Unexpectedly, mother finally agreed to let Brandt teach me swordsmanship. I’d assumed it would just be about swinging and slashing wildly, but I quickly learned it was more like painting—or any skill, really—you had to master the fundamentals first.
We began with the basics of grip after helping my parents on the farm.
“As you know, we use our hands to grip the sword, but there’s more to it,” Brandt explained, adjusting my hands on the wooden sword. “The grip should feel like holding a bird—you don’t want to crush it, but you also don’t want it to fly away.”
A bird. I’d never actually held one, but I understood the logic: balanced, neither too tight nor too loose. Efficiency was key.
“Now, swing,” he instructed.
Swish!
And there went the sword, flying out of my hands.
“Your grip’s too soft,” he said with a chuckle. “Try again.”
I caught a glimpse of my parents watching nearby, smiling. They didn’t look like they were mocking me—just genuinely happy.
I picked up the sword from the ground and tried again.
Swosh!
“Too stiff this time,” Brandt noted. “You’ll injure your arm like that. That’s why we’ll always do warm-ups first.”
It took me six more attempts to get it right. At first, it felt impossible. But as I practiced, I started to notice parallels—it was like handling a brush while painting. Balance, control, and precision were everything.
Next, he taught me the stance.
“I’m going to show you a basic stance, Vonn,” he said, stepping into position.
He moved deliberately, giving me a clear view of what to do. “First, look at my feet. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart to create a stable base.”
I mimicked his posture as he continued. “Your dominant foot—the same side as your sword hand—should be slightly forward. Keep the back foot angled outward a bit for better balance.”
He pointed at his feet, then mine. “Think of your feet as the base of a triangle—stable and strong.”
From there, he moved up, breaking down each detail: knee position, weight distribution, sword placement, upper body alignment. It was a lot to absorb, but it made sense.
After practicing for a while, we paused to rest. Brandt frequently asked if I wanted to continue or stop if I felt tired, but the truth was, I wasn’t tired.
This was addicting. Damn.
There was something about starting something new that lit a fire in me. If I started, I had to finish. It was the same with painting—once I picked up a canvas and began thinking and feeling my way through the concept, I couldn’t stop. I’d work until I was satisfied, no matter how long it took.
And now, swordsmanship was starting to feel the same way.
Occasionally, my mother would bring us snacks, and we’d take a quick break to eat before resuming practice.
“You’re pretty tough,” Brandt said, smiling warmly.
I guessed that was thanks to my adult mind. If I’d been an actual five-year-old, I’d have been completely worn out by now. My patience would have long since disappeared. Of course, a big part of it was also Brandt—he was a great teacher, patient and encouraging.
“It’s because you have great patience, Uncle,” I said, genuinely complimenting him.
He chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Where’d you learn to talk like that? Did you pick it up from your father?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Flattery, you little rascal,” he said, tapping my head lightly.
“I’m serious,” I replied. “I think you’d make a great teacher.”
His expression shifted slightly—serious for a moment, though he managed a small smile. “You think so?”
“Yup,” I said, nodding slowly.
“Well, you’re pretty good at giving compliments. I think you’ll do well with people,” he said, smiling again.
I just smiled back, unsure how to respond to that. Then curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to steer the conversation elsewhere. “When are you going back to the emperor’s place?” I asked, trying to sound as kid-like as possible.
“I’m on vacation for seven months. That’s a long time,” he said, then raised an eyebrow. “Why? Thinking about quitting already?”
Of course not.
“No, I’m just curious,” I said quickly.
“Well, I won’t be staying here the whole time,” he admitted. “I have my own place further away, so I’m speeding up your lessons. That’s why we’re moving faster than normal.”
Even though his words sounded simple, Brandt’s expression told a different story—something was clearly bugging him. But I wasn’t exactly in a position to ask what it was.
We continued after our brief conversation. He taught me footwork, posture, balance, and the basics of strikes and guards.
“Think of the sword as both a shield and a spear,” he explained. “Guard with it when you’re not attacking, and strike quickly when there’s an opening.”
