Orien stood quietly at the edge of the clearing, watching as the rescued children rushed into the arms of their waiting parents. Their cries of joy and relief carried through the night air like the warmth of a fire. He couldn't help but feel a sting of envy pierce his chest. Lowering his head, his gaze sank to the ground.
"Are you not going home?"
The question broke his silence. Orien looked up to see the strange man who had saved them. His eyes were sharp, yet softened by a smile that seemed almost too calm for someone who had just faced danger.
Brasshollow, the nearby village, was a place known for its diversity—elves, beastkin, dwarves, and humans all living side by side. A place where warmth and family were treasures. But Orien had no such treasure.
"No one," he replied after a pause. "I… do not belong here."
The man studied him for a moment, then his smile returned, softer this time. "I see. Well then… how about you stay with me?"
Orien blinked, his expression twisting with confusion. "Wh… what? Stay with you?"
"Why not?" The man chuckled lightly, as though it were the most natural suggestion in the world. "It seems you have nowhere else to go. I'm simply being kind."
"That's… far too much kindness," Orien muttered, his suspicion showing through his guarded tone.
The man scratched his head, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. "Ah, fine. I suppose I should explain. I have my reasons."
Orien narrowed his eyes. "And what reason is that?"
The man's expression hardened, his voice dropping into a serious note. "Your aura levels are far too high. I've never seen such intensity in someone your age. It suggests an extraordinary sensitivity to others who wield aura. It's not something that should exist naturally."
Orien frowned, his confusion deepening.
"Tell me," the man continued, his gaze sharp as a blade, "have you ever trained? Opened your inner world?"
"No…" Orien shook his head slowly. "I don't even know what you mean."
The man let out a long breath, as though he had confirmed something both troubling and exciting. "What about the Aegis Record? Have you even heard of it?"
Orien's silence was answer enough.
The strange man narrowed his eyes, his calm demeanor faltering for the first time. How can such immense traces of aura be coursing through his body? he thought, genuinely bewildered.
Then, almost abruptly, his expression shifted into something sharper. "Tell me, boy… do you wish to be strong?"
The sudden weight of the question struck Orien like a blow. For a moment, he stood frozen, staring into the man's piercing gaze. His mind raced—memories of loneliness, of being unwanted, of watching others cling to their families while he stood apart. Strength… wasn't that the one thing he had always longed for? The only way he could ever protect, or perhaps… belong?
"Yes," he said finally, his voice firm. "I do."
The man's lips curved into a grin that carried both promise and danger. "Good. Then it's decided. Training begins tomorrow at dawn. But first…" He gestured with a tilt of his head. "Come. I'll take you to where I live."
Their conversation stretched on as they walked, words weaving between silence and the rhythm of their footsteps. Before long, the forest loomed around them, its trees thick and ancient, their shadows swallowing the faint lantern glow from Brasshollow. The deeper they went, the quieter the world became—until finally, they emerged into a small clearing.
There, half-hidden beneath ivy and moss, stood a house. It was worn and weathered, its wooden beams sagging as though it had carried centuries on its back. The windows were clouded with dust, and the air carried the faint scent of damp earth.
Orien stopped dead in his tracks, disbelief painting his face. "This… this cannot be where you live."
The man laughed softly, unbothered by the boy's reaction. "Well, it is. Looks can be deceiving, boy. Don't worry—you'll grow to appreciate it." He stretched lazily, as if the state of the house was of no concern. "Now, get some sleep. At first light, we're going hunting. Then we'll see if you can actually keep up."
Orien swallowed hard, glancing back at the house that seemed more like a ruin than a home. Yet somehow, a spark of something—anticipation, perhaps even hope—stirred within him. Tomorrow would be the beginning.
At dawn, the forest breathed with tranquility. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in delicate strands, scattering patches of gold across the forest floor. Birds sang in harmony, their melodies so sweet they could have won awards from the gods themselves.
Orien stirred awake, still savoring the serenity of the morning. But then—a jolt, sharp and primal, shot through his mind like lightning. His instincts screamed. Without thinking, he rolled to the side.
A searing flash of blue tore through the air, and in the next instant, the house he had slept in so peacefully exploded into splinters and flame.
"What the f—" His words were cut short by the sight of steel glinting before his eyes.
"Rise and shine, little one," came a voice, steady yet commanding.
Hovering above the wreckage was the strange man—suspended in the air, his longsword blazing with a blue aura that bled light into the early dawn. He descended slowly, his figure cutting an otherworldly silhouette against the rising sun.
Landing with the grace of a predator, the man leveled his sword at Orien. "Pick up a weapon. Stand before me." His eyes gleamed with the same terrifying focus Orien remembered from the night he had fought the Executioner of the Corpse Thirteen.
Without protest, Orien grabbed a blade from the rubble, its weight foreign in his hand. He steadied himself, leaping down to the clearing where the man waited.
The stranger pointed his aura-clad sword directly at him, voice thunderous as though declaring before heaven and earth. "From this day forward, you will duel me at dawn and dusk. Every day. Should you manage to so much as graze me, you will learn to wield your aura with true mastery."
He lifted his chin, his aura flaring brighter, crackling like a storm. "Know my name. I am Maverick Sky, once Commander of the Sword Order. I challenge you, Orien, to a duel that shall not end until you surpass yourself. Do you accept?"
Orien's eyes widened, his chest heaving as disbelief warred with awe. But then, for the first time in his life, something stirred within him—a fire he had never felt before. Determination.
He raised his weapon, pointing it squarely at Maverick, his voice ringing with newfound resolve.
"My name is Orien… the ill-fated. And I accept your duel, Maverick Sky!"