A blur of five wooden swords streaked toward me.

My small hand tightened around my own wooden sword as I struggled to block the simultaneous assault.

Faster, faster! I urged myself, bracing for the oncoming strikes.

Whack! Thwack! I managed to deflect two of them, but the remaining three were too fast.

Thwap, thwap, thwap! A soft impact landed on my right leg, left arm, and abdomen.

It didn’t hurt,Gramps wasn’t using much force.

It had been a month since he began teaching me the art of the sword.

“Tell me, Riel, you can see my sword strikes clearly, can’t you?” Gramps asked, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Fivefold Cleaver, one of the techniques of the Severing Style.

Five slashes in the blink of an eye.

“I can see them, but I just can’t block them all,” I admitted, a hint of frustration in my voice.

Gramps chuckled. “Riel, blocking two of those strikes is beyond human capability, especially for a child like you.”

“What do you mean, Gramps?” I asked, curiosity piqued.

"Your strength, speed, and even intelligence already surpass most adults," Gramps replied calmly.

"You’re not a normal kid.

That’s why I asked your parents to train you in the ways of the sword, to help you control your inhuman abilities so you can live a normal life," he added.

"I thought my grandkids would be ordinary since your father didn’t inherit it," he continued, his tone thoughtful.

"I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, Gramps," I said.

"Sure, it’s a hassle when I keep snapping pencils and tearing paper whenever Mom tries to teach me writing, but I just need time to get used to it," I added.

"Do your eyes hurt?" Gramps asked.

"Not really, but sometimes they feel… strange. Like the world freezes for a moment," I answered.

Gramps reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, circular silver watch, handing it to me.

As I stared at its polished surface, my reflection caught my attention and for a brief moment, I was mesmerized.

My once black eyes now shimmered with an enigmatic purple hue.

"Just as I suspected… you weren’t even aware of it," Gramps muttered, handing me a pair of glasses.

"What are these, Gramps?" I asked curiously.

"They're mystic glasses. They conceal the unnatural glow of Cursed Eyes," he explained.

"I see… Cursed Eyes, huh," I muttered with a sigh.

"But they’re still in their pre-awakened state," Gramps said, locking eyes with me.

I slipped on the mystic glasses and slowly turned to the mirror.

My reflection stared back, my eyes, once glowing with an enigmatic purple hue, now looked completely normal, as black as obsidian.

A small smile crept onto my face. I could still live a normal life.

Just then, a chorus of growls echoed through the air, and Gramps let out a hearty laugh.

"Looks like all this sword training and serious talk worked up an appetite," he chuckled.

"Let’s clean up and eat Grandma’s special lunch!" I said eagerly.

I never asked how or why my grandfather was so skilled with a sword.

His stories were enough for me.

As far as I knew, he was just a traveler, a sword collector, and a loving grandfather.

My mornings were spent training under his guidance, learning the art of the sword. The rest of the day, I played with the neighborhood kids like any other child.

It didn’t take long for me to learn how to suppress my abilities and blend in.

Every so often, Gramps would leave for another country, staying away for weeks at a time.

He never returned empty-handed, always bringing souvenirs, local delicacies, handcrafted trinkets… and without fail, a new sword.

This was our routine, our endless summer.

Until the summer of my sixth grade year.

Gramps died protecting Grandma and their home from thieves.

On the day of his funeral, the sky stretched endlessly above us, shrouded in a somber gray.

Heaven itself was holding back its tears.

The skin around my eyes was swollen from hours of crying.

Even though most of my memories with Gramps were filled with laughter and warmth, the thought of never seeing him again shattered my heart.

The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt, an invisible wound that left me hollow inside.

Regret weighed on me like a heavy chain.

Was it really raining, or were my tears the only ones falling as I whispered my final goodbye?

Do people always leave the world with a smile? I wondered as I gazed at Gramps’ peaceful, smirking face.

It was as if he were simply lost in a dream.

"Goodnight, Gramps… sweet dreams," I murmured, forcing the best smile I could through my sobs.

The funeral hall was a sea of black and white.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

White orchids adorned the room, their soft petals a stark contrast to the mourning attire.

Beyond our family, at least seven different groups had gathered, many of them foreigners.

Though the personal guards of some guests tried to remain inconspicuous, I could tell they were heavily armed, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

As time passed, most of the guests gradually left.

Yet, one group remained.

An old man with piercing blue eyes stood among them.

Dad seemed to know him, they spoke briefly before Dad turned to me.

"He wants to talk to you, Riel," he said calmly.

"Gramps’ friend?" I asked.

"Yeah. My dad’s best friend… and former teammate," Dad replied.

I nodded and stepped forward, approaching the burly old man.

His gaze was sharp, assessing me in silence before he finally spoke.

"Hello, Tora’s grandson.

I’m Andrei Eisenhawk, your grandfather’s friend," he greeted, extending a firm hand toward me.

"Asriel Sanchez, Mr. Eisenhawk," I responded, accepting his handshake.

His grip was strong, his palm rough with calluses, just like Gramps'.

Mr. Eisenhawk gestured for me to sit on a bench, a bit farther from his personal bodyguards.

Some of them subtly dispersed, keeping watch over the venue.

"Asriel, do you know of Shiratora Kurokiba?" he asked.

I nodded. "He's the Sword Saint who ended the last human war.

Wielding black swords and a unique sword style, he cut down hundreds, including notorious dictators, warlords, and ruthless leaders."

Mr. Eisenhawk’s expression remained unreadable as he spoke.

