As Travis stepped out of the alley, his body aching and his breaths uneven, there was a glint of grim satisfaction in his eyes. The sword, his sword, was finally back in his hands, its familiar weight almost grounding him after the chaos of the fight. He wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing back briefly at the narrow alley that had served as his battlefield.

Last night, he had spent hours pacing in his dimly lit room, turning over every detail in his mind. The alley had been part of his plan from the start—a space too cramped for wide swings or overwhelming strength to dominate. It was a place that would force Hobbs and Bob to rely on precision rather than brute force, a weakness Travis knew he could exploit.

He had even considered the uneven cobblestones, recalling how they could easily cause a misstep in the heat of battle. He thought back to his training, how he had deliberately practiced fighting in confined spaces, striking quickly and retreating to dodge imaginary counters. Every punch, every bruise, every drop of sweat had been in preparation for moments like this.

The fight hadn’t gone perfectly—his throbbing side and torn sleeve were proof of that—but Travis had stuck to his plan. He’d stayed unpredictable, forcing the two into awkward positions where their strength meant nothing. Every movement he made had been calculated to turn their confidence against them.

Now, as he walked back onto the bustling street, sword in hand, the tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly. The night of planning, the week of brutal training—it had all been worth it. For the first time in a long while, Travis felt like he’d finally outsmarted the odds stacked against him.

....

In the quiet stillness of the night, Travis lay asleep on his bed, his breathing steady and deep. As his mind drifted into slumber, the familiar dream began to unfold, just like it had so many times before. But this time, there was no rush of panic. He simply waited, calm and expectant, for Eryndor to appear.

The vast white expanse stretched out endlessly around him, a blank canvas of nothingness. He stood alone, yet not for long. In an instant, Eryndor materialized before him, his presence as undeniable as ever. Without a word, Eryndor flicked his wrist, summoning chairs to appear out of thin air. They were simple, but solid, the kind of chairs that could only come from the hand of a sword spirit who had mastered the art of creation.

They sat across from each other, the quiet settling between them like an old, familiar companion.

"Yo," Eryndor greeted him, the simple word carrying an unmistakable sense of amusement.

Travis gave a small smile. "You seem quite happy. I guess all those grueling nights of punching trees have paid off," Eryndor said, his smirk obvious even without a face to frame it.

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Travis raised an eyebrow. "Yes they were. Wait, how do you know about that?"

Eryndor’s voice became almost teasing. "Well, you do know that only you can wield me, Travis. What do you think that means?"

Travis paused, his gaze narrowing with suspicion. "It's pretty straightforward, I guess. So please, get to the point."

Eryndor leaned back slightly, enjoying the moment. "It means the sword is yours and it recognizes you—and only you—as its master."

"Why are you speaking in third person?" Travis asked, now genuinely confused.

" Dramatic effect," Eryndor replied smoothly.

"Oh," Travis said, his confusion fading as he nodded in understanding.

"Now," Eryndor continued, "that gives you many advantages. The first one being, no one can steal the sword. Because if they did, it would return back to you, either way. You just had to call for it, and it would come back in a second, like a servant attending to his master."

Travis scoffed, his frustration creeping back in. "How would I know that if you don't tell me? I guess I was supposed to smell it in the air." He sighed. "Oh well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I fought for my life to get you back. I at least expect a 'Thank you.'"

Eryndor paused, as if considering his words. "Travis, I think maybe I should change forms."

"What?" Travis’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but before he could say more, a blinding light flared in front of him. He snapped his eyes shut, shielding them from the sudden brilliance.

When the light finally simmered down, Travis opened his eyes again, only to find that the figure before him had changed. No longer was Eryndor the form of a man. Instead, she now appeared as a woman, her presence radiating an almost ethereal beauty.

She wore a flowing white dress, the fabric shimmering like moonlight. Her long, silvery white hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves, and her bright blue eyes seemed to pierce through the void with a gaze that was both serene and powerful. Her smile, soft yet radiant, made Travis's heart race in his chest, his breath momentarily hitching.

Eryndor chuckled, her voice laced with amusement. "I guess this form is better for a young boy like you. Don't worry, I am neither man nor woman. I am, in fact, just a sword spirit."

"Um, okay. Is your name still Eryndor?" Travis asked, still taken aback by her transformation.

"Yes, it is. I could never change my name. My creator gave it to me himself," she said, her tone warm, though there was a hint of nostalgia. She smiled again, her gaze softening. "I am proud of your ambition to save me. I never thought you'd grow through such a challenge just to get me back. It honestly warms my heart."

Her voice was like a melody, each word filled with warmth and sincerity. Travis, caught off guard by the emotion behind it, found himself at a loss for words. He simply stared at her, entranced by the beauty of her presence.

'Oh, I must be too beautiful. Should I turn it down?' Eryndor thought, sensing his reaction.

Travis blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. He cleared his throat. "Well, as long as you understand, then I'll forgive you."

His thoughts lingered on her beauty. 'She's even prettier than Jessica. In fact, she outclasses her in every way.'

Eryndor smiled knowingly. "Why, thank you, Travis. Your compliments make me happy." She leaned forward slightly. "Now, let's talk about your level. You've grown stronger, Travis. You are now level one."

In an instant, a screen appeared before him, displaying his current status.

Name: Travis

Age: 16

Level: 1

Stats:

Strength: 9

Speed: 10

Stamina: 10

"So you can show me my stats?" Travis asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes, that's one of my abilities. Pretty neat, right? I know." Eryndor’s voice was casual now, almost playful.

"Wait, what happened to your god-like accent?" Travis asked, noticing the shift.

Eryndor’s tone shifted to something more formal, cold even. "Do you prefer me being formal? Because if you wish, I may change back to it."

Travis quickly shook his head. "Nope, please continue with this new one."

"Okay, let’s continue," she said, her voice warm again. "I made an adjustment to your body before. It makes it so your level doesn’t necessarily tell how strong you really are. It’ll grow accordingly, but your stats will tell a different story here than in the real world. You understand?"

"Yes," Travis responded, absorbing the information.

"Good," she said with a smile. "Now, I’d like for us to start talking about how you’ll grow in swordsmanship and become stronger as my user."

TO BE CONTINUED