“Focus, Sam,” Caroos said, his voice calm but firm. He stood opposite Sam, holding a blunt wooden blade with an almost casual grip. “You’re too tense. If your body and mind are at odds, your movements will be sloppy.”
Sam clenched his teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Easy for you to say,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re not the one running on fumes.”
Caroos tilted his head, his sharp gaze cutting through Sam’s defiance. “I heard that.”
Without warning, Caroos lunged forward. The mock blade whistled through the air as Sam barely raised his weapon in time to block. The impact rattled through his arms, and before he could recover, Caroos swept his leg out from under him.
Sam hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him. He stared up at the sky, dazed and humiliated.
“Predictable,” Caroos said, stepping back. “You rely too much on brute reactions. A real opponent would have gutted you by now.”
Sam groaned, pushing himself up on shaky arms. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this,” he mumbled, more to himself than to his father.
Caroos froze, his expression darkening. “What did you say?”
Sam stood, gripping his blade tightly. His voice rose, cracking under the weight of his frustration. “I said maybe I’m not cut out for this! I’m not some warrior! I didn’t ask for any of this!”
Caroos lowered his weapon, his piercing gaze softening ever so slightly. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see the fear in your eyes every time we train?”
Sam’s throat tightened, but he refused to look away.
“Listen, Sam,” Caroos continued, his tone quieter now. “This isn’t about turning you into some perfect fighter. It’s about survival. The world doesn’t care whether you asked for this or not. It’s going to throw everything it has at you, and if you’re not ready…” He let the sentence hang, the implication clear.
Sam looked down at his blade, his knuckles white from the strain. “I’m trying, okay? But it’s… it’s never enough. No matter how hard I push, I feel like I’m always one step behind. One mistake away from—”
“From dying?” Caroos finished for him.
Sam flinched, his worst fear laid bare.
Caroos sighed, stepping closer and placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s okay to be scared, Sam. Fear isn’t the enemy. It’s a tool. You feel it because you care—about yourself, about the people you want to protect. But you can’t let it control you.”
Sam’s mind raced, memories of past failures flooding in. Varak’s burning eyes, the weight of the villagers’ expectations, the unshakable fear of losing everything again. “But how am I supposed to just… shut it off?”
“You don’t,” Caroos said firmly. “You use it. Let it sharpen your instincts, not cloud them. Every battle, every mistake, it’s all part of the process. The only thing that matters is that you keep getting back up.”
As Caroos moved away to reset the mock battle, Sam’s thoughts spiraled.
“He makes it sound so simple, but it’s not. Every swing, every block, it feels like a thousand voices screaming in my head—‘What if you mess up?’ ‘What if you’re too slow?’ ‘What if you die?’”
He glanced at his father, who stood calm and composed, the epitome of control.
“Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just too weak for this. I’m not a hero, I’m not some chosen warrior. I’m just… me. What if I can’t do it? What if I let everyone down again?”
“Sam,” Caroos called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Are you ready?”
Sam hesitated, his grip faltering. Then he tightened his hold, forcing a shaky breath. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
This time, as Caroos attacked, Sam focused not on the fear but on the movements. He watched his father’s stance, the shift in his weight, the subtle flicker of intent in his eyes. When the blade came, Sam sidestepped, parrying with just enough force to redirect the blow.
“Better,” Caroos said, a hint of approval in his voice.
Sam pressed on, forcing himself to stay calm even as his muscles screamed in protest. He wasn’t flawless—far from it—but he was learning. Each exchange taught him something new: a weakness in his stance, an opening in his opponent’s.
By the time the mock battle ended, Sam was on the ground again, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. But this time, he wasn’t angry or defeated. He was… determined.
Caroos knelt beside him, offering a hand. “You did good today.”
Sam blinked up at him, surprised. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”
Caroos chuckled. “No, but don’t let it go to your head. You’ve got a long way to go.”
Sam managed a weak smile. “Yeah… I know.”
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the training grounds in shades of gold and crimson, Sam felt a flicker of something he hadn’t in a long time: hope.
The doubts were still there, lurking in the corners of his mind, but for the first time, they didn’t feel insurmountable. He wasn’t alone in this fight, and maybe, just maybe, he could rise to meet the challenges ahead.
The mornings started early—too early for Sam’s liking. His mother, Claire, was relentless in her approach. As the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, she would already have him running through an intricate obstacle course she had designed, each segment crafted to exploit his weaknesses.
“Higher, Sam! You’re dragging your feet!” Claire called out, her voice sharp and commanding. She stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, her gaze following Sam as he struggled to clear a wall twice his height.
“I’m trying!” Sam snapped, his arms trembling as he hauled himself over the edge and landed hard on the other side.
Claire raised an eyebrow. “Trying isn’t good enough. If you hesitate like that in a real fight, you’re dead.”
From there, the regimen only became harsher. There were endurance runs through uneven terrain, carrying heavy weights strapped to his back. Sparring sessions where both Caroos and Claire took turns overwhelming him with coordinated attacks. Drills designed to push his reflexes to their breaking point.
