A harsh shove woke her early in the morning. "Get up. Grab your wooden sword. In three seconds, I'm coming for you."

"Hm, what's going on?" She rubbed her eyes, still half-asleep. As soon as she took in her surroundings, she spotted a wooden sword heading straight for her.

"Oh no." The impact threw her toward the river. "If you don’t put in the effort, you're going for a swim."

His sword came down from above. Instinctively, her arm shot up. Wood clashed with wood. "Very good." A kick sent her closer to the river. The pain burned uncomfortably but was bearable. A thrust followed. She twisted her hips, pushing her blade aside.

"Could it be you're a little slower?"

"Yeah, maybe. In our past training, I deliberately didn’t give you a chance."

He forced her back with powerful strikes, closer and closer to the water.

"Why did you do that?"

"To improve your reflexes and toughen your body."

He swung, thrust, slashed. The river was now nearly at her feet. "Give it your all. I'll count to thirty. If you're not swimming by then, you'll stay dry."

Her eyes brimmed with fresh determination. With everything she had, she blocked his attacks. "I can do this, I can do this."

"27, 28, 29..."

Splash.

----------------------------------------

"Strike from above."

Azrael jumped to the side. The second scimitar followed. He leapt back. Lyren gave him no time. He immediately pressed the attack. Striking, stabbing, slashing.

Azrael began to sweat. He had been practicing with a longsword for the past few days. It was a simple training sword.

When Azrael fought Lyren with a shortsword, he won nearly every time. But that was not the case with the longsword. With it, he lacked the speed.

He pushed one sword aside, stepped back, and thrust forward. He tried to use his advantage in range. Unfortunately, he was too slow. Lyren ducked under the attack. One of his blades was now at Azrael’s throat.

"I lost," Azrael admitted. "Tomorrow is your birthday, Lyren. That means in exactly one month, it begins. Whatever will break out, it will happen soon."

"I hope I get a strong blessing tomorrow."

"I hope so too. The stronger, the better. Who knows who or what we'll be fighting."

"Let's keep training! We can't afford a break."

Azrael gave a quick nod. The next sparring round began.

Later that evening, Azrael sat in the library. He was currently engrossed in studying creatures. He was particularly fascinated by the horrors. He found these creatures especially intriguing. They were so different from the likes of the green fungi or similar species.

He had learned that beasts resembled animals quite closely. They were even classified into different species. He had memorized the most important species well.

At the moment, he was focusing on the Corpse Singer. He even felt some pity for this horror. A creature that didn't want to do evil, but was driven to it.

Lyren tossed and turned in his bed, excited. He could hardly wait. In just a few minutes, it would be time. Soon, the clock would strike midnight. Then, he would finally gain strength. The strength he had been missing. The strength to save his mother. The strength to help Azrael.

He thought of his friend's face. They had been training together for about three-quarters of a year. He thought back to their training.

A joyful expression crossed his face. He had always been called a genius, even back then. Better than all the others his age. Despite that, he remained humble. He trained every day. The only person whose determination surpassed his was the white-haired boy.

There were no breaks for him. It was either training or reading. Theory had never interested Lyren much. Knowledge was power, he knew that. Still, it was simply boring.

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Azrael, on the other hand, devoured book after book. He must have read at least half the books in the room by now.

Ding Dong

The long-awaited chime rang out.

A pain shot through his entire body. Muscles seemed to tear, bones to break. He wanted to scream. No sound came. He wanted to move. No twitch, nothing. He could only lie there. Lie and wait.

The process continued, repeating itself, over and over. His sense of time vanished. He sank into endless agony.

Then, it faded. A new strength filled his body. He was bursting with energy. Testing it, he clenched his fist.

"I’m stronger. Significantly stronger," he noted with excitement.

A mark began to form on his right hand. It took the shape of a star. As it fully appeared, he collapsed. Knowledge flooded his mind. The knowledge of his abilities.

After a few minutes, his eyes opened. He let out a relieved, unrestrained cry of joy.

"Seems like he’s pleased with what he received," Azrael remarked with a grin. He closed the book and strolled away.

Before he could open Lyren's door, it flew open by itself. With a loud bang, it slammed against the wall.

"Calm down, Lyren."

"Oops, that wasn’t on purpose. Seems I still can’t control this power."

"You look very pleased."

"Yeah, I received a blessing. A blessing, do you hear me?" He grabbed Azrael by the shoulders and excitedly shook him.

"I can tell, you’re definitely stronger. If you don’t want to break me, you should let go," Azrael grumbled.

"Oh, right. Well, you’re tough enough."

"Yeah, yeah. So, is your blessing strong?"