The way he taught made me wonder—had he noticed how quickly I understood things? Did he suspect I was different from other kids? I nodded along, even when he said things that might be too advanced for a child. Not because I didn’t understand, but because I wanted to keep progressing without drawing attention. Maybe I was just overthinking it.
image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/034/487/740/small/gold-frame-page-divider-free-png.png]
Later that night
“How’s your teacher?” my father asked over dinner.
“He challenges me,” I replied.
Their reactions caught me off guard. My parents exchanged surprised glances, as if I’d said something shocking. Why did this keep happening? All I meant was that Brandt was a great teacher. He pushed me to challenge my limits—like fixing my posture. I thought I couldn’t do it properly at first, but with his guidance, I eventually managed.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“I learned a lot in just one day,” I added quickly, trying to smooth over the moment.
“I guess I was just worried,” my mother said, sighing in relief. “I thought you’d come back covered in bruises, but it seems you did a great job today.”
“Vonn’s not just a quick learner, as you said, brother,” Brandt chimed in, catching me by surprise. “He’s also extremely hardworking.”
It had been a while since I’d heard someone use that word—hardworking. Most people focus on outcomes, praising results as though they were miracles born from talent, intelligence, or sheer luck. But Brandt? He believed in something different.
He valued hard work—the kind of effort anyone could put in, regardless of talent or natural ability. That belief in effort over innate skill left a mark on me. Back in my past life, when I painted, it was both a passion and a way to survive. I believed in hard work—it was the one constant. Hearing someone else echo that sentiment now felt oddly surprising. On Earth, people rarely valued the process behind a creation. They’d critique the finished product—and while constructive criticism had its place—they often failed to see the effort, sweat, and time that went into it.
"Well he's our son after all." My father proudly said.
I gave him a small nod, but before I could say anything, Brandt leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing in thought. “You know,” he started, his voice carrying that weight of memory, “it’s been years since I last saw your daughter. How is she?”
This man. He suddenly remembered I have an older sister out of nowhere? What a strange guy.
My mother perked up at that, smiling fondly. “Clarisse’s doing well. You wouldn’t recognize her now—she’s practically a lady. She was just four the last time you visited.”
Brandt chuckled softly. “That long ago, huh? The little girl who used to follow me around everywhere…” He shook his head, his expression tinged with nostalgia. “I remember her crying when I left for the capital.”
Well. I never knew that, not until now.
My father chuckled. “That sounds like her. She's pretty dramatic back then.”
“Not dramatic—sensitive,” my mother corrected, giving him a pointed look. “She’s just always had a big heart.”
I had known her as mature earlier in this life, but then I discovered she was quite unpredictable.
Brandt smiled at that, his gaze softening. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How time slips by."
“You’ve done a lot in those years, brother,” my father said firmly. “No one could say otherwise.”
After that brief conversation, they moved on to topics far beyond what a kid like me could join in on. That was perfectly fine with me—I went straight to my room and started painting.
That’s how I usually ended my day: painting. Over the past year, I’d created so many pieces that it felt like I have turned my room into a painting museum. Picking it up again after some time felt good, even though having small hands was a bit limiting at first. Still, I stuck with it, refining my technique little by little. It was still new to me though, how Victor and Eleanor bragged about my paintings to Brandt and the neighbors. As a result, our neighbors frequently ask me to draw or paint for them.
What I discovered was that art wasn’t considered a big deal in this world. There weren’t any well-known painters or artists in this country, as far as I'm aware. When I asked my parents about it, they didn’t know much either.
image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/034/487/740/small/gold-frame-page-divider-free-png.png]
A week had passed.
The usual routine: wake up, help my parents, and train. I used my training as the perfect excuse to skip playing with the other kids—not that I needed one.
I’d been experimenting with magic in secret, always in hidden spots where no one could see me. The last thing I wanted was to cause a panic. As you know, I’d already mastered the basic fire spell, Flicker. It was as simple as raising my hand and saying the word, and a small flame would appear.
But the more I practiced, the more I understood the limitations of magic. The books were right—chanting drained energy, or mana, as they called it. That naturally limited how many spells a person could cast before hitting their threshold.