“Come on, Sam, move faster!” Caroos barked as he swung a blunt training sword at Sam’s legs.
Sam barely managed to sidestep, the tip of the blade grazing his shin. He gritted his teeth, frustration mounting as he blocked Claire’s follow-up strike, only to be knocked off balance by a sudden shove from Caroos.
“Pay attention to your surroundings!” Claire snapped, stepping back to give him space to recover. “You’re too focused on what’s in front of you. Think beyond the immediate threat.”
Days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and soreness. Despite his parents’ constant feedback and encouragement, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that he was stuck in place. His movements felt clumsy, his stamina never seemed enough, and no matter how hard he tried, his parents always had the upper hand.
“What’s the point of all this?” he thought bitterly as he jogged through another endless endurance run, his legs burning with every step. “I’m not getting any better. I’m just going through the motions.”
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The doubt that had always lingered in the back of his mind began to grow louder. At first, it was subtle—a missed step here, a half-hearted swing there. But as the days wore on, it became more pronounced. Sam started to move carelessly, his focus drifting during drills and his responses in sparring matches becoming slower.
His parents didn’t seem to notice, chalking it up to fatigue or the natural frustrations of training.
During a particularly grueling sparring session, Caroos feinted left before striking at Sam’s exposed side. Normally, Sam would have blocked it—or at least tried to—but this time, he didn’t even react. The blow landed hard, sending him sprawling across the dirt.
“Sam!” Claire rushed over, her face etched with concern. “Are you alright?”
Sam sat up slowly, wincing as he clutched his ribs. “Yeah… I’m fine,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
Caroos frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re not paying attention. That’s the third time today you’ve let your guard down. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Sam said quickly, forcing a weak smile. “Just tired, I guess.”
Neither parent looked convinced, but they let it slide, resuming the session after giving Sam a moment to recover.
That night, as Sam lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his apathy pressed down on him.
“Why am I even doing this? No matter how hard I push myself, it’s never enough. They expect me to become some kind of warrior, but that’s not who I am. I didn’t ask for this responsibility. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
His thoughts spiraled, memories of his past failures flooding in. The battle with Varak, the villagers’ hopeful gazes, the promises he had made to himself.
“I’m just a kid. What do they expect from me? To save the world? To protect everyone? I can’t even keep up with training. I’m not cut out for this.”
But even as the doubts consumed him, a small part of him clung to the faintest spark of determination.
“No. I can’t think like that. If I give up now, what was the point of everything I’ve done so far?”
Yet, the apathy lingered, a heavy shadow that he couldn’t quite shake. As his eyes drifted shut, exhaustion finally claiming him, Sam silently wondered how much longer he could keep this up.
The evening was unusually quiet, the air filled with the soft crackle of the fire. Sam sat cross-legged on the floor, nursing a cup of warm tea as his parents leaned back in their chairs, their postures more relaxed than he’d seen in days.
“Did I ever tell you about the time your mother and I got ambushed by a swarm of rock drakes in the Talvard Mines?” Caroos began, his voice carrying a nostalgic warmth.
Claire smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Ambushed? Please. You walked straight into their nest because you were too stubborn to admit we were lost.”
Sam couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing as he listened.
“We weren’t lost,” Caroos defended, though a faint smile betrayed him. “I was scouting ahead. Besides, we took them down, didn’t we?”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Barely. But we survived because we didn’t give up, even when it felt impossible.”
Her gaze softened as she turned to Sam. “Your greatest weapon will always be your determination. Without it, even the strongest skill is meaningless.”
“And strength,” Caroos added, his tone growing serious, “isn’t just about power. It’s about knowing when to fight and when to protect. Remember that.”
Sam looked down at his tea, their words swirling in his mind. He didn’t reply, but deep down, he felt a flicker of something—a faint sense of hope.
The rest of the evening passed in laughter and stories, the weight of training temporarily forgotten. For the first time in weeks, Sam felt a connection to his parents beyond the intensity of their lessons. It was a moment of peace, a reminder that even amid chaos, there was still room for warmth and understanding.
The familiar hum of the system interface buzzed in Sam’s ears as glowing text appeared before his eyes.
[New Skills Acquired!]
Battle Instinct: A passive skill that enhances the user’s ability to predict enemy movements based on subtle cues.
Adrenaline Rush: Temporarily boosts strength and speed when health drops below 25%. Caution: excessive reliance may lead to severe strain.
Sam stared at the notifications, his expression unreadable. The system’s rewards were always impressive, but lately, they felt hollow to him—like tools handed to a craftsman without a proper understanding of their use.
“Battle Instinct,” he muttered, his gaze flicking over the skill description. “So I can see their moves before they make them... That’ll make sparring easier.” His lips twitched into a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Adrenaline Rush? Great. Another reason to be reckless,” he added sarcastically, though a part of him felt a twinge of gratitude for the safety net.
Later that night, as he lay on the cot in his modest room, Sam replayed the events of the week in his mind. The training had been brutal, pushing him to the edge physically and mentally. Yet despite his initial frustration and growing carelessness, he couldn’t deny the results.