"Of course, not as strong as I’d like it to be. But from what you’ve described from the books, it sounds powerful. I’ll tell you my abilities. After all, we need to know what the other can do."

"Alright. Grab your swords. We're going into the forest. That way, we won’t be overheard. Besides..." He smiled knowingly, "you want to test your powers."

He laughed awkwardly, "You caught me."

They fell into a silent harmony as they left the house. Then they entered the forest. The tall trees received them in silence. A peaceful stillness hung in the air as they ventured deeper.

"Alright, tell me then."

"My blessing is called the Embrace of the Inferno. It seems that with my blessing, it's really all about destruction. The command is: burn at least 10 creatures every month. Creatures include humanoids, beasts, and horrors.

My passive ability is called Pillaging. The more I burn, the stronger I become. But that only applies during the period when I’m causing destruction. By stronger, I mean physical strength and fire power."

"Sounds like a 'I burn everything down and love battles' kind of ability," he interrupted jokingly.

"Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought. Now for my active abilities. The first one is the Flame Body. I literally become a torch. The fire burns off many effects, like poison."

"The second is Flame Control. I can transfer flames to my sword. The most important part, though, is that the flames leap onto the enemy. As soon as my sword makes contact with my opponent, the flames jump onto them."

"Cool, you really got an amazing blessing. Congratulations."

Inside, he prayed that he would receive a similar blessing.

"Alright, let's start the duels."

They fought until dawn. At first, Azrael was able to put up a resistance. However, he quickly started losing ground. After about ten duels, he stood no chance, even though Lyren fought without any abilities. Lyren had already been his equal beforehand. With the physical enhancement, there was no hope for a victory.

"Let’s go to sleep," Azrael suggested, exhausted.

"Good idea."

Loud shouts woke Azrael from a deep sleep. "What now?" Groggily, he pushed himself to the window. With a yawn on his lips, he opened it.

"Hang them, hang them..." hundreds of people shouted. But they weren’t targeting him. A man stood in the middle of the angry crowd. He had blonde hair, a well-groomed short beard, and seemed to be in the prime of his life. He was desperately shielding a woman with a child in her arms.

The woman was likely his lover. She had orange hair and a few freckles on her face. The child seemed no older than four years. He clung fearfully to his mother. The mother’s lips moved incessantly, seemingly trying to calm the child.

"Heresy! Slanderers of Solaren! Hang them! They don’t belong here. Solaren only supports us. Destroy the outsiders!"

Lyren burst into his room, "What should we do?"

"What would you like to do?"

"I want to help them."

"Hmm, it's difficult. There are just too many. We can't do anything."

"Please, Azrael. I know you're very clever. You must think of something," Lyren pleaded.

"Is it possible that you know them?"

"Yes, they're relatives of mine. They came specifically for my birthday. I tried to stop them, but..." he lowered his head, hanging it in sorrow.

Azrael fell into a thoughtful silence. "For a direct fight, we're too weak. The goal is to save them, not destroy them. We don't need to eliminate them. But what can we do?" No matter how much he thought about it, nothing came to mind.

"I'm sorry, there's no good solution. I just can't think of an approach. I can try using my anomaly to save them. But the chances of saving them that way are very small."

"Please, try it."

"Alright, I'll give it a shot. Tell Bartho to lock all the windows and doors. You stand by the front door. If I'm being chased, you need to let me in and lock the door."

With a serious nod, Lyren immediately started running. Azrael, on the other hand, ran to the kitchen. He grabbed a fork.

"Don't think about it, don't think," he muttered, driving the fork into his arm. He yanked it downward. Four bloody scratches marked his arm. A gasp escaped his lips.

Without wasting any more time, he ran to the garden. There, he quickly secured his sword to his back. Once he reached the road leading to the forest, he followed it back. "Soon, I’ll be face to face with the mob."

As soon as he was close enough, he began shouting. "Help, help! A beast, a beast attacked me!"

He rushed around a house corner and suddenly stood in the crowd. All eyes locked onto him, wild with madness.

He raised his arm into the air. "I was attacked!" he screamed. "The beast is in the forest at the end of this path."

"I hope this works." The townsfolk seemed to be paying attention to him, at least for now—who knows for how long.

"Attacked? Who dares?" shouted a large, bearded man.

"We must punish it!" yelled another.

"Please, please, kill it for me!" Azrael begged pitifully.

The bearded man drew an axe. "We don’t have time to hang it. We must make the beast pay."

"Yes!" roared the crowd.

"It’s working," Lyren observed with relief.

The axe came down. A child screamed. The axe whistled again, and the scream fell silent.