As Remoran began to adjust to life in Sharil, he found himself drawn to the art of the sword. He would watch Demoris train with other swordsmen, fascinated by the fluid movements and deadly precision of the weapon. Demoris was a widower and had no children. Five years prior, his wife, Lyra, was killed by orcs, or so it was believed. Demoris was a respected member of the community, known for his skill with the sword and his unwavering sense of justice.

One day, as Remoran was exploring the town, he came across a small stream. He knelt down and looked into the water, seeing his reflection for the first time since his family's death. He was taken aback by what he saw. His eyes were red and puffy from the grief, and his dirty blonde hair was matted and unkempt. But even through the sadness and grief, he could see the strength and determination in his eyes, a reflection of the person he was becoming.

With a newfound sense of purpose, Remoran threw himself into his training, determined to become a skilled swordsman like Demoris. He trained tirelessly, day in and day out, honing his body and his mind.

But even as he trained, he couldn't escape the shadow of his family's death. He found himself plagued by nightmares, and he often woke in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking, the sound of his family's screams ringing in his ears.

Over the next four years, Remoran trained with Demoris every day. He was a quick learner, and he threw himself into his training with a single-minded determination. Demoris was a stern and demanding teacher, but he saw something in Remoran that he admired, and he pushed the boy to be the best he could be.

They trained in the morning, when the sun was just starting to rise, and in the evenings, as the sun set behind the mountains. They trained in the rain and in the snow, and they trained in the hot summer sun. Remoran grew stronger and faster, and his skills with the sword improved with each passing day.

Demoris taught him the art of swordplay, showing him how to move with grace and precision, and how to strike with deadly accuracy. He taught him how to read an opponent's movements, and how to anticipate their next attack. And he taught him the importance of discipline and focus, showing him how to control his emotions, which Remoran had particular difficulty doing, and to stay calm in the face of danger.

As the years passed, Remoran grew into a powerful and confident young man. He had a quiet strength about him, and a sense of purpose that set him apart from others. He was no longer the scared and confused boy he had once been. He was a warrior, honed by his training and his experiences.

One day, while they were sparring in the courtyard, Remoran asked Demoris, "Have you ever thought about entering me in a sword fighting tournament?"

Demoris paused, his eyes looking up to the sky, "I haven't given it much thought, but I suppose you could enter if you wanted to. Lord Mejia, the governor of Sharil, organizes such events from time to time."

"That's perfect," Remoran replied, his face lighting up with excitement. "I want to prove myself and join the ranks of the town guard, just like you."

Demoris smiled, his hand on Remoran's shoulder. "I am proud of you, my son. You have grown into a fine swordsman."

Several months went by and a tournament did indeed get scheduled by Lord Mejia. The winner would be guaranteed a spot within the town guard and Remoran put his name in with Demoris’s blessing.

The day before the tournament Demoris sent Remoran to the town market to get some groceries. He smiled and waved at the folks he had come to know and love over the last four years. He also admired the squat and simple buildings that made up his home of Sharil and thought to himself how great his life had turned out even after such tragedy. He imagined his parents and little brother looking down on him now happy for him.

After getting what Demoris had sent him to get, Remoran left the market square and decided to take a less popular way back home to give himself time to think and enjoy the outdoors a little longer. As he got away from the crowds and began to feel peaceful, he heard a voice calling out to him: "Hey, look who's here, boys! It's the little farm boy who thinks he'll win the tournament!"

Remoran turned around and saw Keth, the bully who had decided to target him when he learned Remoran would be entering the tournament as well, leading a group of his cronies towards him. Keth was tall and muscular, with a thick beard and shaggy hair. He wore a sleeveless tunic that showed off his bulging muscles and carried a large wooden club.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"What do you want, Keth?" Remoran asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"I want to teach you a lesson, farm boy," Keth said, sneering. "I heard you think you're tough because you have a stepfather who is leader of the guard. Well, let's see how tough you are without him to coddle you."

Keth charged at Remoran, swinging his club in a wide arc. Remoran threw his basket to the ground, dodged the blow and stepped back, drawing his sword from its sheath. Keth's cronies circled around them, shouting and cheering their leader on.

