
Instead of responding to Bolivia, he slowly turned his head toward Wills, the wooden blade still resting casually on his shoulder.
"If I win," he said evenly, "I'll be challenging you next."
The courtyard fell quiet.
Wills blinked, then laughed again, louder this time, before dropping back into his seat. "So be it," he said confidently.
"No one has ever beaten Bolivia in sword play. Not even royal guards."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he added, "And just because you're the son of the great Zane doesn't make you strong."
Ethan didn't respond, he simply shifted his grip on the wooden sword, feet settling into position...
"Alright then," Wills said, rising slowly from his chair.
He stepped between Ethan and Bolivia, his presence heavy, commanding. The courtyard fell silent as he lifted one hand, eyes moving from the seasoned daughter to the quiet boy with purple eyes. "Begin."
Bolivia didn't hesitate. She leapt backward once, boots scraping the ground, then exploded forward in a straight charge. Her wooden blade cut through the air with force, intent clear, overwhelm him before he could react.
Ethan saw everything. The angle of her shoulders. The shift in her hips. The impatience in her attack. He didn't retreat. Instead, he stepped in, planting his feet as he raised his wooden sword straight ahead.
Thud.
The tip struck her square in the chest, knocking the breath from her lungs. Before she could recover, Ethan twisted his wrist and swung the flat of the blade down, smashing her legs out from under her.
Bolivia hit the ground hard.
The courtyard froze.
For a heartbeat, no one moved, not the watching servants, not Wills, not even Ane. Then Ane rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside her sister in panic. Bolivia groaned, stunned more than injured.
But Ethan didn't look back. He walked past them calmly, each step measured, until he stood directly in front of Wills. His wooden sword rested loosely at his side as he lifted his gaze.
"Shall we begin?" he asked.
Wills stared at him.
Shock flickered across the man's face, quickly buried beneath disbelief. Bolivia had never been defeated, not once. Not by instructors. Not by guards. And certainly not this easily.
Without a word, Wills turned to the basket.
He reached in and pulled out a wooden sword of his own, testing its weight before raising it and pointing it at Ethan. His expression hardened, pride and challenge burning behind his eyes.
"As you please," Wills said.
They moved at the same time.
Wood clashed against wood in a rapid storm of strikes. The sound echoed sharply through the courtyard as blades met again and again. Wills pressed forward relentlessly, his movements sharp, efficient, faster than Bolivia's, heavier, more experienced.
Ethan retreated half a step, eyes focused, absorbing the rhythm.
He knew the truth the moment their blades met.
Wills was stronger, faster, and more refined.
If he tried to overpower him, he would lose, quickly and decisively. The only weapon Ethan truly had was his mind, sharpened by survival, and the precision of his swordplay.
So he gambled.
With a sudden burst of speed, Ethan dashed forward, his wooden blade arcing downward in a fierce, committed strike. The air cracked as the attack came in, sharp and convincing.
Wills met it head-on. Brute force answered finesse as Wills raised his sword and blocked, the impact jarring Ethan's arms. The moment Wills' hands lifted higher to deflect the blow, Ethan saw the opening.
Now
He twisted his wrists and drove the blade toward Wills' exposed belly, fast, clean, lethal if it were steel.
But...Wills had already seen it.
In a heartbeat, his expression sharpened. He shifted his stance by a fraction, pivoting on his heel. With terrifying precision, Wills brought his sword down in a crushing diagonal strike.
CRACK!
Ethan's wooden blade was knocked violently aside, the shock ripping through his arms and sending pain screaming up to his shoulders. The momentum spun him off-balance, his breath hitching as his guard collapsed.
Ethan staggered, shock rippling through him.
He couldn't believe it, how Wills had recovered in such a minute instant, turning certain defeat into control. The man before him wasn't just strong; he was terrifyingly precise, his experience layered with power Ethan couldn't yet match.
For a heartbeat, the thought of giving up crept in. Then he remembered.
He remembered the vow he had carved into his own soul, the promise that he would never be useless again, never be looked down on in this world. Not by fate, by strength or anyone.
Before the system could even warn him, Ethan had already risen.
He grabbed his wooden sword, pointing it straight at Wills, his chest heaving as something dark churned violently inside him. Rage surged through his veins, hot and uncontrollable, drowning out reason.
"I won't lose," Ethan shouted, his voice cracking. "Not to someone like you!"
DING!
— SYSTEM MESSAGE —
[Emergency Option Detected]
[Executioner Mode Available]
Ethan snapped and quickly moved.
In a blur of speed, he closed the distance, his wooden sword slicing through the air and grazing Wills' cheek. Blood followed, thin, but real.
The courtyard erupted in stunned silence.
Wills turned slowly, eyes wide, staring at what stood behind him. Ethan's presence felt wrong now, predatory.
Though Executioner Mode hadn't fully activated, the boy before them no longer felt human.
Ethan's purple eyes began to glow.
Ane's breath caught. Even Bolivia, still on the ground, stared in disbelief. The person standing there… wasn't the Ethan they knew.
"I won't lose… I won't.... " Ethan muttered, over and over, his voice distorting.
Then clarity struck him like lightning. His soul was once consumed and lost. And it seems like it's about to repeat itself.
"No! no! no... !" Ethan clutched his head, staggering as he fought desperately to pull himself back. But it was too late. Bloodlust flooded his senses, drowning his will beneath an ocean of violence.
He could see everything, hear everything. But control had slipped from his grasp.
Saliva dripped from his mouth as his face twisted unnaturally, his posture warping into something feral.
"Stop, Ethan! That's enough!" Bolivia cried out.
But Wills raised a hand, stopping her.
He touched the blood on his cheek, eyes blazing with excitement. No one had come this close in cutting him in years.
"Come at me, boy," he said slowly, then sneered. "No… you wretched beast."
Inside Ethan's mind, panic screamed.
No… I can't…
What do I do?
Someone..... please, help me!