Garba staggered towards the burning woods, each step heavier than the last. His weary, bloodshot eyes scanned the fiery horizon, the disheveled white hair on his head matted with sweat and streaked with his own blood and that of his defeated foes. His sword, Windslayer, once a weapon of grace and lethality, now serves as a cane, trembling under the weight of his battered body. His breaths came shallow and ragged, his strength all but drained.
As he moved closer to the flames, the heat pressed against his face, pushing away the bone-chilling grasp of death creeping within him. The warmth was oddly comforting, as if the heat themselves offered him solace in his final moments. But it wasn’t just the warmth he sought. He searched for something—or someone—else, hoping to find amidst the ashes and carnage.
If anyone survived, perhaps it meant the invaders had been vanquished ending this battle to their victory... If not, that will be a grim outcome, but not unexpected.
Then, through the haze of ash and smoke, he saw a figure moving. A shadow darting between the dying embers. At first, he thought it was his mind playing tricks, perhaps a cruel mirage conjured by his fading consciousness. But no, the figure slowed, its dark silhouette clearing in the fiery glow.
It was a figure Garba knew all too well.
“Kaiser...” he whispered hoarsely, wondering why the brat that's supposed to be away was in this dangerous forest of all places. Sadly, his too weak to scold the brat.
The young man stopped a short distance away, his form clearer now. His frame was battered, his clothes torn and soaked with blood, dried by ashes, and his arm… gone. Yet, despite it all, Kaiser still stood, his face etched with exhaustion and concern.
“Gramps…” Kai’s voice was thick with emotion, trembling with a rare crack in his usually defiant demeanor.
Garba huffed. “Man up, brat. Don’t you dare cry on me.”
Kai forced a smile, though it trembled at the corners. “Who do you think I am? I don’t cry for old people.”
“Good... That’s my boy…” Garba’s words were cut short as he coughed violently, blood splattering onto the ground. His knees buckled, and he sank into the dirt, his grip on Windslayer faltering.
“Gramps!” Kai rushed forward, his mask of composure cracking. As he reached Garba, the old man managed to look up at him, studying his apprentice’s disheveled appearance. They're both a mess, but Kaiser undoubtedly takes the prize.
“Quite a looker, aren’t we?” Garba smirked in a weak tone laced with dry humor.
“Shut up.”
He scoffed, keeping his voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing within.
His mentor chuckled, though it turned into another fit of coughing. “Care to help an old man, brat?”
He hesitated, his forced stoicism faltering before he knelt and helped his mentor to his feet. He supported the frail man, guiding him toward the warm glow of the flames.
Right now, Kai didn't know what to feel or what to do. Let alone, say anything because his overflowing emotions might burst out of his tongue, followed by tears... Garba wouldn't like that. So, he stayed silent as much as he could.
“What happened to your hand?” On their way, Garba asked, his tone rasping.
“...Stupidity,” replied Kai flatly after a moment of hesitation.
That earned a laugh from the old man. “You never change. Still remember the time you tried to attack me mid-lecture? You haven’t learned a damn thing since then, have you?. Guess you learned your lesson this time, huh?”
“Nah,” Kai said with a nonchalant shrug. “It was kinda fun. Might do it again.”
Garba almost choked, coughing harshly as he laughed. “You really are a fool.”
Finally, they reached a small clearing where the flames cast a dim, flickering light. Garba motioned for Kai to stop. “This’ll do,” he muttered.
Kaiser lowered his mentor gently to the ground, before sitting back, the somber look in his eyes betraying his otherwise calm demeanor. His gaze drifted to Garba’s side, where a horrifying sight awaited him. Making his wish it was a hallucination. However, it's not — A large chunk of the old man’s waist was… gone. The jagged wound oozed blood, and his breathing grew fainter with every passing second.
That's something that can't be patched by any fabric or burn. It's too big of a wound.
He uttered hesitantly.
“Hey, Gramps…How about we head back to the village? They might be able to do some—”
“Quit it, fool,” Garba cut him off, firm despite its weakness. “I’ve lost too much blood. It’s no use.”
The weight of those words hit Kaiser like a blow to the chest. Of course, he realized that, he just doesn't want to believe nor accept it.
Garba continued, his tone lighter as if to soften the truth. “Besides, this isn’t the only problem. Got a few broken ribs, a busted arm, and damaged organs… oh, and did I mention I had to cut off some of my intestines earlier? Damn things were getting in the way.” He coughed violently, his body convulsing with the effort. “Yeah, kid… I think I’m dying.”
He looked up at Kai with a small, wry smile. “So… what did you get?”
'F*cking idiot, this is not the time to brag about that.'
Still, not wanting to spoil his mentor's joke, Kai tried to match the old man humor, though his voice was strained. “Got one arm ripped off in the ride of my life on a giraffe, or a horse. Whatever that f*cking creature is! But I got plenty of souvenir. Uh, let me think... Yeah, I got a rib fracture, too. Judging by how sh*tty I feel right now, there are some cracks in my spine, legs, skull, as well. I also got liver and organ damage, ruptured spleen, abdominal injuries, brain bleeding, kidney disease, cancer
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and lots of internal bleeding… maybe a snapped tendon or two. You know, the usual. Honestly, Gramps, I think I’m dying too."
