I stared at it.

  Two days.

  A bitter taste settled in my mouth as I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, my mind spinning.

  After watching Cael display a fraction of his strength, I had been sure of one thing—he was strong. Stronger than anyone I had seen here. His presence alone had been enough to make that trainee’s mana-imbued strike falter mid-swing, to make the others bow their heads in silent fear.

  And yet, the village was still doomed to fall.

  How?

  Were the enemies that strong? Were they beyond even Cael’s ability to stop? Or… was Cael simply not here when it happened?

  If it was the former, I had no chance. If it was the latter… then why wasn’t he here?

  The more I thought about it, the more my stomach twisted.

  Then, another thought slipped in—one I hadn’t considered until now.

  "Why do I need to save the village?"

  My fingers tightened around my arm.

  The system never mentioned a punishment for failing the mission. There was no looming curse, no "Death upon failure" warning. I could just… leave.

  If things got too dangerous, I could run.

  No one here even knows who I really am. I don’t belong to this place. I don’t owe them anything.

  The words echoed in my mind, cold and logical.

  But then—

  A flash of memory.

  Elira handing me a bowl of warm food, despite knowing nothing about me. The children who had found me unconscious in the meadow. The small girl I had bumped into at the marketplace—the same girl from my dream.

  I swallowed.

  Running away felt wrong.

  I had been in Myrithar for nearly two weeks now, and in that time, I had come to understand a few things. This world was harsh. Power wasn’t something everyone had—it was something that required years of training. Mana existed, but few could wield it properly. Even those who could spent their lives struggling to master it.

  And then there were the factions.

  A person could dedicate themselves to a faction if they had the talent—the right affinity. An elf with an affinity for the sword could train and surpass even a human swordsman, despite elves traditionally being known for magic. Factions provided a structured path to strength, a progression through specialized skill trees.

  And yet, I didn’t belong to any of them.

  I had no skill tree, no recognition by the Records.

  The people here called it the Blessing of the Universal Records—a divine order that dictated who could wield power and who could not. The Records held the beginning and end of time, an omniscient force that maintained the world’s balance. Those chosen by the Records were guided into their proper paths.

  But I… wasn’t chosen for anything yet.

  My system had mentioned Record Fragments, but when I had tried asking about them, the system had just glitched out—refusing to explain.

  And then there were my special stats.

  Even in my status window, several stats had no descriptions.

  And among all of them, the one that stood out the most was Wisdom.

  It was my lowest stat.

  But based on what I had seen, Wisdom seemed to be directly tied to understanding mana.

  If I wanted to grasp what was really going on—if I wanted to understand what this system actually was—I needed to level up.

  Level 5.

  That was the requirement for speech pattern consistency. Maybe if I reached it, I could get some real answers out of the system.

  I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.

  I had two days.

  That wasn’t nearly enough time.

  But it was all I had.

  I found Cael near the training grounds, seated on a worn wooden bench, sharpening his sword with slow, deliberate strokes.

  The rhythmic sound of metal against whetstone filled the quiet air.

  I hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. “Are you leaving the village in the next two days?”

  Cael didn’t react at first. His hand continued its steady motion, gliding the whetstone along the edge of his blade. Only after a long pause did he glance up, his sharp eyes scanning my face.

  “Why do you ask?”

  I swallowed, keeping my expression neutral. “Just curious.”

  Another silence.

  Then, Cael chuckled—low and dry, like he had already figured out my intentions. “And here I thought you were just bad at swordplay. Turns out you’re nosy too.”

  I frowned, but before I could speak, Cael set the sword down on his lap and looked at me properly.

  “Yeah, I was supposed to leave a few days ago,” he admitted. “But I stayed because of you.”

  My stomach twisted.

  So in the dream… I never asked him for training. That’s why he wasn’t here.

  The realization hit hard.

  If Cael had left when he originally intended, the village would have been completely defenseless. But now, because I had asked him to stay, things were already shifting.

  Still, something didn’t make sense.

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’re clearly strong. So why are you here? Why train people in a small, secluded village instead of fighting somewhere that actually matters?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Cael smirked, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “Kid, do you think a strong person always has to be somewhere important?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Cael sighed and leaned back slightly, stretching his arms. “Let me put it this way. If there were fifty mediocre knights—each trained in mana, each with a sword—I could take them all at once.”

