The sun hung low over the village, its warm glow casting long shadows on the cobblestone paths. Sam, still lost in thought after his recent talk with the goddess, trudged back from another grueling training session. His body ached, his mind swirled, and his determination felt like it was dangling by a thread.

  As he approached the main square, he noticed a small crowd gathering. Their whispers reached his ears, carrying words like "outsider" and "trouble."

  “What now?” he muttered, his exhaustion making him more irritable than usual.

  Pushing through the villagers, Sam froze when his eyes landed on the figure at the center of the commotion.

  A man clad in a weathered coat of dark leather stood tall, a sword strapped to his back. His silver hair gleamed in the fading sunlight, and his sharp, hawk-like eyes scanned the crowd with a mix of amusement and disdain. His presence exuded a calm confidence that immediately set Sam on edge.

  “Ah, there he is,” the man said, his voice smooth and mocking as he spotted Sam.

  The stranger stepped forward, his boots crunching on the gravel. “You must be Sam. I can see the resemblance.”

  Sam frowned. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  The man smirked. “Kaelith. Perhaps your parents mentioned me? No? I’m not surprised—they were never ones to dwell on their failures.”

  The crowd murmured at his audacious claim, and Sam’s frown deepened.

  “My parents don’t fail,” he snapped, though his words lacked conviction. “What are you even doing here?”

  Kaelith chuckled, his tone dripping with condescension. “I’m here to see if their son is any better than they were. Call it... curiosity.”

  Sam clenched his fists, his mind racing. The man’s demeanor, his confidence—it reminded him of the countless battles he’d read about in his parents’ journals. But he had never expected their past to show up so suddenly, and certainly not to challenge him.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Sam said. “I’m not interested in proving anything to you.”

  Kaelith’s smirk widened. “Not interested? That’s disappointing. But expected, I suppose. After all, I’ve heard whispers about you, boy. How you fumbled your way through battles and rely on a power you don’t understand.”

  Sam stiffened.

  “You’re unworthy of the strength you wield,” Kaelith continued, his words cutting deep. “It’s no wonder your parents hid you away here. Maybe they knew you’d amount to nothing.”

  Sam’s blood boiled. He stepped forward, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and determination. “Fine. If you think I’m so unworthy, why don’t you prove it?”

  Kaelith’s smirk turned into a full grin. “Oh, I intend to.”

  The villagers gasped as the man unsheathed his blade, its polished steel gleaming ominously. “Tomorrow at sunrise. Bring whatever weapon you like. Let’s see if there’s anything worth respecting in you.”

  Sam glared at him, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “You’ll regret this.”

  Kaelith laughed, the sound cold and dismissive. “We’ll see.”

  Later that night, Sam sat alone outside his home, the cool breeze doing little to calm his nerves. The duel weighed heavily on him.

  “I barely survived against the demons,” he muttered to himself, his hands shaking. “And now this? What if he’s right? What if I really am just fumbling through all of this?”

  His thoughts spiraled, the words of the goddess and Kaelith blending into a cruel melody in his mind. Slightly above normal strength... unworthy of the power you wield...

  “Why do they all expect so much from me?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

  A hand landed gently on his shoulder, startling him. He looked up to see his mother, her expression soft but firm.

  “Sam,” she said, sitting beside him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “You don’t,” he replied, turning away. “I’m not like you or Dad. I don’t want to be some great warrior. I just... I just want to be me.”

  His mother sighed, placing a hand on his. “You think we wanted this life for you? If it were up to us, you’d be living peacefully, without any of these burdens. But this world... it doesn’t always give us what we want. Sometimes, it demands more of us than we think we can give.”

  Sam looked down, her words resonating with a truth he didn’t want to face.

  “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to die again. And I... I don’t think I’m strong enough to survive.”

  His mother tightened her grip on his hand. “Strength isn’t about never being afraid, Sam. It’s about standing up despite that fear. And tomorrow, no matter the outcome, you’ll learn something important. Trust me.”

  Sam didn’t sleep. He sat by the window, staring at the stars and gripping the hilt of his shadow blade. His heart raced as he imagined the fight ahead.

  What if I lose? What if I make a fool of myself?

  The doubts clawed at him, but a small voice in the back of his mind pushed back. This is just another test. You’ve faced worse. You’ve survived worse.

  As dawn approached, Sam stood, exhaustion lining his face but resolve burning in his eyes. “Let’s see if I’m really unworthy,” he said to himself, stepping out into the cool morning air.

  Tomorrow, he would face Kaelith—and himself.

  The sun rose steadily over the village, casting a pale orange glow that seemed to mock Sam’s apprehension. The small crowd gathered at the training grounds, murmuring amongst themselves as Kaelith stood at the center, his sword glinting ominously in the light.

  Sam arrived, gripping his shadow blade tightly, his palms sweaty despite the cool morning air. Every step felt heavier, the weight of everyone’s expectations pressing down on him.

  Kaelith greeted him with a smirk, his stance relaxed. “You showed up. I’ll admit, I had my doubts.”

