Kael remembered this day.
He had tried to forget it in his previous life.
The sun was setting when the shouting began.
Villagers gathered near the storage barns. Fear spread quickly — like rot. Kael stepped out of his home, already knowing what he would see.
Three men stood in the center of the road.
Leather armor. Rusted blades. Smirks that reeked of cheap confidence.
The Black Fang gang.
Small-time criminals now.
Future collaborators with a demon cult.
And between them—
His elder sister.
Lena.
Her hands were bound. Her lip was bleeding. But she wasn't crying.
She was glaring.
"KAEL!" one of the men shouted. "Come out, you little rat!"
Of course.
Last week, Kael had quietly broken the arm of one of their members when he tried to extort grain from the villagers. He had calculated the angle, the pressure — enough to cripple, not kill.
He'd known retaliation would come.
What he hadn't allowed for, in his previous life…
Was hesitation.
Kael stepped forward calmly.
"I'm here."
The villagers tried to stop him. He ignored them.
The gang leader, Darek, grinned. "Thought you were brave, huh? Breaking my brother's arm?"
Kael said nothing.
He was studying distance.
Wind direction.
Foot placement.
Weakness.
Darek shoved Lena to her knees. "Kneel. Apologize. Maybe we let her live."
In his previous life—
Kael had knelt.
He had begged.
They had beaten him unconscious anyway.
And Lena had nearly died.
Not this time.
Kael walked forward.
Then he stopped.
Three heartbeats.
He inhaled.
His current body was weak. Fourteen. Unrefined. Limited aura flow.
But his mind?
It belonged to the Sword Saint.
Darek stepped closer. "Didn't you hear—"
Kael moved.
A stone left his hand first, thrown with precise rotation. It shattered Darek's nose.
Before the man even screamed, Kael was already inside his guard.
He drove his elbow into Darek's throat.
Twist.
Grab.
Snap.
The man collapsed, choking.
The other two rushed him in panic.
Too wide.
Too sloppy.
Kael slid low, kicked the knee joint of the first — dislocating it cleanly. He stole the falling blade mid-air.
One slash.
A shallow cut across the second man's forearm — severing tendons without killing him.
Screams filled the road.
It was over in less than ten seconds.
Kael stood still.
Breathing evenly.
Darek crawled backward, blood pouring from his face.
"You— you're a monster—"
Kael's eyes were cold.
"No," he said quietly. "You just chose the wrong life."
He struck once more.
Silence returned to the village.
Lena stared at him.
"You've changed," she whispered.
He gently untied her hands.
"Stay behind me next time," he replied.
But inside—
He was shaking.
Not from fear.
From realization.
Even in a weakened body, his experience made him lethal.
That night, after everyone slept, Kael went to the forest.
He began training.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He adjusted breathing patterns to force premature aura circulation. It hurt — like swallowing glass.
He practiced footwork until his soles bled.
He reinforced tendons by striking trees thousands of times with controlled force.
He couldn't train openly. Too suspicious.
So he trained at night.
Every night.
He mapped future enemies in his mind.
He replayed battles he had already fought once.
Corrected mistakes.
Refined movements.
Day by day—
His weak body began adapting to a soul that had already touched the peak.
And far away, deep in the forest—
Something watched him.
Kael paused mid-swing.
His instincts screamed.
Good.
He welcomed it.
Because strength—
Was not given.
It was carved.
And this time—
He would carve himself into something even demons feared.