CHAPTER 1
ENTERING HANS EDENBERG
As he opened his eyes, the vast expanse of a starry blanket stretching towards infinity greeted him. He had been hurled into a lake, like a shooting star, causing the splashed water to rain down on him in a soft shower. Yet, the drizzling droplets served as a grim reminder of the torment he had endured. Despite his body's desperate plea for a rest, the relentless gaze of his enemy was like a morning bell back at the School, rousing him from the brink of rest.
Drifting aimlessly, he floated atop waves that he had conjured himself, a paltry distraction from what lay ahead. His gaze fell upon the creature, and he felt a pang of regret for not slaying the beast when he had the chance. The battered form of the creature offered little solace for his remorse, for he knew that his own injuries were far more grievous. His right hand was gone, but it was not the only loss he had suffered.
As he tried to cry out, a mouthful of blood was all that emerged.
"Shit!!"
The searing pain didn't trouble him as much as his pitiable state. Despite the agony, he forced himself to raise his head and examine his lifeless legs, but the effort proved futile. He even lacked the strength to lift his head. His condition left him utterly bewildered. He cried in frustration, "Damn it, what is this? This is not the way I go down. That lizard, that darn shitty lizard went full hardcore...hnn..." He tilted his head, inspecting the dragon that resembled a burnt rope with a knot still intact. The beast stood there, drenched in its own blood, panting but refusing to collapse. Though their struggle had cost the dragon one of its wings, it had failed to break its arrogance.
The floating boy taunted the dragon,
"Hey, stupid 'lizard,' missing a wing, I see..."
The dragon groaned in frustration. His current situation was something he could never have imagined before, but the reality was a bitch, stifling facts in his pride. He screamed through his broken jaw, consumed by agony.
"Verdammter Niemand! Ich bin bestimmt, der Drachenkönig zu werden! Wie wagst du mich anzugreifen?"
[Damn nobody! I'm destined to become the Dragonking! How dare you attack/injure me??].
The wounded dragon, still towering and fearsome, unleashed a furious roar that shook the skies. But despite the sheer force of his wrath, the instigator merely laughed. It wasn't because he had succeeded in riling up the dragon; rather, it was because he realised that the dragon still had power left when he was running on fumes. As if to prove this point, the dragon unleashed a stream of molten fire that seemed to pour from his very jaws, with flakes of ash swirling around him like a sinister volcano. Yet, despite his best efforts, the dragon's attack fell short, halted by a torn wound on his maw. It was a small victory for Hans, but one that would not last for long.
The dragon, his pride wounded and his body battered, knew that he could not afford to underestimate his foe again. He summoned all the mana he could muster, but it was not enough; his beaten-up body simply could not contain the power he needed to triumph. With another attack thwarted, the dragon realised that he would have to resort to more desperate measures. So he swallowed his pride and began to crawl, dragging his wounded body towards the floating boy. But, the dragon was not the only one coming for him. The rising sun was casting a rosy hue in the sky and its golden fingers reached him before the dragon. he began to revive, his energy returning to him with each passing moment. The dragon could only watch in despair as the boy regained his strength. He didn't want to admit it, but to him, Hans was like an itch he couldn't scratch. With a final, desperate cry, the dragon lunged towards his target, driven by a fierce determination to end the threat before him. He cried,
"Verrecke endlich!"
[ die already ]
But Hans was ready, he had recovered enough to dull his pain and sharpen some of his senses. And as the dragon charged, he met him with a force that sent him tumbling backwards. A spell that had sent chills to him many times and it was targeting him. Hans let out a mournful wail, pouring every last drop of his soul into his cries.
~SuperNova~
As he held the pieces of the Sunstone, they withered away in his hands, scattering like grains of sand in the wind. The energy that they released transformed into a luminous sphere that slowly rose higher into the sky, hovering directly above the fearsome dragon.
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The dragon knew all too well what this spell meant; it was the only thing that made him truly afraid. He had always been more powerful under the cover of darkness, which is why he had chosen to fight this human at night. But, unlike in the past, he lacked the strength to evade the attack. As the mass of energy descended upon him, a sense of dread overcame him, and an unfamiliar emotion began to take hold.