  Sam’s jaw tightened. “I’m not backing down.”

  Kaelith laughed, the sound cold and dismissive. “Good. Then let’s see if you’re worth the effort.”

  Kaelith moved first, his speed shocking the onlookers. Before Sam could blink, the older swordsman was upon him, his blade a blur.

  Sam barely managed to raise his shadow blade in time, the clash of steel echoing across the field. The force of the blow sent him stumbling back, his arms vibrating from the impact.

  “You’re slow,” Kaelith said, his tone almost bored. “Haven’t your parents taught you anything about footwork?”

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  Sam gritted his teeth and lunged forward, swinging his blade in a horizontal arc. Kaelith sidestepped effortlessly, using the flat of his sword to redirect Sam’s momentum.

  The move sent Sam sprawling to the ground, dust rising around him.

  “Pathetic,” Kaelith said, shaking his head. “You’re not even using your mana effectively. Did you think raw determination would be enough?”

  Sam scrambled to his feet, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts. His mind raced. He’s too fast. I can’t keep up. What do I do?

  Kaelith didn’t give him time to think. He pressed the attack, his movements precise and unrelenting. Each strike felt calculated, designed not to kill but to humiliate.

  Sam managed to parry some blows, but each block drained his stamina further. His shadow blade felt heavier with every swing.

  “Come on,” Kaelith taunted, his voice laced with scorn. “Is this the strength you’ve been training so hard for? Your parents must be so proud.”

  The words cut deeper than any blade, and for a moment, Sam’s grip faltered.

  Why am I even doing this? he thought, despair creeping in. I’m not a warrior. I don’t even want to be one.

  Kaelith’s blade found its mark, slamming into Sam’s side and sending him crashing to the ground. Pain shot through him as he rolled onto his back, gasping for air.

  “Stay down,” Kaelith said, pointing his sword at Sam. “This fight is over.”

  But Sam didn’t stay down. His body screamed in protest as he forced himself to his feet, using his shadow blade for support.

  “Not... yet,” he panted, his vision swimming.

  Kaelith raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from disdain to mild interest. “Stubborn, aren’t you? Fine. Show me what you’ve got left.”

  Sam charged forward, gripping his shadow blade tightly as his body burned with the effects of Adrenaline Rush. His movements were faster, sharper, but still unrefined. He swung with all his might, aiming for Kaelith’s midsection.

  Kaelith’s eyes narrowed. With a fluid motion, he sidestepped and parried, deflecting Sam’s blade upward. The force of the block sent a jarring vibration up Sam’s arms, and his momentum left him completely open.

  Kaelith’s counterattack was swift and brutal. His blade slammed into Sam’s ribs with the blunt edge, sending him tumbling to the ground.

  “Too predictable,” Kaelith said coldly, circling Sam like a predator. “You’re throwing power around without purpose. Do you even know what you’re fighting for?”

  Sam groaned, clutching his side. His shadow blade clattered to the ground as he tried to stand. The pain was unbearable, but he refused to stay down.

  “I... I’m fighting to protect the people I care about,” Sam managed through gritted teeth, pushing himself up on shaky legs.

  Kaelith’s expression darkened. “Empty words. If you cared so much, you’d be fighting smarter—not harder. Do you think determination alone will save them when the time comes?”

  Kaelith didn’t wait for a response. He lunged forward, his strikes relentless. Each blow landed with precision, targeting Sam’s weak points—his shoulders, legs, and sides.

  Sam tried to block, tried to fight back, but his movements were sluggish, his reactions too slow. Kaelith’s sword struck him in the knee, and he collapsed with a cry of pain.

  “You’re reckless,” Kaelith spat, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You swing your weapon like a child having a tantrum. No control. No strategy. Do you think you can protect anyone like this?”

  Sam coughed, spitting blood as he glared up at Kaelith. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts.

  He’s right... I’m useless like this. But I can’t give up. I can’t.

  Kaelith kicked him in the stomach, sending him rolling across the dirt. The crowd gasped, but no one intervened. This wasn’t just a duel—it was a lesson.

  Sam lay on the ground, every inch of his body screaming in pain. He could barely lift his head, let alone his sword.

  “Is this the extent of your resolve?” Kaelith asked, standing over him. “You think surviving one battle makes you strong? You think you’ve earned the right to call yourself a warrior?”

  Tears stung Sam’s eyes as he clenched his fists, his nails digging into the dirt. He hated how weak he felt, how helpless.

  “I... I’m trying,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  Kaelith leaned down, his expression unreadable. “Trying isn’t enough. Not in this world. If you want to survive, if you want to protect the people you care about, then you need to stop pretending you’re something you’re not. You’re weak, Sam. And unless you accept that, you’ll never grow stronger.”

  Kaelith sheathed his sword and turned away. “Get up when you’re ready to start taking this seriously. Until then, you’re wasting everyone’s time—including your own.”

  Sam stayed on the ground, his body trembling. He wasn’t just physically beaten—he was emotionally shattered.

  The crowd began to disperse, their whispers biting at his ears.

  “Is he really strong enough to protect us?”