For example, I’d recently learned a new chant:
“Flame arise, bright and small,
Hear my will, heed my call.”
It wasn’t particularly powerful, just another basic fire spell. But after testing it, I discovered I could only cast it four times before dizziness set in. Trying a fifth time left me so lightheaded I nearly collapsed.
The books I’d read explained this: mana could be replenished by meditating in open environments—places like forests, hills, or mountains, where the air was fresh and abundant. The longer you meditated, the more mana you could transfer back into your body. However, everyone had a different mana capacity, and some people were naturally born with far more than others.
“We’ll spar today,” Brandt announced.
Yeah, I heard him right. Sparring with a grown man, a trained soldier, an imperial warrior. Sure, he wasn’t going to kill a five-year-old, but the idea still sent a shiver down my spine.
“After this, you can go play with the other kids,” he added, gesturing to the group watching us from a distance.
I just wanted to train all day. Playing with them was more of a chore than anything.
“Alright, position,” he said, snapping me back to reality.
I instinctively positioned myself, applying everything he’d taught me: the posture, the stance, the grip. My wooden sword felt ready, primed to defend.
“I’ll go on the offensive. You defend,” he said.
I nodded.
Brandt moved quickly, closing the distance. But as he struck, he slowed down just enough for me to react. I barely managed to block the attack, though it was more from luck than skill.
“Once again,” he said calmly.
Another attack. Another shaky block.
“Keep calm. Watch the sword. Look where it’s going,” he instructed.
Swing.
This time, I blocked it. Barely.
“That’s better,” he said, nodding in approval.
We continued sparring. He stayed on the offensive, his attacks weak and deliberate, tailored to my abilities. It was understandable—if he went even slightly harder, I’d probably end up on the ground or worse, injured. For now, these "weak" attacks were enough to push my limits, and I was learning with every swing.
“All right, try an overhead swing, kid,” Brandt said, tying his long hair into a ponytail. “I’ll defend.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath. An overhead swing was a straightforward but powerful move—starting above my head and coming down in a controlled arc. To pull it off properly, I needed to use my whole body, from head to toe.
“Come on, they’re all watching,” Brandt teased, gesturing toward the other kids. “Don’t you want to show off so you can go play?”
“Yeah, yeah. Here I go,” I replied with a sigh, adjusting my stance.
HAAA—
Swissssh!
The swing felt different—off somehow. My eyes widened as the tip of the wooden sword glowed faintly red, a wisp of smoke curling off it. Was that… magic?
I hoped, prayed, that he hadn’t noticed. But of course, he had. Brandt immediately raised his hand, stopping me in my tracks.
“Are you practicing magic?” he asked, his voice steady but firm.
My mind raced. Of course, he saw it. Why did I even think he wouldn’t?
“No...Uncle ” I blurted out, shaking my head.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, his skepticism unmistakable. “Then what was that just now kid?”
I took a step back, gripping the sword tighter. “I… I don’t know. What is it, Uncle?” I asked, doing my best to sound genuinely clueless. I glanced at the sword in mock confusion, tilting it slightly as if inspecting it.
Brandt tilted his head, his sharp gaze lingering on me. For a moment, I thought he was about to press further. But then he sighed and shook his head. “Never mind. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. Go ahead and play with them.”
Haaaa.
At least I’d managed to deflect his attention for now. But I knew I’d need to be far more careful next time. I didn’t think this was the right time to tell them I’d learned magic.
What a discovery, though. It was my first time seeing magic manifest in a sword. I’d only read small snippets about it in books—they called them magic swordsmen.
I couldn’t help but wonder if I could truly combine magic with swordsmanship. Well, there was only one way to find out: experimentation.
image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/034/487/740/small/gold-frame-page-divider-free-png.png]
Yeah, I played along with them. If I wanted to get back to the cave and experiment more with this magic of mine, I needed to be patient and go along with their games. At first, I considered suggesting hide-and-seek to sneak away, but it felt too risky. So, I scrapped the idea and stuck with the group.
“You never told us you knew how to swing a sword, Vonn,” Geoffrey said, slapping me on the back so hard I thought my lungs might collapse.
