"Grandfather! There are so many people here—where are you?" Taron shouted as he ran into the house.
He stopped abruptly at the doorway.
Inside, his grandfather was sitting calmly across from a man dressed like a noble. The atmosphere between them was relaxed, as if they were simply enjoying a casual tea break. On the small table between them, two cups of tea were still gently steaming.
"Oh, Taron. You're back," his grandfather said with a smile. "Come here. There's someone I want you to meet."
Taron stepped closer, his face still filled with concern.
"What's going on, Grandpa? Are you alright?" he asked quickly.
His grandfather let out a soft chuckle.
"What do you mean? I'm perfectly fine."
"It seems your grandson is very attentive toward you, Master," the man said with a faint smile. He appeared to be in his early forties, carrying a calm and dignified presence.
"Hmph. Attentive, yes," Grandfather snorted. "But still troublesome. Just like you were back then."
The man sighed briefly, then smiled wryly.
"Grandfather, please don't say that. You're embarrassing me in front of my daughter."
The man stood up and looked at Taron with a polite smile.
"My name is Armand Halvaria. I am Lyanna's father."
He glanced at Grandfather Vale for a moment before continuing,
"And… I am also his former disciple."
Armand then bowed slightly toward Taron.
"Thank you for saving my daughter. If it weren't for you… I might have failed as a father."
Taron felt awkward and shook his head lightly.
"Please, sir. It's not something that deserves such praise," he said honestly.
"I only did what my grandfather has always taught me."
He looked at Armand with sincere eyes.
"If someone is in trouble and needs help, then helping them is only natural."
Grandfather Vale cleared his throat, breaking the awkward atmosphere.
"That's enough. Sit back down, Armand. Taron, prepare some cups for you and Lyanna."
"Yes, Grandpa," Taron replied before heading to the kitchen.
Lyanna, however, looked confused.
"Father… how did you know I was here?" she asked.
"I never contacted you."
Armand looked at her calmly.
"I followed the trace of your magical energy. When the guards and I tracked it, it stopped in this village."
He smiled faintly.
"We asked the villagers one by one, but no one knew where you were."
His gaze then drifted around the house.
"But this place felt familiar… warm."
He let out a quiet sigh.
"So I decided to stop by. And it seems my intuition was right."
Armand looked back at his daughter, regret clear in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Lyanna… this happened because of me. You were targeted and kidnapped."
The room fell silent.
Grandfather Vale frowned, his voice low but firm.
"Kidnapped?"
He stared sharply at Armand.
"Explain yourself. Are you involved in some kind of trouble?"
Armand nodded slowly.
"Yes, Master. That is why I came here."
He took a deep breath.
"I want to discuss this matter with you."
Before the tension could deepen, a familiar voice suddenly broke the silence.
"Oi, Taron! Are you inside? Why are there so many guards outside?"
It was Piko.
He stood at the doorway, looking around with a puzzled expression. His eyes moved from Grandfather Vale, to Armand, to Lyanna, and finally to Taron.
From their expressions alone, Piko immediately realized something.
"…Looks like I came at a bad time," he said awkwardly, scratching his head.
Taron gave a small smile.
"It's fine, Piko. What's up?"
"My mom told me to invite you," Piko said. "We're having a small celebration. My dad brought back a lot of fish and seafood."
"A small feast, huh? That sounds wonderful," Armand said with a smile.
Grandfather Vale looked at Taron.
"Go with Lyanna."
"Thank you so much, Grandpa! I'm sure my parents will be happy with more people," Piko said cheerfully.
"Oh, and I'll bring some food back later for you."
Grandfather chuckled softly.
"Don't overdo it. What matters is enjoying the moment."
The three of them said their goodbyes and headed toward Piko's house.
As they walked, Lyanna slowed her steps beside Piko and hesitated before speaking.
"Um… is it really alright for me to join?" she asked politely.
"It's my first time here…"
Piko turned to her with a relaxed grin.
"Of course it's fine," he said.
"Besides, Taron helps us all the time—whether at sea or in the fields."
He then continued in a warmer tone,
"In fact, we already consider Taron a part of our family."
Before long, they arrived at Piko's house. It wasn't far from Grandfather Vale's place at all.
—
Back at the house, with Armand and Grandfather Vale.
"He's a well-mannered child," Armand said with a smile, clearly impressed.
"Taron… is he your grandson?"
Grandfather Vale replied shortly,
"Yes. Of course. I've raised him since he was little."
Armand fell silent for a moment, then frowned in confusion.
"Wait… what do you mean? Do you even have a child? Who did you marry to suddenly have a grandson?"
Grandfather Vale's expression immediately darkened.
