“NOOOOOOOO! HELP ME…!”

Stark’s desperate cries echoed across the desert as he sprinted through the loose sand. Behind him, a swirling cloud of dust marked a beast’s pursuit. He glanced over his shoulder and screamed again.

The desert Stilo was gaining on him, its eyes fixed on him. Stark recognized the beast—it was the same kind Krul used to roast for meals.

“You never told me they breathe fucking FIRE!” he shouted.

Suddenly, the Stilo unleashed a torrent of flames. Stark dove to the side, feeling the searing heat sting his back. The sand behind him hissed but Stark kept running.

Above him, Krul hovered effortlessly using his wings. He smirked, a plate of roasted meat in one hand.

“Use that sword and kill the Stilo!” Krul said while munching on the roast meat with an amused smirk.

“Easy for you to say! You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Stark shouted back.

Krul chuckled, taking another bite of his meal. “Consider it a practical lesson.”

Over time, Krul incorporated basic swordsmanship into Stark’s routine, only after he had mastered the cave runs and bodyweight exercises.

The results were striking. His muscles now defined and lean. His hair patchy grew back thick.

Stark had grown taller, his posture no longer hunched but upright.

But all the drills in the world hadn’t prepared him for a fire-breathing Stilo charging at full speed.

THUD.

Stark collided face-first with an invisible wall, the impact sending him stumbling backward. He groaned, rubbing his forehead, but before he could gather his bearings, the Stilo charged. Its head rammed into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He collapsed to the ground, gasping, clutching his gut.

The beast stepped back, its chest heaving as it prepared to unleash the fire breath.

“Get up,” Krul’s voice rang out.

A faint purple glow encased the Stilo, freezing it in place. Krul hovered nearby, his outstretched hand glowing purple. He had isolated this stretch of the desert, trapping Stark with the beast.

“No running this time, Human Child” Krul added, smirking.

Stark staggered to his feet, wincing as pain filled his bruised abdomen. His grip tightened on his sword, sweat dripping. He cautiously stepped out, his gaze fixed on the beast.

“Good luck,” Krul smirked, releasing the Stilo from his hold.

The beast roared and unleashed a blazing stream of fire. Stark dove to the side, the heat grazing his arm as the sand hissed. The Stilo charged again, swift.

I can’t face it head-on. Think.

He sidestepped, swinging his blade as the beast lunged. His strike missed, plunging into the sand instead. The Stilo wheeled around, spitting flames that forced Stark to roll away, barely escaping.

“You damn beast,” Stark muttered through gritted teeth.

The Stilo charged again before Stark could fully rise. He barely had time to lift his sword in defense. The beast’s head slammed into the blade, sending him hurtling into the loose sand.

“Ugh…” Stark groaned, coughing and spitting grains of sand. His arms trembled from the impact, his grip on the sword weak but somehow intact.

“Good defense,” Krul’s voice called out. “Now get up and aim for its weak points.”

“Weak points?” Stark yelled, glaring at Krul. “Does it even have any?”

“Find them,” Krul replied, his smirk widening.

“You senile old devil…” Stark muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on the sword.

He forced himself to his feet.

The next moments were a blur. The Stilo rammed into him repeatedly, tossing him like a rag doll. He swung his sword wildly, hitting nothing but empty air. By the time the world faded to black, his body had given up entirely.

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

Stark’s eyes fluttered open to the familiar dusty ceiling of the cave, fully recovered and rested due to Krul’s magic.

He sat up slowly, glancing around. Krul sat nearby, in a chair, engrossed in a book.

“How was your first fight, child?” Krul asked without looking up.

Stark rubbed his forehead, glaring at him. “What the hell was that? Why did you make me fight a fire-breathing monster?”

Krul finally glanced at him, puzzled. “What do you mean? Stilo is the weakest beast in the region.”

“Huh? That’s the weakest?”

“Of course,” Krul said, turning a page in his book.

Stark groaned, leaning back against the wall. “What about the bone-eaters?”

“The normal ones?” Krul asked casually.

“Both,”

Stark still had nightmares about the Elder bone-eater. Its sinister smile haunted his sleep, . Every morning, he woke drenched in cold sweat, his chest heaving as if the beasts were still looking for him.

“Normal bone-eaters are low-level monsters,” Krul began. “But Elders? They range from mid to high-level.”

“There’s a difference?” Stark asked curiously.

Krul nodded. “Yes. The longer an Elder survives, the stronger and smarter it becomes. Decades of survival allow it to evolve into something far more dangerous—an Ancient.”

Stark’s brow furrowed. “An Ancient… Is it that terrifying?”

“Terrifying doesn’t cover it.”

“Is it huge?” Stark asked, imagining a towering beast.