The fight began, and Remoran quickly realized that Keth was a skilled fighter. He moved with surprising speed for a man of his size and knew how to use his weight and strength to his advantage.

Remoran tried to keep his distance, using his agility and quick reflexes to dodge Keth's blows. He struck at Keth's legs, hoping to knock him off balance, but Keth was too quick for him.

As the fight went on, Remoran became increasingly frustrated. He was beginning to tire, and Keth showed no signs of slowing down. Remoran knew he had to end the fight quickly, or he would be at Keth's mercy.

Suddenly, Remoran saw an opening. Keth swung his club in a wild arc, leaving himself open. Remoran lunged forward, thrusting his sword towards Keth's chest.

At the last moment, Remoran realized what he was doing. He had been so caught up in the fight that he had forgotten his training. He had almost killed Keth.

He pulled back his sword, barely missing Keth's chest. Keth stumbled back, staring at Remoran in shock.

Remoran's mind was racing. He had never felt such a rush of bloodlust before. He looked down at his sword, and for the first time, he saw that it was glowing with a strange red light.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Keth shouted, getting back to his feet. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Remoran looked up at Keth, his mind still reeling. He felt like he was in a dream, and he couldn't control his actions.

"I...I don't know what's happening," Remoran said, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean to...I'm sorry."

Keth looked at Remoran, his face contorted with rage. "You're a freak," he spat. "Stay away from me and my friends, or I'll make you pay."

With that, Keth and his cronies left, leaving Remoran alone with his thoughts.

Remoran stood there, shaking and sweating. He felt like he had just escaped from a nightmare. He looked down at his sword and saw that it had stopped glowing. It looked like an ordinary sword again.

He knew he needed to get away. He decided he would head toward his family's old farm. He needed to be alone, to think about what had just happened.

When he arrived at the farm, he walked straight over to his family's graves. He sat down in front of them and wept.

After a few hours had passed and the sun was beginning to sink, he heard the sound of hoofbeats and turned to see Demoris riding up on his horse.

"Remoran, what are you doing out here alone?" Demoris asked, concern etched on his face.

"I just needed some time to think," Remoran replied, still shaken from his encounter with Keth.

"Let's go back to the house," Demoris said, motioning for Remoran to get on the horse with him. "I'll make us some tea and we can talk about what happened, or did you want to stay here a little longer?”

Remoran dusted off his pants, shook his head, and climbed onto the horse behind Demoris, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as they rode back to the house. Once they were inside, Demoris made them both a cup of tea and sat down at the table with Remoran.

"What happened out there?" Demoris asked gently.

Remoran told Demoris about his encounter with Keth and how he had almost lost control during the fight.

"I don't know what's happening to me," Remoran said, tears welling up in his eyes. "I feel this overwhelming rage inside of me, and I don't know how to control it."

Demoris placed a hand on Remoran's shoulder. "It's okay, Remoran. It's normal to feel anger and hate, especially after what happened to your family. But you can't let it consume you. You have to learn to control it, or it will control you."

"I know," Remoran said, wiping away his tears. "I just don't know how."

"Let me help you," Demoris said with a determined look in his eyes. "We'll work on controlling your emotions. Together, we can get through this. You do know why Keth decided to target you today, right?”

“Because his head, and entire body, is just filled with rocks?” Remoran quipped.

Demoris chuckled, “That may be true, but really it comes down to the fact he is scared of you. He doesn’t like that you will be his competition in the tournament tomorrow and is trying to get into your head. Don’t let him.”

Remoran knew that Demoris had his best interests at heart and was so grateful he had him to lean on in times like these.

“I promise.” was all Remoran could think to reply, and he meant it.

Demoris rose and started gathering the dishes, “Well, tomorrow is going to be a long, and fun, day. We best get off to bed unless you want a foggy head from staying up late?”

Remoran rolled his eyes, “Oh I love sparring with a foggy head, it helps make me unpredictable since I don’t know what is going on myself.”

They each shared a laugh and headed off to bed for the night.