Two years.

  Two years had spun by since that spar with Father, since the dam inside me had finally held. Two years of relentless, grinding work etched onto this body, now ten years old.

  The scrawny frame I’d woken up in had thickened, hardened by endless runs through the familiar woods, by calluses built from pull-ups on rough branches, by the sheer, unwavering discipline hammered into me over a lifetime of combat, now reapplied with fervent intensity.

  Fifty percent. That was the number I’d settled on.

  I could now consistently draw upon half the raw Ki thrumming within me with only minimal drawbacks – a dull ache, a manageable fatigue, nothing like the bone-shattering recoil of my first uncontrolled surges.

  Fifty percent. It felt… significant.

  Rough math told me that fifty percent in this body, now, probably eclipsed eighty percent of my peak power back when I was this age in my old life. The sheer volume of Ki this vessel contained was staggering, growing stronger with every year, every rep, every hard-won mile.

  It was like nursing a young dragon – potent, terrifying, and still nowhere near its full potential.

  My parents often remarked on it, their pride mixed with a healthy dose of bewildered awe. "A freak of nature," Father had chuckled more than once after our sparring sessions. "Too talented for a kid your age."

  Sparring with Father had become a regular fixture, a crucial part of my training. Facing his Wind magic, learning to anticipate the unseen forces, the sudden gusts and sharp pressures – it was invaluable. My martial arts, honed over decades against physical opponents, were adapting, learning a new language of combat.

  Even now, with fifty percent under control, my power felt leagues beyond what I'd wielded before. Yet, this child's body, despite the improvement, remained the limiting factor. A finely tuned engine hampered by a chassis still too fragile to handle its full output.

  And Argun… this small, quiet village nestled against the Wildlands… it was starting to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a cage.

  A comfortable cage, filled with the unfamiliar warmth of family, but a cage nonetheless. The forest paths were too familiar, the training clearing too small. The beast inside me, the fighter I was born as, yearned for more. More challenge, more growth, more knowledge.

  Resources here were limited, the world beyond the village borders a vast unknown I desperately needed to explore. I needed to get stronger, not just for myself, but to protect this fragile peace, this unexpected love I’d found.

  Today was my tenth birthday.

  In this world, that marked the transition to 'Young Adult'. No grand feast like the coming-of-age at fifteen, but my parents had promised a small celebration. The thought of it stirred a complex mix of gratitude and restlessness within me.

  The familiar scent of roasted meat filled our small house, richer, gamier than usual. Mother placed a platter on the rough-hewn wooden table, revealing a haunch of bear meat, glistening and roasted to perfection.

  Bear meat. A delicacy, valuable and supposedly delicious. A trophy from some past hunt of Father's, saved for a special occasion.

  "Eat up, Nikolai! It's your special day!" Mother urged, her eyes warm, though I caught the flicker of something else beneath the surface – a quiet melancholy I hadn't seen often.

  My parents watched expectantly as I took the first bite. The meat was incredible – rich, slightly sweet, tender, leagues beyond any simple rabbit or fowl I’d tasted since arriving here. It melted in my mouth, a burst of savory flavor that spoke of the wild, untamed power of the beast it came from.

  "It's... amazing," I managed, savoring the taste.

  They smiled, relieved, and began eating their own portions, their enjoyment clear. As I ate, my mind flashed back to the elemental bear, the terror, the shattered arm, the uncontrolled Ki.

  If I faced that beast now… it would be over in seconds. A testament to the control I’d fought so hard to gain.

  "Son," Father began, interrupting my thoughts after the meal was cleared, his usual easygoing expression replaced by something more serious. He reached into a pouch at his belt. "I have a different gift for you, other than food."

  He carefully unraveled a small cloth, revealing a simple, unadorned silver ring etched with faint, unfamiliar runes.

  He placed it in my palm. It felt cool, solid. "Try it on."