For once, the dragon was beside himself with fear. His arrogance and pride were no longer at the forefront of his mind; instead, he was consumed by thoughts of escape and survival. The same oppressive force he had used to intimidate others now shackled his body. He was ready to beg for his life. Meanwhile, the boy laughed maniacally with blood dripping from his mouth. The final battle was drawing near, and while his most potent attack did not differentiate him and his foes, he remained within the range of the Supernova. As the spell completed its descent, obliterating everything in its path, the boy's life flashed before his eyes and a message popped.
OFFLINE
SEVEN YEARS AGO
In the distant year 1063, a young boy of eight was locked in combat with an old but formidable man.
"Hmph... Hmph..." gasped the boy, struggling to land a single blow.
"I'll hit you this time... Hmph..." he murmured, determined to succeed.
The old man grinned mischievously as he spoke to the panting child. "Can't you do better, squeaky?"
Hans looked up at the man, who may have been in his fifties but never acted like one. His grey hair was a testament to his years of sword mastery, which he was now trying to impart to his young boy. Despite his lightning-fast attacks, Hans could not land a single strike on the old man. His opponent's strength was not just rooted in his muscular physique, but also in decades of experience. Hans had no interest in admiring the old man's skill. His plate was already full, and now the wooden sword of his opponent was once again aiming at him.
Even with one hand tied behind his back, Rudolf had been beating Hans for hours. When Hans attempted a diagonal upward slash, his strained shoulder sapped his strength, turning the attack into a futile gesture. This only served to anger Rudolf further, who gripped his wooden sword and countered Hans's slash with a shout of fury.
"I warned you! If you lack the strength, then don't just counter, deflect! Use your opponent's strength to your advantage! Your childish swings are not heavy enough to face me head-on!"
Hans knew he was outmatched, but never imagined it would be this difficult to land even a single hit. In frustration, he retorted,
"Damn it, then treat me like a child!"
Rudolf scolded him,
Language, boy.
Hans imitated his old man's speech, mocking him.
Language this and language that. I've had enough. I'm not doing this anymore!
In a fit of frustration, Hans threw down his practice sword, enraging Rudolf even further. The old man lifted his wooden broadsword and began an onslaught on Hans's backside. "How many times do I have to say it? Your sword is your limb. You can't lose it, Han. Can't you remember this one little thing? How dare you throw your sword! Hans..."
Midway through this tough love session, Hans began to cry. Rudolf realised that he was not training a soldier, but a child in need of constant care and affection. He sighed and chose a method that always worked when Hans cried.
"How about we go hunting?" he offered, hoping to cheer up the boy.
As Rudolf comforted Hans with a gentle pat on the back, the boy looked up, his teary eyes glistening in the sunlight. This wasn't the first time that the old man had made the young boy cry, after all, his fiery temper regularly got the better of him. But like every other time, Rudolf knew exactly how to distract Hans from his tears and redirect his focus towards something he loved - hunting.
Forgetting the pain in his butt and sitting on Rudolf's sturdy shoulder, Hans watched his old man in fascination when he hunted. He knew that Rudolf was an unbeatable opponent, and the boy had always dreamed of defeating him at least once in his life. But it wasn't the thrill of the hunt that truly captivated Hans, but rather the sight of Rudolf's powerful movements and precision.
Overlooking his shameful defeat, Hans turned to Rudolf and asked,
"Grandpa, I've grown a lot, haven't I? When can we leave this place?"
But Rudolf's response was less enthusiastic than Hans had hoped. "I've told you before, squeaky, this is not up for discussion," he said with a sigh.
Hans pouted and started to whine, grabbing onto Rudolf's temples. He longed to leave the isolated place they called home and explore the wider world beyond.
"Why can't we leave? We're not fugitives, are we?"
Rudolf paused for a moment before posing a question to Hans.
"Do you know when a sword is at its strongest?"
"Of course," Hans quickly replied, "After imbuing it with Aura."
Rudolf chuckled softly.
"That's only true in places like the Ghost Isles. In reality, a sword is strongest in its sheath, silly boy."
"What kind of crap is that?" Hans said, his surprise apparent.
Rudolf scolded him lightly.
"I told you to mind your language. When you understand the meaning behind my words, then I will talk to your grandma about leaving this place. But not before then."
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