Well, I never had a reason to tell you, Geoffrey.
“We can play swords again, and I’ll make sure you’re on my team,” Geoffrey added, kicking a rock across the ground.
“Hey, Geff, let’s just ask him which team he wants to join,” Torben interjected.
These two.
I hadn’t planned on playing with them for several more hours, but that’s exactly what happened. By the time we finished, I was drained and waited until we all went home. Once there, I told my parents I’d be playing with the others again later on—but that was a lie.
This time, I was heading to the cave. And I was bringing the wooden sword with me.
“That’s exhausting,” I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead as I reached the cave entrance.
Following the same routine, I grabbed a makeshift torch and prepared to cast my chant.
“Flicker.”
As I walked deeper into the cave, I spotted the fluorescent slimes again, bouncing as they always did. The skill I’d unlocked earlier—Painter’s Eye—was proving useful. When I focused on the slimes, a small display appeared in my mind’s eye:
[Basic Slimes]
[Fluorescent Slimes]
Glowing slimes, not aggressive.
This time, though, I had a plan. I wanted to take them all out using fire magic.
“Flame arise, bright and small,
Hear my will, heed my call.”
Whoosh!
Oh. I missed.
I tried again, adjusting my aim.
“Flame arise, bright and small,
Hear my will, heed my… call.”
This time, the spell hit its mark. The slimes didn’t even try to dodge—they seemed mesmerized by the light. Slowly, the fire consumed them. I managed to chant two more times, pushing myself to the limit, but the effort paid off.
A notification appeared.
[Killed a slime: 3 XP]
[Unlocked XP Visibility]
Curious, I opened my status screen:
[Status]
Name: Vonn Ermine
Age: 5 years old
Current Level: Initiate
Current XP: 3/100
Traits: Painter, Magic Practitioner, Sword Practitioner
Skills:
Painter’s Eye I (First Stage): Allows you to analyze monsters you encounter, revealing their race.
It displayed my progress clearly. As I continued through the cave, I noticed a pattern: each fluorescent slime I killed earned me 1 XP. They were the only creatures I’d encountered so far, so I quickly learned their XP value by repetition.
[Current XP: 8/100]
The system, as far as I could tell, was purely informational. It didn’t enhance my abilities—it just displayed my current status and progress. Still, it was incredibly useful. The best part? I’d unlocked a “help” option that explained the system in greater detail.
The system tracked:
My status: Name, age, progress, traits, and skills.
Leveling system: A breakdown of experience thresholds for each level.
Here’s what I learned about the levels:
Initiate: 0–100 XP
Acolyte: 101–300 XP
Disciple: 301–500 XP
Seeker: 501–700 XP
Warden: 701–900 XP
Champion: 901–1000 XP
Hero: 1001–2000 XP
Saint: 2001–3500 XP
Demigod: 3501–5000 XP
Deity: 5001+ XP
The system explained that these levels were particularly important for determining rank. For example, if I ever got employed, decided to join a guild or become an adventurer, my rank would be identified using a specific rank-detection magic that guilds employed.
Another critical detail: this system was unique to me. No one else could see their status or their progress in a screen like this—And I was the only one who had this. For others, progression was determined solely by their experience or through rank-identifying magic but for me, I could see it every time I manifested the screen.
This system could be incredibly useful. Even if it just tracked progress, having it with me seemed like a game-changer. But I couldn’t help wondering—where did it come from? Was it tied to my reincarnation? Probably. The whole reincarnation thing was still a mystery, even now.
But then, I nearly died of a heart attack when I turned—and there it was.
A massive, freaking Giant Spider.
Its legs stretched out unnaturally, long and spindly, each one clicking against the cave floor as it moved. Eight soulless eyes stared at me, unblinking, and I swear I could feel its gaze piercing right through me.
Krrkk-krrkk.
The sound sent a shiver down my spine as the spider took a slow, deliberate step closer. Its mandibles twitched, oozing some kind of thick, greenish liquid.
[Arachnid]
[Giant Spider]
Venom effects vary: paralysis, hallucinations, slow death, or cocooning victims for later feeding.