  I slipped it onto my finger. It was far too large, threatening to slide right off. But then, a faint warmth pulsed from the metal, and the ring magically shrunk, tightening until it fit my finger perfectly.

  My eyes widened. A magic item, no doubt.

  "What is this, Father?"

  "I had this from my adventuring days," he explained, his voice low, serious. "Never had to use it, thankfully. This ring… it will allow you to survive any single attack that would have otherwise killed you. Just one time. After it activates, it will disintegrate."

  He met my gaze, his green eyes holding a depth I rarely saw. "I hope you never, ever have to use it, Nikolai. But if you do… I hope that even if I am not there to protect you, I still can, in a way."

  His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. If I am not there to protect you? Why was he talking like this?

  He must have seen the question in my eyes. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled blond hair. "Nikolai… I've noticed how you've been acting lately. Like a bird rattling the bars of its cage." He glanced at Mother, who looked down at her hands, her expression sad but resigned.

  "You need to get out there, son. Into the world. You have a fire in you, a passion for combat, for growth, that Argun can't sustain forever. You don't want to live your entire life here."

  He knew. Somehow, he’d seen past the facade, past the grateful son routine, and glimpsed the restless warrior beneath. He was sharper than I'd given him credit for.

  "That's why," he continued, his voice gaining conviction, "I've arranged something for you. I've paid the tuition. You're going to the Silberstrom College of Blades."

  Silberstrom College of Blades.

  The name echoed faintly from the maps I'd pored over in the dim light of our cabin. The heart of the Silberstrom Empire, a nation forged in discipline and martial might.

  But everything I knew, every snippet of information I’d gleaned, pointed to one thing: blades. The Silberstrom College of Blades was legendary, the pinnacle of swordsmanship training.

  My brows furrowed. An academy for swordsmen? For me? I fought with my fists, with the Ki that was an extension of my own body.

  My mind raced. Was this Father's way of telling me to pick up a sword? Did he believe my current path was incomplete?

  Or perhaps... perhaps he saw something else. Silberstrom, despite its blade-centric reputation, was undeniably a crucible for warriors. Their culture, I'd read, placed some emphasis on Ki as a measure of vitality. Maybe Father believed that raw power, the sheer force of will and Ki I possessed, would find its place even in an institution dedicated to a different art.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Or maybe it was simply the only high-caliber option he knew of, a place that could truly test the limits of someone with my unusual growth; it wasn't as if there were renowned academies dedicated to Ki brawlers like myself, a style considered increasingly rare these days.

  How should I react? Sadness might make him revoke the offer, shattering this opportunity. Excitement might wound my mother further, deepen that sadness in her eyes.

  But there was only one real choice. My journey needed to begin, even if the first steps led to a place that seemed, on the surface, ill-suited to my particular skills. I would have to carve my own path, prove that fists could stand alongside steel.

  My face broke into a wide, genuine grin. "Really? The Silberstrom College of Blades? Dad! Mom! Thank you! Thank you so much!" I tried to temper the excitement, but it bubbled up, irrepressible. This was freedom. This was the future, however unexpected its initial direction.

  Gunnar smiled, a flicker of relief in his eyes at my reaction. "But first..." His smile faded, replaced by that unsettling seriousness. "You'll have to defeat me in a duel. All out. No holding back."

  A challenge. A final test. A rite of passage. My Ki surged in response, eager.

  "You're on, Dad."

  We stepped outside into the familiar clearing behind the house, the cool evening air carrying the scent of pine. The setting sun cast long shadows, turning our usual practice ground into an arena.

  Gunnar stood across from me, but the man I faced wasn't the patient teacher or the loving father I sparred with daily. His stance was different, lower, coiled. His green eyes held a focus, an intensity I'd never seen directed at me before. This was the adventurer. The veteran Wind Mage.

  "Are you ready... Nikolai?" His voice was low, steady, devoid of its usual warmth.

  He was serious. Truly serious. It would be an insult not to meet him with everything I had.