  “I thought he was supposed to be special.”

  Sam buried his face in his hands, the weight of their words crushing him.

  But deep down, a flicker of resolve remained. Kaelith’s words, cruel as they were, echoed in his mind. Accept your weakness. Grow stronger.

  As the sun set, casting long shadows across the village, Sam made a silent vow. He would rise again—not because he thought he could win, but because he couldn’t afford to stay down.

  Sam sat alone on the outskirts of the village, the faint hum of the shadow sword resting on his lap filling the silence. His body ached, every movement a painful reminder of the beating he had taken. But the real wound, the one that dug deepest, was in his mind.

  Kaelith’s words replayed endlessly in his head: "You’re weak. And unless you accept that, you’ll never grow stronger."

  He gritted his teeth, his hands trembling as they tightened around the hilt of the sword. “He’s right,” Sam muttered bitterly. “I thought I was making progress... but I’m just swinging this thing around like an idiot. All this training, all these skills—what good are they if I can’t even use them properly?”

  His gaze dropped to the shadow blade, its dark aura faintly pulsating. The weapon, a reflection of his potential, seemed to mock him in its silence. Sam had treated it like a crutch, relying on raw power without truly understanding it.

  “I don’t deserve this,” Sam whispered. The words stung more than he expected. “I don’t deserve their faith in me. Not Lareth’s, not Isonorai’s, not my parents’. Not until I can prove I’m more than just... lucky.”

  He thought about the villagers, the people who looked to him for protection. He remembered the relief in their faces when the demons were defeated, the hope they carried because of him.

  But now, after Kaelith’s brutal reminder of his shortcomings, that hope felt like a weight he couldn’t bear.

  He buried his face in his hands, letting out a shaky breath. “I can’t keep pretending I’m something I’m not. If I want to be strong—really strong—I need to stop chasing shortcuts. I need to start over.”

  Sam lifted the sword again, studying its dark, swirling aura. He’d always thought of it as a simple weapon, a tool to cut through his enemies. But Kaelith’s skill had shown him otherwise. A sword wasn’t just a weapon—it was an extension of the wielder.

  He stood, his legs shaky but steadying as he forced himself upright. “I’ve been fighting like a fool. It’s not about brute force. It’s about precision. About control.”

  He gripped the hilt tightly, a new determination hardening his gaze. The shadow blade pulsed faintly in response, almost as if it recognized the shift in his mindset.

  “I’m going to learn how to use you properly,” Sam said, addressing the weapon as if it were alive. “Not just as a tool—but as a part of me.”

  The next morning, Sam approached his parents, his body still battered but his resolve unshaken.

  “I want to focus on mastering the shadow sword,” he told them firmly. “I’ve been treating it like a hammer when it’s supposed to be a scalpel. I need to understand its power. Its strengths, its weaknesses. Everything.”

  His father raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “And what brought on this change of heart?”

  Sam hesitated, thinking of Kaelith’s words. “I realized... I’ve been fighting without purpose. Just swinging wildly, hoping it’ll be enough. It’s not. If I keep going like this, I’ll lose. I’ll lose everything.”

  His mother’s expression softened, though there was still a hint of concern in her eyes. “It’s good that you see that now. But mastering a weapon—truly mastering it—takes time. Patience. Discipline.”

  “I’m ready,” Sam said, his voice unwavering. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I’m never that helpless again.”

  Over the following days, Sam’s training took a new direction. His father began teaching him the fundamentals of swordsmanship all over again, focusing on stance, grip, and form. They worked tirelessly on precision strikes and controlled movements, ensuring Sam learned to wield the shadow blade with finesse rather than brute force.

  His mother contributed by designing agility drills, emphasizing the importance of footwork and balance. “A sword is only as good as the person wielding it,” she reminded him. “And if your footing is off, your technique is meaningless.”

  As the training progressed, Sam found himself confronting more than just the technical aspects of combat. He had to face his own fear—the fear of failure, of being weak, of dying again.

  One evening, as he practiced alone, he paused mid-swing, lowering the blade. His heart raced as memories of the duel with Kaelith flooded his mind. The helplessness, the pain, the humiliation.

  “I can’t get rid of it,” he muttered to himself, his voice trembling. “The fear... it’s always there.”

  But then he remembered something his father had said: “Strength isn’t just about power—it’s about knowing when to fight and when to protect.”

  Sam tightened his grip on the hilt. “I can’t make the fear go away... but I can learn to fight through it.”

  Though still battered and scarred, Sam began to notice the smallest of improvements. His strikes were sharper, his movements more deliberate. For the first time, he felt a sense of connection with the shadow blade—a glimmer of its true potential.

  And while the road ahead remained daunting, Sam no longer felt completely lost. He had a goal, a plan, and a renewed sense of purpose.

  Kaelith’s voice echoed in his mind, not as a taunt, but as a challenge. “Get up when you’re ready to start taking this seriously.”

  “I’m ready now,” Sam said quietly, raising the shadow blade once more. “I’ll show you—and myself—what I’m really capable of.”