"Idiot," he snapped without holding back.
"As if I would ever get married."
He snorted softly before continuing in a heavier voice.
"He's a child I found by the river."
"You mean… he doesn't know who his parents are?" Armand asked again.
"Yes," Grandfather Vale replied.
"When I was hunting, I found a box floating downstream. I thought it was food. Turns out, it was a sleeping baby."
He continued,
"I raised him from infancy. I taught him martial arts. I never expected his abilities to grow so rapidly as he aged."
"Then?" Armand asked.
"I still remember it clearly," Grandfather Vale said slowly.
"At just ten years old, he won a regional martial arts tournament… and even nearly claimed the national title."
Grandfather Vale paused briefly, taking a breath before continuing.
"Four years later, when the national tournament was held again," he said,
"he returned to the same arena—and this time, no one could stop him."
"He became the national champion."
Armand froze. His eyes widened as if the words needed time to sink in.
"What…?" His voice trembled.
"Fourteen years old… and a national martial arts champion?"
Grandfather Vale nodded calmly.
"That's why I never tried to confine him to this village."
He crossed his arms.
"I intended to let him go. Leave the town. Face a much wider world."
Armand swallowed hard.
"To seek opponents truly worthy of him," Grandfather Vale continued.
"To find martial arts masters he has never encountered before."
He snorted quietly, a hint of irritation in his voice.
"Damn brat… he never stops training. Even when I tell him to rest."
Armand fell silent.
Now he understood—it wasn't that this village was too small.
It was that Taron was too big for it.
"So what is your real problem?" Grandfather Vale asked, gently blowing on his warm tea before taking a sip.
"To the point you asked to speak with me in private."
Armand lowered his head slightly before answering.
"You know, Gramps… I married Myrrhael Halvaria."
Grandfather Vale's movement stopped. His gaze sharpened.
"Myrrhael…" he murmured.
"One of the sages of this kingdom."
He set down his cup.
"So my suspicion was correct. Their target is Lyanna."
His voice dropped.
"She is a direct descendant of your wife's bloodline, isn't she?"
"Yes… that's right, Gramps," Armand said quietly.
"You're correct."
He continued in a lower voice.
"Since childhood, Lyanna has shown extraordinary talent. At nine years old, she could already use third-tier magic—and at the same time, her swordsmanship surpassed children her age."
Armand clenched his fists.
"I placed guards everywhere. And yet… there are always gaps that allow our enemies to find her."
"I… I don't know what else I should do," he said in frustration.
Grandfather Vale looked at him calmly before speaking.
"I may have a suggestion. How about letting Taron enroll in that school—as Lyanna's friend… and secretly act as her guard?"
Armand's eyes widened.
"Would he really go that far, Gramps?"
"I can't guarantee he'll agree immediately," Grandfather Vale replied flatly.
"But just in case, tomorrow morning, you may test his strength yourself."
Armand quickly shook his head and bowed slightly.
"That won't be necessary, Gramps. I've never doubted your advice—especially your decisions."
"But I am a little curious about Taron," Armand added with a faint smile, his tone calmer yet clearly intrigued.
"Tomorrow morning, I'd like to spar with him."
Grandfather Vale nodded lightly, then changed the subject.
"By the way, about your school, Armand. Isn't it filled only with sword and magic users?"
"Not exactly," Armand replied.
"There are also archers, spearmen, and users of various other weapons, but—"
He stopped, hesitating.
"But what?" Grandfather Vale asked, watching him closely.
Armand let out a short breath.
"At that school… there is no special class for bare-handed martial arts."
"I see… so you've forgotten who trained you before you became a swordsman like you are now?"
Grandfather Vale spoke calmly, though his irritation was clear.
Armand sighed softly.
"It's not like that, Gramps. I once invited you to become a teacher there, but you were the one who refused."
He continued hesitantly,
"We even opened recruitment for a hand-to-hand combat instructor. Some were willing to teach… but none lasted long."
"Why?" Grandfather Vale asked shortly.
"Because of pressure from the other classes," Armand answered.
"They were looked down on. Treated as inferior."
Grandfather Vale snorted.
"Hmph… so nothing has changed."
"Is it because they think fighters are useless in war?" Grandfather Vale asked coldly.
"So they believe bare-handed fighters have no value on the battlefield?" he continued.
"…It seems so, Gramps," Armand replied, lowering his head.
Grandfather Vale chuckled softly.
"Hahaha… good."
Armand raised his head, confused.
"That means we don't need to worry," Grandfather Vale continued.
"Taron's mentality still needs tempering, but I'm certain that kind of pressure won't affect him."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Besides, he won't be alone there. He'll find strong enemies."
