Chapter 8: Defining path

  I could finally see it—the foundation of my own fighting style. The path was still unclear, but the pieces were slowly starting to fall into pce.

  What made it eveer was the realization that, unlike my sub-ability, my main ability didn’t require me to spend twice the energy. This meant I could fully utilize the bes of my title, something I had yet to take advantage of.

  I exhaled deeply and y bay bed, staring at the cracked ceiling above me. Six days. Six days sihe world had turned upside down. Six days where I had nearly died—multiple times.

  The truth was undeniable: without Lay, I wouldn’t have survived.

  I ched my fists.

  I’m still too weak.

  The world outside was growing more dangerous with every passing day. Mutated animals. Undead horrors. Monsters. Right now, I was only keeping up because I had Lay by my side. My level hadn’t risen as much as I wanted and I knew a reason why.

  I still hadn’t spent my free points.

  Some would call me foolish for holding back, but I refused to waste potential on short-term survival. Every point mattered. Every decision ted. I wouldn’t sacrifice my future strength for temporary power.

  My priority was clear—I o train.

  But at least now, my worth should be undeniable. The president had to see it, too.

  I wasn’t just another survivor. I could fe ons, something only Cire had been capable of until now. And more than that, I could build protes. I could create.

  Maybe, in time I could help turn this pto a real safe haven.

  I spent the entire day training. My trol over Creation was improving at a pace that even I found surprising. What oook me five minutes now took less than three. It wasn’t perfect, but I was getting there.

  But training alone wasn’t enough. I had to take the step.

  Over the past six days, I had fought alongside many survivors, but one person stood out to me above the rest.

  Will.

  He was a member of the student cil. Tall, muscur, his bck hair always slightly messy but effortlessly cool. But what intrigued me most wasn’t his looks or status—it was his ability.

  I didn’t know its name, but I had seen its effects firsthand.

  Will rofit with every oouched. Every single one.

  I had watched him switch seamlessly from sword to spear, from axe to bow, from dagger to warhammer. ation. No wasted movement. He wielded each on as if he had trained with it for years.

  I wao learn from him.

  I kneon mastery had nothing to do with Creation. My ability was in theory about building, not fighting.

  But I had a pn.

  A crazy, ambitious pn. And for it to work, I o learn.

  Now, the only question was… would Will be willing to teach me?

  I found him exactly where I expected—ay . It was one of his three usual spots: hunting, the cil’s strategy table, or here, training.

  He stood in the ter of the room, a wooden sword in his grip. His movements were fluid, precise. Each strike was calcuted, each parry effortless. The woode through the air with practiced ease, his body moving like aension of the on itself.

  I leaned against the doorframe, watg him for a moment. The trol. The power.

  This is what I need.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward.

  “Hey Will, got some time to spare?”

  Will barely spared me a gnce as he tinued swinging his wooden sword in perfect rhythm, his movements fluid and precise, a testament to years of discipline and training. The woode through the air with an effortless grace, the whoosh of each strike a steady reminder of his experience.

  “Suicide boy? What do you want?” His tone was ft, indifferent, as if he were merely indulging a nuisaher thaertaining a serious request.

  I sighed, rubbing the bay neck. How long are they going to keep callihat? It wasn’t like I had actually tried to die, but I guessed the name was here to stay.

  “Sooo, I was thinking…” I started, fshing a grin in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Could you maybe train me in swordsmanship?”

  “…No.”

  Just like that. A ft-out refusal, delivered without even a sed thought.

  I blinked. “Oh, e on, why not? Pretty please?” I tried, though I already had a feeling where this was going.

  He sighed heavily this time, stopping mid-swing. His gaze finally met mine, filled with somethiween annoyand mild curiosity.

  “I don’t uand why you’re so obsessed with fighting,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’ve followed the hunting team plenty of times, but let’s be ho… you’re wasting everyoime.”

  His words hit harder than expected, blunt and unfiltered.

  “Your calling is in building, not fighting. You could stay safe here, foaking ons, strengthening our defenses, and help us all grow stronger in ways that actually matter. Why insist on throwing yourself into battle when you aren’t suited for it?”

  He paused, and then his expression darkened.

  “And besides… because of you, Lay is wastialent. She’d probably be at my level by now if she weren’t stantly c for you.”

  That oung.

  Because deep down, I khere was truth to his words.

  Lay was naturally strong. She had the potential to be an absolute monster in bat, but instead, she had been spendiime watg my back, making sure I didn’t get myself killed. If she had been training alone—if she had beeo push herself—would she already be strohan Will?

  But so what?

  Who decided what abilities were meant for? Who decided who got to fight and who didn’t?

  Abilities weren’t meant to be fio narrow expectations. They were tools, nothing more. Their purpose was defined by their user, not by anyone else. I refused to be categorized as some non-fighter just because my ability wasn’t direcly designed for bat.

  For someone like me—who had never felt like he belonged in the old world, who had spent every day feeling like something was missing—this world was different. This world portunity. A ce to shape my owiny, to create something from nothing.

  This wasn’t just about survival.

  It was about purpose.

  Magic, power, the divihings that were impossible in the old world were real here. This was a world filled with wonder, a world where I could finally feel alive. And I wasn’t about to sit bad let others define my role in it.

  I would carve my own path.

  As for Lay… I did feel guilty.

  I knew I was slowing her down. I knew she had been forced to cover for me more than once. But right now? I needed her.

  And one day, I would repay that debt. No matter what.

  I took a deep breath and smirked. “Alright, how about this? Just show me the basics. If I make nress in one week, I’ll give you three days’ worth of my dinners.”

  That's right. This is my secret on, Will is a plete foodie.

  Will finally stopped mid-swing, turning his full attention to me. His sharp eyes studied me, scrutinizing my every move. Then, after a long silence, he sighed again and spoke.

  “Five.”

  “…Five what?”

  “Five days' worth of dinner.”

  My eye twitched. Does he wao starve to death?!

  “F-four,” I tered, trying my best not to sound desperate.

  The sileretched between us like a game of unspoken wills. He just stared at me, unblinking, like a predator sizing up its prey.

  I wasn’t going any higher.

  “…Alright.”

  YES!

  “e here and take the wooden sword on the floor.”

  I picked it up cautiously, feeling the weight of it in my hands—SMACK.

  “GAH!” I yelped as he smacked me across the back with his own training sword.

  “Keep your back straight,” he said, his tone pletely unfazed. “You wanted me to train you? Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

  …Maybe I should back out while I still had the ce? He was eyeing me like a seasoned huhe kind that took pleasure in watg its prey struggle.

  “Put your sword over your head and swing it.”

  I obeyed—SMACK.

  “PFFF—STOP HITTING ME!”

  “Your arms are too stiff.” SMACK.

  “OUCH!”

  “Your stance is too wide.” SMACK.

  “DAMN IT, STOP!”

  “Yrip is wrong.” SMACK.

  I gritted my teeth, my shoulders already sore from the repeated blows. I regret everything.

  This guy was an absolute brute.

  And this was only the beginning.