  "Yes," I replied, settling into my own stance, the muscle memory of countless battles flowing through me. I drew upon my Ki, pushing it deliberately to the fifty percent limit I had trained so hard to maintain. The familiar white aura shimmered faintly around my limbs, a controlled river ready to flood. "Let's do this."

  He moved first.

  Not with a spell, but with a sudden, explosive charge that caught me completely off guard. In all our spars, he’d focused on magic, on defense, never initiating a melee attack.

  Wind erupted around his forearms, coalescing not into blasts, but into shimmering, translucent gauntlets of compressed air. What technique was this? It spoke of a level of mana control far beyond simple gusts.

  His fist, encased in swirling wind, shot towards my face. I reacted on pure instinct, channeling Ki to block, the impact jarring my arm despite the controlled energy absorbing most of the force. He flowed seamlessly into another strike, a knee aimed at my ribs, forcing me to twist away.

  This wasn't sparring; this was a fight.

  He pressed the attack, his movements economical, powerful, the wind gauntlets adding a vicious edge to every blow. I parried, dodged, deflected, the controlled Ki a shield against the storm of his assault. He was faster, stronger than I’d anticipated without his overt magic.

  He landed a glancing blow on my shoulder, the wind gauntlet scraping like sandpaper, sending a jolt of pain down my arm. Another strike grazed my side. He was pushing me, testing my limits, forcing me onto the defensive.

  "What's wrong, son?" he grunted, blocking a counter-punch I attempted. "Afraid to hit your old man?"

  His words struck a nerve. He was right. A part of me was holding back, hesitant to unleash my full controlled power against him, against Dad. But this wasn't just Dad right now. This was Gunnar the adventurer, Gunnar the gatekeeper to my future. He demanded my best, all of it. Respect demanded I give it to him.

  This duel wasn't just a test of skill; it was a test of will. My dream of exploring this world, of growing strong enough, depended on this.

  The hesitation vanished, replaced by cold resolve.

  With a surge of Ki, I exploded forward. Not dodging, but attacking. I met his next punch head-on, Ki flaring along my forearm, neutralizing the blow. Before he could react, I drove my fist forward – fifty percent power, channeled, focused – straight into his stomach.

  I felt it connect solidly, a satisfying thud. He hadn't expected the sudden shift, the raw power behind the controlled strike. At the last micro-second, I felt a cushion of wind lessen the impact, a testament to his own incredible reflexes, but it wasn't enough. He grunted, stumbling back a step, his eyes wide with surprise.

  I didn't give him time to recover. I ducked under a wild swing of his wind-clad arm and drove an uppercut towards his chin. This time, his magic didn't react fast enough. My fist connected cleanly. His head snapped back, and he staggered, truly off balance now.

  Pressing the advantage, I burst forward again, closing the distance, ready to end it. But as I moved in, the ground beneath me erupted. Wind magic, sharp and sudden, launched me upwards, sending me tumbling into the air.

  "Try to dodge up there, Nikolai!" Gunnar shouted from below, already recovering, his hands cupped as swirling green energy gathered between them – far more than the small gusts he'd used before.

  A full-powered wind blast, concentrated and furious, shot towards me like a cannonball.

  Trapped in mid-air, dodging was impossible. But an idea, reckless and untested against magic of this magnitude, sparked in my mind. I’d always wondered…

  Abandoning the dam, abandoning the fifty percent limit, I let the Ki floodgates open. Raw, unrestrained power surged through me, immense and agonizingly familiar, the power that shattered bone. I channeled it all into my right fist, the white aura around me exploding into a blinding nova.

  Ignoring the screaming protest of my arm, I punched. Not at the air, but directly at the incoming wind spell.

  Ki met mana in a deafening explosion.

  The shockwave from my fist didn't just deflect the wind blast; it tore through it, overwhelmed it, dispersed it into nothingness. The backlash slammed into me, a concussive force that rattled my teeth, but my arm, miraculously, held. The past two years hadn't just been about control; they'd been about strengthening the vessel.