Grandfather Vale then stood up slowly.
"So, will you be staying here tonight?"
"Yes, Gramps," Armand replied.
"Most of the troops are exhausted. We've been searching for Lyanna for three days straight."
He took a short breath.
"I ask for permission to set up tents around this area."
Grandfather Vale nodded.
"Go ahead. Let them rest. Tomorrow… we begin our own business."
Armand bowed respectfully.
"Understood, Gramps. Thank you very much. Please have a good rest."
The conversation came to an end.
Meanwhile, Taron and Lyanna had already returned from Piko's house, carrying plenty of food from the small family feast. The atmosphere that night felt warm, even though the shadow of Lyanna's troubles still lingered in the air.
—
Elsewhere…
A group of black-robed soldiers stood tensely before their leader.
"What?" the leader roared, his voice tearing through the silence of the night.
"You failed to capture her?"
"Are you idiots? That girl—how could she escape? Didn't you bring the anti-magic stone to suppress her abilities?"
"Yes, boss… we brought the anti-magic stone," one subordinate replied nervously.
"But we let our guard down. While we weren't paying attention, she managed to run into the forest. We chased her, but when we came out of the woods… we saw a boy who saved her, boss. He seemed to be from that village. We tried to fight him, but—"
"But what?" the leader cut in sharply, his voice cold and threatening.
"He… he's extremely strong, boss. Even though he only used his bare hands," the subordinate answered, his voice trembling as he stared at their leader in fear.
"What did you say?" the boss's voice rose.
"You lost to a mere boy—without weapons, without any special power?"
He slowly stood up, his anger clearly reaching its peak.
"You are weak… and foolish."
The subordinates immediately lowered their heads.
"Forgive us, boss."
The leader smiled coldly.
"In that case, we will attack that village."
His gaze was sharp and cruel.
"That village must be taught a lesson. They need to learn… the consequences of crossing the wrong people."
Then he laughed—a chilling, thunderous laugh that filled the room and sent shivers through the entire unit.
—
The next day, under a bright morning sky, Taron and Grandfather Vale were seen training as usual. The difference this time was that Armand, Lyanna, and the guards stood at the edge of the training ground, watching closely.
Taron maintained an intense level of focus and seriousness. This time, he trained with a staff, moving nimbly—dodging and striking as if facing a real opponent.
This training was not mere performance. The staff was used to hone Taron's reflexes, strength, and combat strategy—preparation for his journey into a much wider world.
When Taron finished his movements, everyone applauded, amazed by his extraordinary ability.
"That's enough, Taron. Take a short break. We'll continue the training later," Grandfather Vale said.
Taron bowed respectfully, then walked toward a tree near the arena to rest.
Armand approached Grandfather Vale, his eyes shining with admiration.
"His technique is incredible, Gramps. I never imagined he could perform like that."
He took a deep breath, then added,
"Alright. It's about time."
Armand removed his armor and began warming up.
"Oi, Taron! Done resting?" he called out.
"There are a few punches we need to exchange. Ready?"
He turned toward Lyanna and the guards.
"All of you, warm up as well. Don't fall behind!"
Taron looked slightly confused, but he smiled and accepted the challenge.
"Alright, Uncle… but your bones can still fight, right?" he said lightly, teasing him.
Armand chuckled and patted his chest.
"Even though I'm already a father, my spirit is still as young as yours, kid. Let's see who's stronger!"
"Alright… which one of you is brave enough to fight Taron, one-on-one?" Armand turned toward his guards.
"Consider this a normal spar."
All the guards lowered their heads, hesitant. No one raised a hand.
Until one guard finally gathered his courage and raised his hand firmly.
"I will, sir. I'm willing."
Armand smiled and patted Zerik on the shoulder.
"I knew you'd step forward. You truly are my best guard, Zerik."
Zerik gave a short nod and then stepped confidently into the center of the field.
Taron stood up, placed his staff aside, and looked at Zerik with full focus.
The two faced each other—face to face—eyes meeting, as if measuring each other's strength and strategy.
Grandfather Vale watched them seriously.
"The rules are simple," he said firmly.
"If you step outside the arena, you lose. No intentionally injuring your opponent, and certainly no causing serious harm. And of course, no killing."
He slightly lowered his gaze, looking at both Taron and Zerik.
"Say 'I yield' if you can no longer continue. Do you understand?"
Both nodded firmly, signaling their understanding and readiness to obey the rules.
Taron bowed respectfully toward Zerik as a sign of respect for his opponent.
Zerik returned the bow briefly, his eyes sharp and focused, showing both respect and readiness to fight.
