The rhythmic, metallic sound of a blade slicing through the air was the only interruption to the forest's quiet.
Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.
A young voice, now deeper than a child's but still sharp, counted with determined exhaustion: "9997, 9998, 9999, 10,000!"
The final cut was executed with a weary yet perfect precision, the black blade of Tensa Zangetsu held steady before its master. A boy, now nearly nine years old, stood heaving great gulps of air into his lungs, sweat pouring down his body. This was Blake Corvus, and he had just completed his morning regimen.
It had been two and a half years of brutal, solitary training in the wilderness.
Blake was no longer the small, six-year-old child who had stumbled into this world. He was now a sturdy, powerfully built youth, already standing at 152 cm—significantly taller and more muscled than normal children his age. Every fiber of his being had been meticulously conditioned by the relentless demands of the forest and his own iron will.
After just one year, the constant, focused pressure on his body and mind had forced his inner potential to manifest, and he had awakened his anti-magic. He found he could actively channel the power through his body and blade.
While it still felt primal and unrefined, the sheer destructive potential against magic-wielding creatures was already terrifying. He had even learned to coat his blade in the Anti-Magic energy to launch silent, black flying slashes that tore through the magical essence of his targets.
The inherited potential from Shanks had begun to bloom. He had successfully awakened all three types of Haki:
Observation Haki ($Kenbunshoku\ Haki$): Allowing him to sense presences, intent, and even movements around him, vastly improving his hunting skills and defense.
Armament Haki ($Busoshoku\ Haki$): Enabling him to coat his limbs or blade in an invisible armor, making his attacks far more potent and his defenses nearly impenetrable to mundane attacks.
Conqueror's Haki ($Haoshoku\ Haki$): The rarest form, which he could only use for a brief, uncontrolled instant. It was enough to stun and terrify weaker animals and minor magical beasts, but he was still far from mastering the ability to knock out scores of people.
He was highly proficient in the basic applications of all three. Yet, the great mystery of his journey remained: the full powers of Tensa Zangetsu were still locked away. No matter how much he practiced, he couldn't access abilities like the Getsuga Tenshō.
During his training, he had also unlocked and mastered four techniques of the Navy's Six Powers ($Rokushiki$):
Soru (Shave): Allowing him to move at blistering speeds by kicking the ground multiple times in an instant.
Rankyaku (Tempest Kick): Letting him launch powerful flying slashes with his legs, a natural complement to his sword practice.
Geppo (Moonwalk): Granting him the ability to kick the air to stay aloft, invaluable for traversing the forest and hunting.
Shigan (Finger Pistol): A piercing attack, which, while still needing refinement, could punch through the hide of large beasts.
The remaining techniques, Tekkai (Iron Mass), Life Return, Kami-e (Paper Arts), and Rokugan, still eluded him. He hadn't yet figured out the focus needed for the rigid hardening of the body or the fluid evasion of the latter.
Blake wiped the sweat from his brow and sheathed his sword. The past two and a half years were a blur of training, hunting, and eating every manner of creature the forest offered, including magical beasts, which he quickly learned provided excellent sustenance for the development of his powerful body.
"Time's up, forest," Blake murmured, looking at his surroundings—his crucible, his home.
He started the slow, methodical process of packing his camp. His tent was now slightly weathered, his backpack worn but sturdy. He left no trace of his long residency, a habit born from years of wilderness survival.
With the bag secured, Blake made his move. He was now confident that he was strong enough to handle ordinary bandits and common mages. His goal was civilization, the source of information, and better training opportunities.
He began moving upstream along the river, knowing that human settlements often followed water sources. His pace was measured, a snail's pace to an outside observer, as he was constantly sightseeing and hunting for fresh meat, keeping his skills sharp.
Two weeks of steady travel later, he saw it: smoke rising above the trees, and then, nestled in a valley, a quaint, rustic village.
Blake entered without fanfare. Near the entrance, he saw an old man sitting on a bench, whittling a piece of wood.
"Excuse me, sir," Blake said, his voice polite and direct. "What is the name of this village?"
The old man, startled by the polite yet serious demeanor of the boy, paused his work. "Brindol, lad. What brings a youngster like you all the way out here?"
"I'm looking to sell some goods," Blake replied, gesturing to his pack. "Do you know where I can sell meat?"
The old man scratched his chin. "Meat? Aye, down the main path, past the well. Look for the sign with the cleaver. Zeke's Meat Shop."
Blake nodded. "Thank you for the directions."
He followed the instructions and soon arrived at the shop. He stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of cured and fresh meats. The owner, a burly man in a blood-stained apron, looked up.
"Can I help you, kid?"
"I'm a hunter," Blake said simply. "Will you buy meat if I sell?"
The owner's eyes traveled over Blake's small, youthful frame, but the boy's unusual intensity gave him pause. "Yes, if it's quality. I'll buy anything edible."
"Good," Blake said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm looking to make a decent profit. What type of meat fetches the most money, and where can I find them?"