Garba gives him an unconvinced look.
"Now that's just spouting nonsense. I guess this is my win. Ha! You can't win against your teacher, brat. Dream on." He laughed, followed by more coughing, sending daggers in his heart.
Taking a deep breath, Kai sighed.
"You know, I really hate your teachings.”
Garba chuckled, the sound weak but genuine. “Then stop following them, idiot. And don't even think about following me to death.”
'I can't, even if I wanted to.'
Silence settled over them, broken only by the crackling of the flames. Kai sat nearby, his distant gaze fixed on Garba somberly. The stoic mask he wore couldn’t hide the sorrow in his eyes. He had always seen Garba as a unbeatable sword master, but seeing him like this—beaten, broken, fading, bleeding—was a reality Kai wasn’t prepared to face.
His the strongest swordsman he knew, the one who taught him the way of the sword in the lonesome tower. Be it the hard way, in which Kai appreciates and secretly takes pride in. Garba was the person that forged him into a swordman he is now.
'Why am I so hopeless?
How could he, someone molded by this master’s teachings, do nothing when the man who taught him everything was dying?
Guilt keeps gripping his heart.
The firelight flickered, casting long shadows over the two of them. Then Garba’s raspy voice broke the silence.
He muttered, softer than Kai had ever heard him, “Hey, brat, you’ll be fine without me, won’t you?”
Kai’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to answer, forcing a smirk. “Of course. Who needs an old geezer like you anyway? But, uh… I’d really like to have your sword.”
Garba chuckled weakly, the sound dry and rasping. “Why bother asking? With a face as thick as yours, you’d snatch it anyway.”
Kai leaned forward, pretending to shrug. “Then please understand there’s no use refusing.”
“I know, brat.” Garba’s smile softened into something more genuine. “I was planning to give it to you, anyway.”
"...Really?”
When did this old bag of bones become so kind?
“Yes,” Garba rasped, his gaze fixed on the orange glow of the flames. “But promise me one thing, Kaiser... Don’t walk the path of a swordsman if there’s doubt in your heart. Actually…” He paused, his face shadowed by regret as he looked at him straight in the eyes. “I’d prefer you give up on the blade altogether.”
Kai frowned, suddenly confused “And why’s that?”
He had spent days, suffered and got battered honing his skills under his teaching.
His mentor sighed, the sound filled with the weight of years. “I’m sorry for saying this now. The truth is… the sword is for the weak, not for the Players.”
Kai froze, puzzlement twisting his features. “What do you mean?”
Garba’s gaze turned distant, as if recalling something from long ago. “There’s something I’ve hidden from you, Kaiser. Something I should’ve told you earlier before passing my family's dying legacy. The truth is… the sword may be potent in the hands of normal humans, but for Players like you, it’s nothing more than a flimsy stick compared to the power Players hold.”
Kai’s expression hardened. “You’re wrong. A sword is more than that. A sword is discipline, technique—”
“Discipline and technique won’t stop the inevitable,” Garba interrupted, “History has seen it, Kaiser. Be it an entire army of swordsmen can be wiped out in an instant under the power of a single Player. Thousands dead in the flash of a thunderous ability. The sword, no matter how skillfully wielded, is futile against the sheer might of what Players are capable of.”
Kai’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fists clenched.
That, he can't deny. Perhaps he hasn't experienced what real abilities Players hold to fully comprehend what Garba is trying to make him understand. However, Kai does get the shallow meaning. It's like a swordman against mages, while a slash of a blade could potentially kill a single enemy. A mage explosive spell is capable of annihilating an entire squadron without even getting close to harm. Swords simply paled in comparison to sorcery, which is similar to the varying powers Players possess. Additionally, mastering one's magical ability is probably easier than swordplay. Kai hasn't discovered his yet, so his not so certain.
Still, the future of swordmanship in the world of Players is undeniably bleak. He should be getting mad at Garba for tricking him into learning the blade, but for many reasons, he can't.
He let out a heavy sigh, before questioning.
“But what about your ancestor? You said even the undying Bakar was no match against him? He was a powerful Player swordsman, wasn’t he?"
Garba’s smirk returned, though it carried a bitter edge. “Powerful, yes… because he wielded a powerful sword. One that could cause a forest fire like this in one swing. That’s why he thrived. You, brat? You don’t have a sword like that. You now have Windslayer, but it’s... well, it’s not exactly legendary.”
It's almost funny how a swordman's future was defined by his blade, it makes him question why he even trained so hard to improve his skill.
Kai’s eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll find one."
If memory serves him right, Relic's were acquired from slaying monstrosities. Needless to say, the stronger a creature are, the greater the reward. That's probably how *WFEW* got his so-called infernal sword that made him a great swordsman in spite of the odds compared to other Players.
The fire crackled, its embers spiraling into the dark sky like fleeting stars, as Garba’s weathered voice broke the oppressive silence. It was softer now, tinged with a rare vulnerability.