Krul shook his head. “No, child. That’s the most unsettling part. Ancients look eerily similar to Elders. But even an army of Elders wouldn’t be able to touch one.”

Stark hesitated, then asked, “Is it stronger than you?”

Krul scoffed. “A mere beast cannot compare to me,” he said with a haughty smirk.

“Then how do you tell the difference?”

“Their eyes,” he said, “While an Elder’s eyes are scarlet, an Ancient’s are a deep purple.”

“We’ll have another go at the Stilo in the evening,” Krul said casually.

Stark didn’t argue. He simply nodded.

The fights replayed in his mind, each mistake looping endlessly. The only thing he had truly learned was the basics—slashing, dodging, and footwork. His swordsmanship was raw, unrefined.

Its movements are repetitive… I think.

Despite the fear crawling under his skin, Stark had made it a point to observe the beast carefully during their last encounter.

I can do this.

Hours later, he stood once more, face-to-face with the Stilo. This time, it was larger—its body strewn with thick fur. Its glowing eyes locked onto him with a predatory look.

Krul hovered above, isolating the place from outside interference.

Stark gripped his sword and studied the beast.

“Show me what you’ve learned,” he called out, before releasing the beast.

The Stilo charged, its claws digging into the sand as it closed the distance in a blur

Stark held his ground, gripping his sword tightly.

He steeled himself to face the beast head-on.

Running would only waste time and energy. Instead, he stepped aside , narrowly avoiding the beast’s charge.

The Stilo spun with unnatural agility, unleashing flames. Stark dove, rolling across the sand and rising to his feet swiftly. His heart pounded, but his grip on the sword steadied.

The beast prepared to charge again. Sensing the opportunity. He lunged forward.

His sword punched through the air aimed squarely at the creature’s head.

This is it.

CLANG

The sword deflected off the Stilo’s head. The beast flicked its snout upward, sending Stark flying like a rag doll.

Huh? The world spun around him as he shot through the air. Fuck, I—.

He landed hard on his shoulder but used the momentum to roll, ending in a low crouch.

Its hide is fucking hard.

The Stilo turned, preparing to charge again. Its movements were predictable, allowing Stark to dodge easily. But no matter how many times he evaded, he couldn’t land a meaningful hit.

Swinging at its side, his sword struck and recoiled with a strong vibration that rattled his bones.

Does it even have weak spots? It’s like I’m swinging at a huge chunk of metal.

Stark kept his focus on the beast. This time, as the Stilo charged, it stopped abruptly mid-sprint, anticipating his dodge, and unleashed it’s signature breath of flames.

“Fuck!” Stark raised his sword and arms to shield himself, stumbling backward.

Pain surged through him as the searing flames hit at his exposed skin.

His arms burned and trembled, his grip barely holding onto the sword. His reddened skin throbbed from the stinging heat, yet his resolve didn’t falter.

“I can still do this…” he muttered, the words spilling out like chant.

The beast opened its mouth to unleash flames, and Stark jumped back just in time. The flames scorched the sand, but he could feel the heat pinching at his skin.

Wait... its mouth.

Stark darted to the side as the Stilo charged again, missing its mark. Frustrated, the beast turned to its flames. Stark’s sharp eyes followed its movements, sweat dripping from his forehead. The heat poked at his skin like a thousand needles.

Just like I thought.

He lunged straight at the Stilo, weaving slightly to throw it off. As the beast opened its mouth to breathe fire, Stark stepped sharply to the side and thrust his blade into the gaping mouth.

The flames grazed his side, burning his skin, but Stark pressed on. With a scream of rage, his blade pierced the tender flesh inside the Stilo’s mouth.

The beast screeched in agony, shaking its head violently. Stark was thrown through the air and landed hard in the sand.

Yes, a hit… finally.

He spat blood from his mouth and clutched his aching body, battered from the impact and the burns. His sword was still in his grip, miraculously intact.

The Stilo stood back on its hind legs, blood pouring from its mouth. That’s when Stark saw it: the soft underbelly, unprotected by the fur and shell covering the rest of its body.

This is my chance.

Ignoring the pain, he charged forward. His sword swung in a powerful arc, passing through the exposed flesh like butter. The underbelly spat out a sea of blood and organs as the beast let out a agonizing screech.

But Stark wasn’t done.

Using the momentum, he pivoted on his heel and drove his sword forward, impaling the beast through its belly.

With a final screech, the Stilo collapsed onto its back, lifeless, taking Stark’s sword with it.

He stood there, clutching his bruised shoulder, adrenaline surging through him.

I did it.

His lips curled into a victorious grin. With a surge of emotion, he screamed, “YES! I DID IT!”