  I stiffened. “Fifty?”

  “With a single hand,” Cael added.

  He smirked slightly, tapping a finger against the hilt of his sword. “You keep asking why I’m here instead of somewhere important. You’re assuming that just because someone’s strong, they should be out fighting wars or chasing glory.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The truth is, I don’t need to be anywhere specific. Strength like mine doesn’t make a difference unless there’s a reason to use it. I fight when I choose to, and right now, my job is training people. That’s all.”

  I needed to know more.

  I forced myself to keep my voice neutral. “So if… something happened to the village while you were gone—”

  Thkkk!

  My throat seized.

  The words wouldn’t come out.

  I tried again, but nothing left my mouth. A sharp, electric buzz rang in my ears, followed by an unnatural pressure in my skull.

  Then the system’s text forcibly appeared in front of my eyes.

  My heart pounded. The system was blocking me.

  Not just ignoring me, not glitching out—it was actively stopping me from talking.

  Cael raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head, trying to play it off, but my mind was racing.

  Why won’t it let me talk about the village being overtaken?

  Before I could think any further, Cael sighed and stood up, sheathing his sword. “Anyway, I have something for you.”

  I forced myself to focus. “What?”

  His eyes locked onto mine. “To pay off the debt of training you, I want you to head to the capital in four days.”

  I blinked. “The capital?”

  Cael gave a slow nod, standing up fully, his presence looming even without effort. “You’ve got talent, kid. More than you realize. You’d be of use there.”

  I hesitated. “You want me to go to the capital? For what?”

  He smirked, but it wasn’t his usual amused expression—it was something more measured. “Let’s just say I know people who’d be interested in someone like you. Someone who learns fast.” He crossed his arms. “And don’t look so shocked. You think I spent all this time training you for nothing?”

  I let out a slow breath, my thoughts still tangled. Cael knew I was improving too fast. He had noticed it from the start. And yet, instead of questioning it, he was pushing me forward—toward something bigger.

  Something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

  But four days…

  If I left in four days, that meant I’d still be here when the village was attacked.

  I swallowed hard. “And if I refuse?”

  Cael tilted his head, amused. “You won’t.”

  I tensed. “You seem pretty sure of that.”

  “I am.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You’ve got that look in your eyes. The kind that says you know you’re meant for more than this place.”

  I clenched my fists, saying nothing.

  He let the silence stretch before straightening again. “Four days. I expect you to be ready.” With that, he turned, heading back toward the training grounds without another word.

  I stood there for a long moment, my mind spinning.

  Four days.

  If I could change things… if I could make a difference in what was coming—

  I had to.

  It’s here.

  The thought clung to me as I stepped outside, the cold morning air biting against my skin. A heavy silence lingered over the village, the kind that settled before something happened.

  I had done all I could to prepare. I had trained. I had forced my body past its limits. I had even made sure Cael stayed. Now, all I could do was pray things didn’t spiral out of control.

  The day felt colder than usual, and even Elira noticed.

  She stood by the doorway, rubbing her arms as she glanced at the gray sky. “Strange. It’s never this chilly around this time.”

  I forced a small smile. “Yeah… weird.”

  She looked at me, frowning slightly. “You’ve been acting tense all morning. Is something wrong?”

  Everything.

  But I only shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

  Before she could press further—

  A presence.

  I felt it before I saw it.

  Fast. Dangerous. Closing in.

  My instincts screamed at me.

  I moved.

  A blur of motion—steel flashed toward Elira.

  My hand shot to my sword, unsheathing it in one smooth motion. Clang! I met the strike mid-air, deflecting it to the side before twisting my wrist, forcing the attacker back.

  The force of the impact sent a sharp vibration up my arm, but I held my ground. My breath came slow, controlled, as I fixed my gaze on the figure before me.

  Cloaked in black.

  I narrowed my eyes, taking a step forward.

  "Why are you here?" I asked.

  The man tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. Then, his lips curled into a grin, but he didn't reply.

  Something in me snapped.

  Not rage. Not blind fury.

  Annoyance.

  I had been preparing for this. I had trained, bled, pushed myself to the brink—and the first enemy I encountered was some psychopath who enjoyed slaughtering for fun?

  Pathetic.

