Elio Pendragon, a ten-year-old boy with hawk-sharp eyes and jet-black hair always tied in a ponytail, was the pride of the Pendragon family. From the moment he first grasped a wooden sword, he'd never once tasted the bitterness of defeat. Duel after duel, whether against peers or much older students, always ended in Elio's brilliant victory. The title 'Future Sword Master' was bestowed upon him, as if he were the reincarnation of his great-grandfather, Arthur Pendragon, the legendary swordsman whose tales were etched across every corner of the Starfall Kingdom.
"Hah... hah... hah..." Elio's breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly, tearing through the silence of the grassy field outside Tintagel's city walls. Sweat drenched his forehead and soaked his white shirt. Before him, sitting cross-legged amidst the green grass, was his most unexpected opponent: Leon, a two-year-old toddler with chubby cheeks and innocent round eyes who had only recently mastered stringing words together.
Elio's pride, which had always soared high like the Pendragon banner atop the tower, was now at stake. Defeat? Against this snot-nosed kid? Impossible!
"One more time!" Elio shouted, his wooden sword raised, its tip trembling. "I... I'll defeat you this time! I swear!"
Leon only chuckled softly, the crisp laughter of a child that, to Elio's ears, sounded like thunder. "Big brother lost. No matter how many times, the result will be the same. Go home, train harder!" His words were blunt, without the slightest hesitation, making Elio's courage shrink and burn simultaneously.
"Y-you underestimate me?!" A flash of anger burned in Elio's eyes. This was an unforgivable insult! With his last ounce of strength, he lunged forward, his wooden sword spinning in the air, creating a perfect arc. "Feel this! Crescent Moon Slash! This is Grandpa's secret technique! You... you won't be able to block it, arghhhh!" Elio jumped high, his body curving exactly like a crescent moon in the night sky, his wooden sword aimed straight at Leon's small heart. The wind roared, accompanying his slash, as if nature itself held its breath.
Leon, the genius toddler, merely shifted his bottom slightly on the grass. A tiny, almost imperceptible movement, yet enough to make Elio's deadly attack miss by a hair's breadth. Before Elio could land, Leon's tiny hand swiftly grabbed Elio's suspended ankle. A gentle tug, and Elio's swaying body instantly tumbled forward, sprawling facedown on the ground.
Agilely, Leon climbed onto Elio's back, who now lay helplessly. Slowly, his tiny fingers reached for a strand of Elio's long hair, then pulled it playfully.
"Ow! Ow! Mercy! I give up! I give up!" Elio cried out, his voice choked with shame. His wooden sword slipped from his grasp, lying helplessly beside him. This was Elio Pendragon's first defeat. A crushing, humiliating defeat, at the hands of a toddler who had only just learned to speak! The shadow of Grandpa Arthur seemed to hover above him, looking down with a gaze of disappointment.
"Hand over your allowance," Leon said, his voice innocent yet demanding. "Because Big Brother lost."
Elio fumbled in his pocket with a tremor, handing over a copper coin. "Damn you! Tomorrow... tomorrow I'll defeat you! Just you wait!" Without waiting for an answer, Elio darted away, running as fast as he could.
His face was flushed crimson, burning with immense shame. Although no one had witnessed the embarrassing duel, it felt as if the entire Starfall Kingdom must surely know.
The Pendragon family was the main pillar of the Starfall Kingdom, a name always spoken with reverence. They were the rightful rulers of Tintagel City, as well as the unrivaled guardians of swordsmanship tradition. From generation to generation, every Pendragon was born with the blood of a warrior, and every swing of their sword carved history.
The Pendragon residence itself was a magnificent complex, an oasis of luxury in the heart of the city. Expansive gardens with rare flowers, training grounds stretching like an ocean, a main mansion with towering, grand architecture, a long horse racing track, lush orchards—all were symbols of their glory.
Behind the sturdy walls of Pendragon, sword training was an honor. However, only children from noble families or wealthy merchants could set foot there. The exorbitant registration fees were a dividing wall, leaving less fortunate children to merely gaze from afar, dreaming of clashing swords and the roar of training.
Elio returned home in disarray. It wasn't physical wounds he carried, but a gaping wound in his heart. Dirt and grass clung to his clothes, his hair was messy, but the worst of it was the scratch on his pride.
"Elio, what's wrong, dear? Go take a bath!" his mother, Efa's, voice sounded worried from the dining room.
"Later, Mom! I want to train for a bit, then I'll bathe!" Elio replied without turning, heading straight for the deserted training grounds.
He trained relentlessly. The swing of his wooden sword, usually full of confidence, now felt heavy and awkward. He swung it again, and again, and again, until the sun set and stars began to twinkle in the dark sky. Dinner was missed, his mother's calls ignored. He continued to spin, leap, and slash in the darkness, as if wanting to erase the memory of that defeat from every fiber of his muscles.
"Where's Elio, Efa?" Nathan Pendragon, Elio's father, asked at the dinner table. His expression showed a rarely seen worry.
"He's still training, Nathan. I tried to persuade him to stop, but he wouldn't," Efa answered, her voice filled with anxiety. "He's not usually this stubborn."
Nathan sighed. "Hmm. Something's not right."
"What should we do? Should I go look for him again?" Efa stood, about to leave.
"No need, just sit down. Finish your dinner," Nathan reassured his wife. "I'll go look for him."
On the training ground, lit only by moonlight, Nathan found Elio. The boy was still swinging his wooden sword, his body trembling from exhaustion, but his eyes remained focused, filled with burning determination. Sweat drenched his entire body, dripping onto the ground.
"Elio, what's wrong?" Nathan asked softly, approaching his son. His tone was full of understanding, without judgment.
Elio stopped his sword swing, startled by his father's voice. "I have to train harder, Father! So I don't disgrace our family!" His voice trembled, a mixture of anger and desperation in it.
Nathan placed his hand on Elio's shoulder. "Elio, listen to me. If you push yourself like this, you won't make progress. In fact, you'll only fall further behind."
"Is-is that true, Father?" Elio lowered his wooden sword, his gaze shifting to his father, seeking the truth.
"It's true, son. Our bodies need rest. Resting is also part of training," Nathan explained. "Your muscles need time to recover and grow stronger. Your mind also needs to be clear to learn better."
"Oh... I see, Father." Elio wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling a little relieved.
"Now, tell me, son. What really happened to you?" Nathan coaxed, his tone as soft as a night breeze.
Elio looked down. His voice was barely audible. "I-I... I lost, Father." A small sob escaped his lips. "I... I will avenge my defeat." Without waiting for his father's reply, Elio ran off, the tears he had held back finally streaming down his cheeks. The shame in front of his father, a mighty Pendragon, felt far heavier than the defeat itself.
Nathan could only watch his son's retreating back, disappearing into the darkness of the night. "W-what? You... lost?" He muttered in disbelief. He knew his son had never been defeated. Who could be the opponent who managed to bring down the young Pendragon? Whoever it was, this defeat was a devastating blow that would forever scar Elio's heart, changing t
he destiny of the young swordsman.