For a moment, the two stared at each other—only silence remained—before the spar began.
The morning wind blew a little stronger, causing leaves to fall around the arena.
One leaf drifted slowly, dancing in the air before finally touching the ground.
The instant it landed, Grandfather Vale raised his hand sharply.
"Begin!" he shouted, signaling the start of the match.
Taron stepped forward with shocking speed, his body radiating energy as he attacked Zerik.
Zerik was startled for a moment, but quickly adjusted. He planted his feet firmly, taking a solid stance to withstand Taron's assault.
Taron's first punch shot forward, aimed straight at Zerik's body. However, with quick reflexes, Zerik blocked it with his rear arm, absorbing the impact without losing his balance.
In an instant, Taron's punch swept through the air with overwhelming force.
A powerful gust erupted from the motion, blowing away all the leaves scattered across the arena, sending them flying and vanishing in an instant.
Zerik's eyes widened in shock.
"This… this is the strength of this kid?" he muttered inwardly, beginning to realize that his opponent was no ordinary young fighter.
The guards and Lyanna watching from the edge of the arena held their breath, both amazed and anxious at the burst of energy Taron had just unleashed.
Taron launched a barrage of attacks toward Zerik, his movements swift and relentless like a storm.
Yet Zerik could only block and evade, unable to deliver a single effective counterattack. His body moved swiftly, but it felt as though he was being forced on the defensive against overwhelming power.
Armand fell silent, his eyes widening. He never expected that Zerik—his strongest guard—would be unable to land even one strike.
"It's like… this isn't Zerik," he muttered, both amazed and uneasy as Taron's ability began to dominate the arena.
In one opening, Zerik finally managed to throw a punch. However, it was easily dodged by the agile Taron.
Refusing to give up, Zerik followed up with a kick, pushing Taron slightly backward.
Taron steadied himself, adjusted his stance, and the battle briefly slowed.
The two opponents measured each other once more, their breathing steady, eyes locked in deep concentration.
The spectators—including Armand and Lyanna—held their breath as the tension between Zerik's experience and Taron's youthful potential grew even stronger.
Zerik stared at Taron, his heart shaken.
"Damn… this kid is fast and strong. No wonder Lord Armand's master recommended him. This is really dealing a blow to my confidence," he thought.
He took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on Taron.
"Hey, kid… you're pretty good," he said, holding back a faint smile.
Taron replied calmly, with respect.
"You too, Uncle. You truly deserve to be Lord Armand's guard."
Zerik narrowed his eyes, preparing his body.
"You can't shine too brightly, kid. Now it's my turn!"
The fight heated up once more.
Zerik unleashed a relentless assault, punches and kicks aimed precisely at Taron's body at high speed.
However, Taron moved swiftly, evading with extraordinary reflexes. Every attack Zerik launched seemed to 'float through the air,' passing by harmlessly.
Without wasting any time, Taron counterattacked. His punches and kicks flew toward Zerik with precision—fast, powerful, and relentless—forcing Zerik to keep moving, blocking and dodging without pause.
Their battle unfolded at blinding speed and overwhelming force, filling the entire arena with violent gusts of wind.
The leaves that had been scattered earlier were lifted once more, swirling and dancing through the air as if following the rhythm of their clash.
Armand, Lyanna, and the guards stood frozen in place, their faces stiff like statues, eyes locked onto every single movement of Taron and Zerik.
A mix of awe and anxiety gripped them—they didn't dare miss even a single moment of the fight.
Meanwhile, Grandfather Vale watched calmly from the edge of the arena, arms crossed.
To him, a fight like this was nothing unusual—as if the storm of energy and speed before him was merely part of an everyday training routine.
The fierce exchange reached its peak.
After trading blows at close range, Taron landed a clean punch with his right hand, striking Zerik squarely on the right cheek.
Without giving him a moment to recover, Taron followed up with a relentless barrage—rapid punches and kicks crashing toward Zerik's body.
Zerik could only endure and block, his body constantly shifting as he absorbed the impact, struggling to withstand Taron's overwhelming power.
In the final moment, Taron leapt into the air and delivered a full-powered kick straight into Zerik's abdomen.
Zerik's body was blasted backward, flying out of the arena before slamming heavily into the ground.
Silence fell for an instant.
Leaves scattered once more, stirred by the lingering shockwave of Taron's movements.
Armand, Lyanna, and the guards stood speechless, their eyes wide—both stunned and deeply impressed by the boy's extraordinary strength.
Grandfather Vale merely smiled faintly, his arms still crossed.
To him, this was nothing more than routine training… but it was undeniable—
Taron had just revealed a glimpse of his astonishing potential.