"Tora Sanchez… was Shiratora Kurokiba’s alias."

A part of me wasn’t surprised.

The pocket watch he had given me to examine my purple eyes had an engraving inside, S. Tora K.

"I had a hunch Gramps was the Sword Saint," I admitted, "but to me, he was just Gramps."

Mr. Eisenhawk let out a small chuckle.

"That explains why he’s been smiling more in recent years when he visits me."

"He probably just wanted to check in on you once in a while," I replied.

"Even after leaving that life behind, he still worried and kept watch," he mused.

Then his expression darkened.

"Your grandfather… Tora… didn’t die at the hands of a couple of thieves."

I exhaled slowly.

"I figured as much after seeing the room where he died."

Mr. Eisenhawk's eyes narrowed, listening intently.

"The destruction in the room, it was clear Gramps used Severing Style: Sky Splitter and Moon Rend.

That means he wasn’t fighting ordinary people… there were at least a dozen of them."

His eyes widened slightly.

"You’re sharp, young man. There were indeed over a dozen bodies found in that room."

I nodded. "Gramps was probably caught off guard after exhausting himself using Moon Rend.

But what truly surprised me… was that someone managed to negate Sky Splitter."

"Sky Splitter is a ranged attack of the Severing Style, it extends the sword’s reach by manipulating the surrounding air, essentially creating a wind blade."

"Moon Rend is a technique of the Severing Style, executed by swiftly moving to an opponent’s blind spot before delivering a semi-circular slash," I explained.

Mr. Eisenhawk regarded me with a mix of admiration and curiosity.

"You really are just like in Tora’s stories… mastering the Severing Style at the age of ten."

"Mr. Eisenhawk, can I ask you something?" I inquired.

"Of course. And call me Drei, young man," he replied with a warm smile.

"Old man Drei, was there a single-handed sword and pistol user among the bodies Gramps left behind?" I asked.

Drei’s expression shifted, he hesitated for a moment, visibly surprised by my question.

"I’m afraid not… but I do know of someone who fits that description.

A cutlass wielder who carries a custom flintlock pistol, Scarlett Rain, the youngest captain of Gladius," he revealed.

"Gladius?" I murmured, intrigued.

"A ruthless criminal syndicate obsessed with collecting relics, particularly ancient swords.

They’ll do anything to get their hands on them, including mass slaughter, town-wide destruction, and even assassinations of high-ranking figures," Drei explained.

"In short… a group of sword fanatics killed Gramps," I muttered, my voice laced with fury as an intense killing intent surged from within me.

"Calm yourself, young man," Drei cautioned.

I took a deep breath. "I am calm.

You’re probably right, Scarlett Rain was the one responsible.

It makes sense why Gramps used Sky Splitter and Moon Rend, he likely used Sky Splitter to break her sword and Moon Rend to eliminate everyone around her."

I clenched my fists.

"But I can’t see Gramps killing a young girl… and that hesitation probably cost him his life.

He was caught off guard and shot to death."

Drei looked at me with glassy eyes, his voice thick with emotion.

"No wonder Tora was so happy these past few years.

He had a grandson… a successor… and a friend who truly understood him," he said with a bittersweet smile.

"Gramps’ Severing Style was honed to cut down all evil in the world.

A beautiful sword art without a single defensive form, designed solely to sever anything and everything," I stated firmly.

Drei’s expression turned solemn.

"The world is on the brink of chaos because of Gladius.

And with the Sword Saint gone, things are spiraling out of control.

Riel… would you help us maintain order?"

I met his gaze without hesitation.

"As the successor of the Severing Style and the Sword Saint’s grandson… I’d love to.

And just call me Riel, old man", I replied.

A spark of hope flickered in Drei’s eyes at my answer.

"But you’re still young," he cautioned.

"I know I just asked for your help, but…"

"Don’t worry about it," I interrupted.

"From the moment I understood Gramps’ Severing Style, I knew I’d use it to uphold the legacy he left behind."

A thought crossed my mind, and I smirked.

"Besides… you’ve already helped me.

These mystic glasses Gramps gave me, it came from you, didn’t it?"

Drei chuckled. "Your insight is almost scary."

"The Cursed Eye of Perception… that’s what Tora temporarily named them," he added, glancing at my eyes now free of the mystic glasses.

"Thanks to them, I was able to live normally for a while," I said gratefully.

Old Man Drei nodded. "It seems your father expected this.

He’s left the decision up to you, whether you want to follow in Tora’s footsteps or not."

I exhaled. "Even if Dad never learned the way of the sword, he’s still the Sword Saint’s son.

Gramps wanted him to live freely, and he did.

But I’ve made my choice."

I straightened.

"I’ll come to America after my second year of secondary school."

Old Man Drei smiled.

"I see.

I’ll make the necessary preparations, including your continued education."

"Thanks, Old Man Drei! I won’t lie, I’m excited to see the world the way Gramps did," I admitted, grinning.

Old Man Drei chuckled, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.

"Well, I suppose this is goodbye for now. It’s been a pleasure talking with you, Riel."

"Till next time, Old Man," I said with a nod.

As Mr. Andrei Eisenhawk walked away to speak with my father, I made my way back to Gramps’ grave.

I placed a hand on the tombstone, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You had a pretty great best friend, Gramps."

I took a deep breath, the weight of reality settling in.

“I guess I’ll start my own tale, so you’ll have a lot of stories to hear when we meet again, Bye bye, Gramps”, I said sadly as a tear flowed from my right eye.