The owner gave Blake a skeptical look that clearly communicated his disbelief that this child could handle anything more dangerous than a rabbit. He chuckled, deciding to send the boy on a fool's errand.
"You want the real money? You want the dangerous stuff?" the owner leaned closer conspiratorially. "The best-paying meat comes from the Grizzly Lion. Lives up in the mountains north of the village. It's big as a carriage, strong as an ox, and its hide and claws fetch a fortune. But you won't find it, kid. It's too big, and too fast."
Blake listened, his eyes unblinking. He hadn't asked for a warning, only for information.
He gave a slight nod. "Thank you for the information. I'll be back tomorrow morning with it."
The owner tried to caution Blake to call him back, but the boy had already turned, his black katana swaying lightly at his hip, and walked out the door. Blake did not listen to the warnings, nor did he look back. He simply walked through the center of Brindol and made his way toward the mountains visible on the horizon.
The next morning, the old man, who had greeted Blake, was sitting on his bench by the village entrance, enjoying the early sun. He was whittling again, occasionally glancing down the path.
His jaw went slack. His whittling knife clattered to the ground.
A small figure was approaching from the mountain trail. It was Blake. And he was carrying something utterly immense.
Blake was lifting a massive Grizzly Lion on his back, the beast's huge, shaggy head lolling lifelessly off his shoulder. The creature was easily the size of a small wagon, and the sheer feat of strength required to carry it was beyond any normal man, let alone a nine-year-old boy.
The first few villagers who saw the sight looked like their eyes would pop out of their heads. Whispers erupted, turning into shouts as more people rushed to see the impossible sight.
Blake, oblivious to the commotion, walked with a purposeful stride straight toward the meat shop. He stopped before the shop's entrance and, with an almost bored expression, threw the Grizzly Lion down uncermeniously. The massive carcass hit the ground with a heavy, earth-shaking thud.
The owner, hearing the chaos and the thud, ran out, his face pale with alarm. What he saw robbed him of all breath: the dead, massive Grizzly Lion and the small, composed boy who had promised to return.
The owner, Zeke, had not given the matter a second thought yesterday, but now, faced with this overwhelming proof, he couldn't help but gulp.
Blake stepped over the giant carcass and faced the speechless shop owner.
"So, Zeke," Blake said, looking up at the man. "How much will it be for it?"
Zeke swallowed hard, his mind racing. The hide, the claws, the bones—this was a fortune. He stammered out the lowest price he dared: "100,000 Jewels."
Blake, sensing the hesitation and the potential for a far greater profit, simply countered: "200,000."
Zeke nodded immediately. The price was still a steal. "Agreed. 200,000 Jewels. Wait right here."
Zeke hurried inside and returned moments later with a heavy bag of coins, counting out the Jewels for Blake. Blake accepted the money and tucked it away securely in his pack—his first real income in this world.
"Is there a place where I can buy food around here?" Blake asked, the exhaustion of the hunt and his hunger overriding his caution.
Zeke shook his head, looking around the small village square. "No proper restaurants in Brindol, lad. But... if you allow me, come to my house. I will make you a meal prepared from the best cut of that Grizzly Lion. It's the least I can do."
Blake's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. After two and a half years of bland meat, the prospect of seasoned, cooked food was an overwhelming temptation. He gave a sharp nod.
"I accept."
Zeke then asked, "Can you just take the Lion to my backyard? The commotion is drawing a crowd."
Blake complied, effortlessly hoisting the colossal animal onto his shoulder and carrying it to Zeke's backyard. Zeke, witnessing the feat again, just shook his head in wonder.
Zeke then started carefully preparing the meat for the meal, choosing a prime cut. He then instructed his wife to cook the meal.
When the bowl of perfectly cooked, seasoned Grizzly Lion meat was set before Blake, he took the first spoonful. The mix of salt, spice, and savory meat hit his palate. Blake's face, usually set in a mask of determined concentration, broke into an expression of pure, unadulterated delight. It had been two and a half years since he tasted anything other than bland, roasted meat.
He didn't speak. He simply started devouring the meal. Zeke watched, amused and impressed, as he refilled the bowl. Blake continued to eat, plate after plate, until he had consumed five bowls of the meal.
Finally, full and deeply satisfied, Blake put his spoon down.
"Zeke," Blake asked, "how do I reach Magnolia from here?"
"Magnolia?" Zeke looked thoughtful. "That's a major city, lad. You'd be looking at a week's journey by road. But, if you want to take the train, there's a station about a two-day walk from here. You can take it, and you'll reach Magnolia after a twelve-hour journey."
Blake stood up, the weariness of the day finally setting in. He bowed his head slightly. "Thank you for the meal, Zeke."
He walked out of the house, leaving the village of Brindol behind. With 200,000 Jewels in his pack and a destination set, Blake Corvus made his way towards the train station—and his true beginning in the world of Fairy Tail.