  Below, Gunnar stared, stunned. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected me to unleash the full, terrifying power he knew I possessed.

  Now was my chance.

  Coiling in mid-air like a diver, I focused that same unrestrained Ki into my legs, pushing off the air itself. Another shockwave cracked beneath my feet, propelling me downwards like a meteor, straight towards my stunned father.

  He regained his composure just as I descended, raising his wind gauntlets defensively, but it was too late. My right hand, still blazing with residual Ki, connected cleanly with his left cheek.

  The impact sent him flying backwards, tumbling across the clearing to land in a heap several yards away.

  Silence descended, broken only by my ragged breathing and the distant chirp of crickets. I landed softly, the overwhelming Ki receding, leaving behind a deep, throbbing ache in my arm and legs, but no breaks.

  It was done. I had won.

  Slowly, groaning, Father pushed himself up from the ground. He rubbed his jaw, then looked at me, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.

  Then, he chuckled. A low, rough sound that gradually grew into a full, hearty laugh.

  "Wow," he wheezed, shaking his head as he got to his feet. "I'm really, really out of practice." He walked towards me, not with anger, but with that familiar, proud grin spreading across his face, tinged with awe.

  "Nikolai… you win." He clapped me on the shoulder, his grip strong and reassuring. "You're free. You can attend the Silberstrom College of Blades. I know it's renowned for its swordsmen, son, but more than that, they respect pure strength and unwavering will. You'll show them that power isn't just found in a length of steel."

  Joy surged through me, pure and triumphant, momentarily washing away the aches and the lingering echo of unrestrained power. "Thank you, Dad! Thank you!"

  That night, sleep came easily, deep and dreamless, filled only with the anticipation of the journey ahead, the vast world waiting beyond the confines of Argun Village.

  The next morning arrived too quickly.

  My few belongings were already packed – simple clothes, the precious ring Father had given me. A carriage, arranged by Father, waited outside, ready for the long journey north to Silberstrom. Months on the road, but it felt insignificant compared to the lifetime of possibility that lay beyond.

  As I gathered my things, Mother entered my small room. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face etched with a sorrow she tried, and failed, to hide. Father stood beside her, his expression a mixture of pride and paternal worry.

  I walked towards the door, towards the waiting carriage, towards my future. But as I reached the threshold, a sudden, unfamiliar pang struck my chest. A tightness, an ache I hadn't felt before.

  Sadness? No, something heavier. The weight of leaving. Leaving them. These people, strangers just a few years ago, who had become… family.

  I turned back. Mother was openly sobbing now, burying her face in Father's shoulder. He held her close, but a single tear traced a path down his own cheek.

  The stoic warrior I had been, the king who had ruled alone, vanished in that moment. I walked back, my own eyes stinging, and wrapped my arms around both of them, pulling them into a tight embrace I hadn’t prompted myself to initiate before.

  "I love you, Mom. Dad." The words felt foreign, yet utterly true. "Thank you for everything. Once I finish school… I'll come back. I promise."

  Their own sobs intensified at my words. "We love you too, Nikolai," Father choked out. "Please… return safely."

  "Be careful, little one," Mother whispered, her voice thick with tears.

  The raw, unfiltered emotion of the moment, the pure, unconditional love flowing between us, overwhelmed the defenses I'd maintained for a lifetime. Tears streamed down my own face, mingling with theirs.

  This was love. This was family. This was what I had unknowingly craved, and now had to leave behind to chase my future.

  We stood there for a few minutes, lost in the messy, beautiful reality of our shared tears, until composure slowly returned.

  It was time.

  Pulling away gently, I met their tear-streaked gazes one last time. I turned, walked down the steps, and waved. They waved back, standing together in the doorway of the small house that had become my home.

  I stepped into the carriage. The door closed, the driver snapped the reins, and with a lurch, my journey began, leaving Argun and the only family I had ever truly known behind me.