“Don’t waste your time,” he murmured, his eyes searching Kaiser’s as if willing his hard head to understand. “The chances of stumbling onto something like that are slim. You’re better off letting go of the blade. Take up marksmanship or something less… dangerous. The path of the sword is narrow, unforgiving. You’ll either die on it, or you’ll become great.” His voice faltered for a moment before continuing, the words almost sticking in his throat. “And I’ll be honest with you, Kaiser… I don’t want my only disciple dying because of me.”
Kaiser blinked, the weight of the words pressing on his chest like a boulder. Still, he managed to force a crooked smile.
“Who said I’ll die?”
Garba’s gaze wavered, his lips tightening into a grim line. For a moment, he looked as though he might drop the conversation, let it die in the flames around them. But then, with a sigh heavy enough to carry a lifetime of regret, he spoke the bitter truth.
“Your potential…” he said, his tone sharp with the sting of reality. “I’m sorry, Kaiser, but you’re not a genius. Nor exceptionally talented. Judging from your learning speed, you’ve got skill and a good head over your shoulders. I’ll give you that. But…” His voice softened, the words cutting deeper for their gentleness. “It’s lesser than mine. If I were fifteen again, I’d probably beat you as you are now in terms of pure swordsmanship. So tell me, brat—what gives you the idea that you’ll ever be so great that even Players won’t be able to stand against you?”
The words stung.
Not because they were cruel but because they were true. Garba had kept this unspoken truth buried for days, feeding him encouragement instead, letting the flame of ambition burn bright. Now, as the fire around them consumed the forest, as Garba lay weakened and weary, that flame was snuffed out for the sake of keeping his only student safe.
Kai understood why his mentor had said it. The old man wasn’t trying to belittle him—he was trying to protect him. Kai wasn’t the kind of person stories were written about. He lacked the brilliance of a prodigy, the sharpness of a genius, the heart of a leader, or the ingenuity of an inventor. These were the qualities that made someone extraordinary, the traits that built legacies.
But he was… ordinary. A little above average, perhaps, but not enough to stand out. He wasn’t destined to lead armies or carve his name into history. At best, he was a soldier, the kind whose fate was left to chance. And wielding a sword only made that fate bleaker. A safer path would be to take up a bow, stand at the back-lines, and live longer than melee's on the front.
That was why Garba had urged him to abandon the sword. It was a path that would only end in his death—sooner rather than later.
Of course, deep down, Kai had always known this. If he truly had the makings of greatness, he wouldn’t have died so pathetically on his first day, cut down by a handful of sloppy bandits. He wouldn’t have stumbled through failure after failure, kept alive only by the curse of his immortality. Every death, every defeat, was a reminder of his mediocrity.
His nothing special, really.
Garba’s final lesson was as cold as it was honest: accepting his own inferiority wasn’t a weakness. Cowardice, might actually save him. Putting down the blade and choosing a safer path might keep him alive into a safer life where he belongs, and leave the throne to those born worthy of it.
However, for some reason, Kai can't simply accept that.
He had felt this sting before—back on Earth, where his professors had written him off as unremarkable, another struggler destined to fade into obscurity. It was a familiar pain, one that told him to lower his head, to know his place.
And now, his sword instructor was saying the same for his own good.
'Am I?'
Something inside him snapped.
'Sorry gramps... I don't wanna be a disappointment anymore.'
He refused to accept Garba's last teaching!
A chuckle escaped Kai’s lips. At first, it was soft, almost humorless, but it grew louder, sharper, until it echoed through the clearing like a defiant sinister cry. His body moved on its own as he stood, his shadow stretching long in the firelight. He reached for Windslayer, the translucent blade catching the flickering glow as he unsheathed it.
The fire reflected in his eyes as he turned the blade toward his chest, the tip pressing lightly against where his heart hid. The movement was deliberate, unhurried, as though he were testing Garba’s resolve as much as his own.
He locked eyes with his mentor, a cold, almost playful smile curling at his lips. Without hesitation, he drove the blade into his chest.
“Is that so?” Kai murmured, his voice calm but brimming with something unyielding.
“Then I’ll definitely become great.”
“Kaiser, stop!” Garba rasped, his voice rising in alarm.
But Kaiser didn’t stop doing the unthinkable.
With one swift motion, he drove the blade into his chest, the sound of steel meeting flesh sharp and final.
Garba gasped, his body lurching forward as if he could stop what had already been done. “What are you doing?!”
But Kaiser didn’t fall.
The blade buried in his chest didn’t kill him. Blood trickled from the wound, dark and glistening in the firelight, but his body remained upright, his breathing steady.
He looked down at the sword, then back at Garba. His smile widened, cold and unyielding.
Kai’s gaze never wavered, his smile unfaltering. Then said, his voice low and resolute.
“That’s why, old man... No one decides my limits. Not you. Not the world. Not my lacking potential. Not fate. Nothing.”
Because for better or worse, Kaiser had chosen his path. A path carved in blood, steel, and defiance. A path that no one—not even death—could take from him, no matter how many times it tries.
Garba could only stare in disbelief, his breath caught in his throat.