I decided to focus on the basics of swordsmanship. I wasn't a master craftsman, so I made a wooden sword to practice with. It wasn't much—just a shaved piece of scrap wood, uneven and too light—but it was mine.
Every morning before the sun crawled over the slums, I slipped away from the orphanage into a desolate area where I could train alone. There, I swung my wooden blade until my arms trembled.
When I held it, even the filth and noise of Okrith faded away. It felt like I was one with the blade.
At least… that's what I liked to pretend.
Weeks passed. Training became routine.
But reality eventually struck back.
On my three-hundredth swing, the sword jerked and a sharp crack cut through the silence. A thin fracture crawled along the blade like a snapped bone.
I stared at it, breath heavy, sweat dripping off my chin.
Great.
Even the sword I carved couldn't withstand much.
I lowered the broken weapon.
It was a terrible imitation anyway.
Then a heavy thud echoed from behind me.
A man's footsteps—each step carrying undeniable strength.
"Your stance is worse than a toddler's."
I froze.
That wasn't a brat from the orphanage.
Not a drunk from the alleys.
This voice carried weight… authority.
I turned.
A man stood by a crumbling building. Broad shoulders. Silver armor. A lion crest engraved on his chestplate. Even in the dim morning light, his armor gleamed like dirt and refused to touch it.
A knight.
A Lionhearth knight.
But this wasn't the Lionhearth Kingdom.
This was Ignis.
So what was he doing here?
Why was he watching me?
He stepped forward, examining me with the kind of look reserved for pathetic creatures trying to act brave.
"If you swing like that," he said, "a real opponent would cut you in two before your first step."
I swallowed, gripping my cracked sword until splinters dug into my palm. Hearing the truth out loud stung more than I expected.
He sighed.
"And that weapon… gods, boy, what are you even doing?"
His eyes shifted to the broken blade. His expression tightened—not quite disgust, not quite pity, but something in between.
I opened my mouth to speak—
But another voice cut in.
"Oi, look at this!"
Perfect.
Just what I needed.
Three older boys stepped from behind a ruined wall—Ray, Yuen, and Zen—each wearing the smirk I'd learned to hate. Unlike me, their cores had already manifested. Faint sparks of life force flickered around their fists and shoulders.
Even weak life energy was more than nothing.
One nudged the other.
"Rain's trying to be a knight again. Look at him!"
Another laughed.
"With that broken sword? He'll bash someone to death!"
They didn't notice the knight behind me.
Or maybe they didn't care.
Their eyes were locked on me.
Because the weak are easy targets.
I tightened my grip.
"Leave me alone."
They laughed harder.
One stepped forward, energy shimmering weakly.
"What, you're gonna wave that toothpick at us?"
The knight didn't move.
Just watched.
Maybe I should've backed down.
Maybe I should've walked away.
But something hot twisted in my chest—stubbornness, humiliation, and something I couldn't name. I was fed up with the constant harassment and bullying.
I moved first.
My broken blade struck the closest boy's wrist before he could lift his glowing fist. The wood shattered completely, snapping with a hollow thwack. He yelped and stumbled back.
The other two froze.
And just for a single second—
just a breath—
my core flickered.
A twitch.
A pulse.
A spark searching for a conductor.
Then it vanished.
They backed away, cursing and nursing bruised pride. I stood there breathing hard, holding only the hilt of my broken sword.
Splinters dug into my palm, but I didn't let go.
The knight finally approached.
Not to help.
Not to praise.
Not to scold.
Just to look.
"Reckless," he said softly. "Sloppy. And foolish."
He paused.
"…But you didn't hesitate."
He turned away, cloak swaying behind him.
"Fix your stance. Fix your weapon," he said.
"Come back tomorrow. If you're serious."
And with that, he vanished—almost like he teleported—leaving me alone with the remains of the only sword I had.
I stared at the pieces.
Weak.
Cheap.
Brittle.
Just like everyone thought I was.
But for the first time… I wasn't sure they were right.
Because that spark—tiny as it was—
felt like the beginning of something.
Something I wasn't ready to let go.