Steven walked away without looking back, his expression unreadable.

The conversation was already forgotten.

He had no interest in their ideals, their hope, or their plans.

He had only one purpose.

Kill the Demon King.

And to do that—he had to become stronger.

The cold mountain air barely stirred as he moved.

One moment, he stood at the summit.

The next—he was gone.

With a single step, he launched himself downward, the force of his movement causing the ground beneath him to crack.

Sparks of blue lightning erupted from his boots as he streaked through the air like a bolt cast from the heavens.

One step. He passed the jagged cliffs.

Two steps. The trees blurred past.

Three steps. He reached the bottom.

The moment his boots met the forest floor, a shockwave burst outward.

The ground beneath him sizzled and blackened, arcs of crackling thunder dancing along the earth like restless spirits.

The air smelled of ozone and burning bark.

Steven straightened, rolling his shoulders before looking around.

Training began.

He strode toward a cluster of massive stones—some as tall as houses, their surfaces jagged and unbreakable to normal men.

But he was not normal.

Lightning flickered around his arms as he clenched his fists. Power surged.

Then he punched.

BOOM!

The impact sent a shockwave ripping through the air, shaking the ground beneath him.

The stone exploded outward, shards flying in every direction.

Sparks danced across its shattered remains, the scent of scorched rock filling the air.

But he didn’t stop.

His feet moved fluidly, perfectly measured.

He twisted his body and struck again, his fist colliding with another stone.

BOOM!

The second boulder crumbled just as easily.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Blow after blow, his movements became a storm—each strike a thunderclap, each impact a bolt of destruction.

But he wasn’t merely breaking the stones.

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He was testing himself.

Testing how much power his body could endure.

Testing how quickly he could recover.

Testing how far he could push before his body gave in.

Because if he couldn’t withstand his own power—how could he defeat the Demon King?

Once the last boulder was reduced to nothing but rubble, Steven moved deeper into the forest.

The air grew still. The trees stood tall and unbroken.

That wouldn’t last.

Steven unsheathed his sword.

The moment the blade left its scabbard, the atmosphere shifted—as if the very air knew what was coming.

Electricity crackled along the steel, forming bright blue arcs that slithered across its surface.

Then—he swung.

In a single fluid motion, his sword carved through the air, releasing an arc of lightning that ripped through the forest like a vengeful storm.

Trees were severed instantly.

Their trunks split apart, wood burning and smoldering from the sheer force of the attack.

The ground trembled, scorched black by the residual energy.

Still, he wasn’t satisfied.

Steven took one step forward. Sparks erupted from beneath his boots.

He swung again.

A second arc tore through the landscape. More trees fell, their remains smoking, filling the air with the sharp scent of burnt wood.

And then—without pause—he swung a third time.

The sky flashed.

The storm answered his call.

A streak of lightning split the clouds, descending to merge with his blade.

His sword glowed, humming with raw power.

Steven exhaled, his grip tightening.

Then—he vanished.

In less than a heartbeat, he reappeared at the center of the clearing.

His sword was already sheathed.

The result?

Silence.

Then—everything fell at once.

The trees he had targeted collapsed simultaneously, as if time had only now realized they had already been cut.

Smoke and dust billowed into the sky, the ground beneath the fallen trees charred and broken.

Steven stared at the destruction before him.

Not enough.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his muscles thrumming with energy.

No matter how much he trained, how many monsters he killed—

It was never enough.

Because in the end…

Power alone wouldn’t be enough to defeat the Demon King.

And if he wanted to kill that monster, he had to become something more.

Something unstoppable.

Steven let out a slow breath.

His body ached, sweat dripped from his brow, but his eyes…

His eyes remained cold.

"Not enough," he muttered again.

And then—he resumed training.

---

Steven continued, his training.

The forest was alive with the sounds of snarls and growls, but he barely paid them any mind.

A dozen goblins had spotted him, their yellow eyes glowing with malice.

They brandished crude weapons—rusty blades, wooden clubs, jagged bone knives.

They thought they could kill him.

Steven was just irritated.

With a single fluid motion, he drew his sword.

A flash of blue. A streak of lightning.

Before the goblins could even react—three of them were gone.

Their bodies collapsed in separate directions, blood spraying across the dirt as the remaining goblins froze in horror.

Then—panic.

The surviving nine goblins turned and ran, their guttural cries of fear echoing through the trees.

But they never got the chance.

BOOM.

Steven’s feet sparked with electricity as he moved—one second, he was standing still, the next, he was already upon them.

Before the goblins could even register what had happened—they were dead.

His sword sliced through the air with cold precision, cutting them down one by one, their bodies dropping like withered leaves in a storm.

When the last one fell, Steven stood motionless amidst the carnage, blood dripping from his blade, his face expressionless.

He sheathed his sword.

And then—he kept walking.

Day after day, the pattern remained the same.

Morning. He would descend the mountain.

Afternoon. He would train.

His fists shattered stone, his sword cleaved through trees, his body honed itself into a weapon of war.

Evening. He would return, only to repeat it all over again the next day.

If he grew hungry, he would simply pluck wild fruit from the trees.

Sleep was a luxury he rarely allowed himself—his mind was too restless, his goal too far away.

This was his life.

A life of training. A life of endless, merciless repetition.

But then—something changed.

He was being followed.

Steven’s sharp eyes flickered toward the trees.

Three people.

They weren’t monsters. He would’ve killed them already if they were.

For the past few days, they had been following him everywhere—watching him train, watching him hunt, watching him kill.

At first, he ignored them.

But now—he was getting annoyed.

Finally, he stopped in the middle of the forest, exhaling sharply. Sparks flickered at his feet as he turned.

"Stop following me, would you?"

His voice was cold. A warning.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—rustling.

From behind the trees, Asael, Anne, and Kenta stepped forward.

Steven’s expression darkened.

They weren’t giving up.

Despite his clear rejection, they had kept following him, trying to persuade him to join them.

And the more they followed, the more they realized—he was even stronger than they thought.

They needed him.

"If you join us, then we’ll stop following you." Asael said, crossing his arms.

Steven stared at him. Then scoffed.

"Are you joking with me?" he asked, irritated.

But before Asael could reply, Kenta stepped forward.

For the first time, Steven actually looked at him.

A young boy. Small, frail—but his eyes were different.

Eyes that had seen suffering.

Eyes that had lost everything.

Steven’s voice was sharp. "Now, who the hell are you?"

Kenta took a deep breath. His voice shook, but he didn’t back down.

"My name is Kenta."

He clenched his fists.

"My father died fighting monsters. Goblins killed my mother and grandfather."

His voice wavered, but his gaze stayed firm.

"But I couldn't do anything."

Silence.

The air around them felt heavy. Even Asael and Anne stayed quiet.

Then—Kenta stepped closer.

His voice was no longer shaking.

"You are strong."

"Please help us in defeating those monsters."

A direct plea. No hesitation.

For the first time, Steven hesitated.

His cold gaze lingered on the boy.

Something flickered in his eyes—something almost human.

Then—he looked away.

"Fine."

Asael and Anne's eyes widened.

But before they could say anything, Steven turned to Asael.

"But you need to prove yourself first."

Asael straightened. "Prove? How?"

Steven’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a challenge.

"Tomorrow morning. Fight me."

A brief silence.

Then—Asael nodded.

"Okay."

Steven’s eyes narrowed slightly, evaluating him. Then, he simply turned and walked away.

"Good."

With that, he disappeared into the forest, lightning crackling faintly in his wake.