His stamina had increased. His reflexes had sharpened. And now, these new skills felt like tangible proof of his growth, even if he wasn’t fully convinced of their value yet.
Sam clenched his fists, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. “Am I really getting stronger, or am I just moving through the motions?” he whispered to himself, the flickering light of a lantern casting long shadows across the room.
For the first time in days, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered an answer: You’re stronger than you were yesterday. Isn’t that enough?
The next morning, as he rejoined his parents for another grueling session, Sam noticed something different in himself. The carelessness that had seeped into his actions was still there, but it wasn’t as overwhelming. The memories of his parents’ stories and the system’s rewards lingered, creating a tiny ember of determination.
“Let’s go again,” Sam said to Caroos, picking up his training sword with renewed resolve.
His father raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Yesterday, you said—”
“I know what I said,” Sam interrupted, gripping the hilt tightly. “But I’ve got a long way to go, right? So let’s just get started.”
Caroos chuckled, nodding approvingly. “Now that’s the attitude I like to see. Don’t hold back, Sam.”
As the wooden swords clashed, Sam focused on every movement, every shift in his father’s stance. He wasn’t just reacting anymore—he was anticipating, adapting. And for the first time, he felt like he wasn’t just surviving the training. He was starting to thrive.
As Sam collapsed onto the training ground after yet another exhausting sparring session with his parents, a sudden pull seized him. The air around him warped, his surroundings dissolving into a kaleidoscope of colors.
“What the—?!” Sam barely had time to react before he was engulfed in a blinding light.
When the light faded, he found himself standing in a vast, ethereal realm. The sky shimmered with swirling hues of gold and silver, and crystalline structures floated in the air like frozen stars. Beneath his feet stretched a marble floor, intricate patterns glowing faintly with divine energy.
“Welcome back, Sam.”
The voice sent a shiver down his spine. He turned to see Melissa, the goddess who had granted him this second chance at life. She stood before him, her radiance as overwhelming as ever, her golden hair flowing as if caught in an unseen breeze.
“You’ve been working hard,” she said, her tone calm yet laced with something unreadable.
Sam straightened up, brushing the dust off his tunic. Despite the fatigue etched into his body, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. “Yeah, I’ve been training nonstop. I’ve come a long way since the last time we talked.”
Melissa’s serene expression didn’t falter. “Is that so? Show me.”
A translucent screen appeared in the air, displaying his current stats and abilities. Sam grinned, gesturing at the numbers. “Look at this! I’ve increased my strength, endurance, and agility. I even unlocked new skills. I’m getting stronger every day.”
Melissa’s gaze remained fixed on the screen. Her silence stretched uncomfortably, and Sam’s grin faltered.
Finally, she spoke. “Impressive, for someone who started from nothing.”
Her words stung, but before Sam could say anything, she continued. “However... this is what I would expect from someone with slightly above normal human strength.”
Sam froze. “W-What?”
Melissa turned to face him fully, her piercing gaze locking onto his. “Your strength has improved, yes. But you’ve merely reached the level of a particularly well-trained human. You’re nowhere near strong enough to face the true dangers of this world.”
The goddess’s words hit him like a physical blow. Sam stumbled back a step, his hands clenching into fists. “That’s... that’s not true. I’ve been pushing myself harder than ever. I’ve been—”
“Training, yes,” Melissa interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. “But you’ve barely scratched the surface of what you’ll need to survive, let alone protect those you care about.”
Sam’s mind reeled. All the grueling hours, the sweat, the pain—it suddenly felt meaningless. Slightly above normal human strength? That’s all I’ve achieved?
He dropped to his knees, the weight of her words crushing him. “So... I’m just weak? After everything, I’m still weak?”
Melissa’s expression softened slightly as she stepped closer. “Weakness is not the end, Sam. It is a beginning. A reminder of how far you have to go.”
Her words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened the chasm of doubt in his heart.
“Then what’s the point of all this?” Sam demanded, his voice trembling. “Why give me this second chance if I’m destined to fail anyway? Why set me up for this kind of disappointment?”
Melissa knelt down to his level, her radiant presence filling the space around him. “Because you are capable of more, Sam. But growth is not linear, and strength is not gained overnight. Every setback, every failure—it shapes you, prepares you for what’s to come.”
She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You feel shattered now, but even broken pieces can form something greater. This is only the beginning of your journey.”
Sam didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the marble floor. He felt her words, but the weight of his perceived failure still clung to him like a heavy shroud.
Melissa stood, her voice turning authoritative once more. “When you leave this domain, you will face challenges that will push you even harder. Use this despair, Sam. Let it drive you. Let it forge you.”
With a wave of her hand, the goddess sent him back. The shimmering realm dissolved around him, and Sam found himself back in the training ground, the voices of his parents calling out to him.
But he barely registered them. Melissa’s words echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of his insignificance.
“Slightly above normal human strength,” he whispered bitterly, his hands trembling.
For the first time in a long while, doubt outweighed determination in his heart. Yet, somewhere deep within him, a small ember of resolve remained—waiting for the right moment to ignite again.