Blood pooled on the cold arena floor as Bron struggled to maintain his footing, facing off against his relentless opponent, Ray. Despite his valiant efforts, he felt trapped in a cruel reality—a world that barred him from victory. Each time Bron launched an attack, he was met with futility, the walls of his own limitations confining him. His body bore the marks of the brutal battle, his face a mask of pain and distortion, shattered beyond recognition, as if he had been stripped of his humanity.
Aleyas, watching from the sidelines, felt desperation gnawing at her heart. She wanted to intervene, to scream for the fight to stop, but she knew it was hopeless. The two combatants were locked in a dance of destruction, refusing to relent. As Bron closed his eyes, seeking clarity amidst the chaos, Ray stepped back momentarily, granting him a rare window of opportunity.
With newfound focus, Bron's eyes ignited with determination. He drew upon every ounce of strength he possessed. Suddenly, he surged forward with a speed that defied human comprehension, shocking the onlookers, including the old man and Aleyas. In an explosion of raw power, Bron unleashed a devastating strike aimed directly at Ray. The impact created a cloud of smoke that hung heavily in the air, an ominous sign of what was to come.
Yet as the dust settled, a low, mocking voice broke the silence. "You really think you can defeat my student like that?" Ray's master laughed, his voice dripping with arrogance. As the smoke dissipated, all eyes widened in disbelief—Ray stood unscathed, not a scar or bruise to mark his body. With a casual flick of his pinky finger, he effortlessly neutralized Bron's attack, leaving the young fighter utterly stunned.
To add insult to injury, Ray approached Bron, a smug grin on his face. With a flick of his finger near Bron's abdomen, he created a small hole, causing him to crumble from pain and shock. Before Aleyas could react, Ray gestured over Bron's head, and the three people held their breath, eyes wide in horror and amazement.
"What in the world...?" Ray's master pondered, astonished by the unfolding spectacle. How could Ray perform a healing ritual without uttering any Incantation?
One by one, the onlookers processed the surreal scene—Bron's wounds began to mend as if time itself was rewinding. His injuries healed, even his missing teeth returned as if they had never been lost. After the miraculous restoration, Ray turned away, leading his master into the forest, where the rain poured down in steady droplets.
The old man glanced back at Bron, recognition dawning in his eyes. "You have real talent, kid," he said, a glimmer of hope in his tone. "If you want to get stronger, meet me in the broken bar of the city. I can show you the path to greatness."
As the tow began to disperse, they left without offering ray a single glance, but the old man savored the moment, lifting his drink to the sky.
As the two men ascended the winding staircase amidst the ancient forest, the voice of the master broke the silence. "At least try to engage with them," he urged. "Aren't they your friends? They care for you, and they've come all this way just to speak with you. It feels a bit rude to ignore them."
The boy remained silent, contemplating his master's words. After a beat, he replied, "I don't have friends. We're just siblings, nothing more. There's nothing else to it."
The master's voice softened, a rare tone from him. "One day, you might regret not nurturing those bonds. Perhaps embrace your humanity instead of shunning it."
The boy rolled his eyes, perplexed by his master's perspective. He couldn't fathom why the man, who appeared so detached, would speak of such relationships. After all, his master never seemed to have anyone he called a friend. This gentle plea sparked curiosity in the boy—was there something deeper within his master that he had yet to uncover?
But he pushed that thought aside as they arrived at the entrance to the minka. Slipping inside quietly, he knew there would be no reprieve from training the next day.
As dawn broke, he rose with resolve, practicing his swordplay with sharp, decisive movements. His master observed him closely. "In two weeks," he said, "you'll perform the Divine Slash. After that, we'll move on to the final phase."
The boy felt neither excitement nor disappointment; it was pure determination to master the Divine Slash that fueled him.
Bron's mind wandered to the recent events that had struck him deeply. What he'd learned the day before weighed heavily on him, but it only ignited his drive to train harder. He recalled the old man's words, and with renewed vigor, he changed into a raincoat
A short while later, he found a girl sitting in the living room. Rather than ask where he was headed, she said, "Be strong, so we can bring our friend back." Her words ignited something within him—his determination flared brighter than ever.
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit, decrepit bar, an old man savored his drink, laughter spilling out as he reveled in the camaraderie around him. Just then, the bar doors swung open with unexpected force. Without turning, the old man smirked, "So, he finally shows up."
A newcomer entered, draped in a heavy raincoat, droplets cascading to the floor as he strode purposefully toward the old man. "Yes," he replied, determination etched into his features.