  I didn’t waste time. "Elira, go inside."

  She hesitated.

  "Now."

  She gave me a final glance before retreating into the house.

  I turned my full attention back to my opponent.

  The system had been generous this past week—nearly all my main stats had increased by 4 points. My strength, agility, and even vitality were higher than ever. Arc Step had also leveled up. It was at Level 2 now, and while a 0.5-second reduction in cooldown didn’t sound like much, it made a difference.

  I exhaled, loosening my grip on my sword.

  Then, I lunged.

  The cloaked man reacted instantly, slashing toward me with a curved dagger.

  I didn’t dodge.

  I stepped in.

  His eyes widened in surprise as I shifted just outside his blade’s arc, using Arc Step to slide past him in one swift motion. My own sword followed through, carving a clean, diagonal path across his torso.

  Shhk!

  His breath hitched. He staggered.

  Then, just like that—he collapsed.

  Dead.

  Blood pooled beneath his twitching body. I watched as his grip on the dagger loosened, his life slipping away in mere seconds.

  A strange sensation surged through me.

  Not horror. Not hesitation.

  Adrenaline.

  I had done it.

  My first kill.

  My breathing was steady, my body light—almost too light. My pulse pounded, but it wasn’t from fear.

  I wanted more.

  And just as the thought crossed my mind—

  I sensed them.

  Two more.

  I turned my head slightly, eyes locking onto the two new figures emerging from the alley. Both wore similar cloaks, both had drawn weapons. One carried dual knives, the other a short sword.

  One of them clicked his tongue, glancing at the dead body. "Tch. That idiot actually lost."

  The other grinned, rolling his shoulders. "Guess we’ll just have to cut this one down ourselves."

  I shifted my stance, exhaling slowly. My fingers curled tighter around my sword.

  "Come and try."

  They didn’t hesitate.

  The one with the dual knives moved first—fast, fluid, his movements sharp and calculated. He wasn’t like the first guy. He knew what he was doing.

  I saw his footwork—small, controlled steps, shifting weight perfectly with each motion.

  A proper assassin.

  His blades came from two angles, aiming for my ribs and neck simultaneously.

  I activated Arc Step.

  My body moved instinctively, sliding just outside his range. But before I could counter, the second enemy was already lunging at me from the side.

  Shit.

  I raised my sword just in time to meet his short sword head-on. The impact jarred my arms, but I used the momentum to twist, slipping past him in a sharp pivot.

  My blade lashed out—

  The assassin barely dodged, twisting his body unnaturally to avoid the cut.

  But I wasn’t done.

  I pressed forward, keeping up the attack, my swings relentless. I didn’t let them breathe, didn’t let them control the flow of battle.

  And then I saw an opening.

  I feinted a downward slash—

  The dual-knife wielder raised his blades to parry—

  I stepped in.

  My free hand shot forward, grabbing his wrist. Before he could react, I twisted sharply, disarming one of his knives.

  Then, without hesitation—

  I drove my sword straight through his gut.

  Shhk!

  His body stiffened, a gurgled sound escaping his lips.

  I pulled my blade free and Arc Stepped back, just in time to dodge the second enemy’s counterattack.

  But instead of fear—

  I grinned.

  The second enemy hesitated for the first time. He had seen it.

  The moment I got the first kill, something had shifted.

  I wasn’t hesitating anymore.

  I wanted to cut them down.

  The last remaining enemy clenched his jaw, eyes darting between me and his fallen ally.

  "Monster," he muttered.

  I tilted my head, blood still dripping from my blade. "You came here to slaughter innocent people. And I’m the monster?"

  His face twisted in rage. With a roar, he rushed me, his short sword glowing with faint mana.

  I welcomed the challenge.

  His movements were sharper than the others. Faster. His footwork was aggressive, his swings precise.

  But I was faster.

  I kept my distance, dodging his slashes, watching for a pattern. He was trying to force an opening, trying to make me panic.

  But I wasn’t panicking.

  I had control.

  And the moment he overextended on a thrust—

  I struck.

  I sidestepped, pivoting cleanly to his exposed side. My sword flashed—one fluid, horizontal motion—

  His head separated from his body.

  Silence.

  The body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath it.

  I let out a slow breath, my pulse still high.

  Three kills.

  And yet—

  I wanted more.