As winter made its quiet approach, snowflakes drifted upon the sleepy streets of Orario. Gray clouds smothered the sky as they dusted the rooftops and pathways of the Adventurer’s city with their languid white deluge. As the temperature plummeted, a solemn hush came over the whole township. Sure, there was still the cry of the street merchant hawking his wares, as well as the collection of boys hooting as they chased a ball down the street, seemingly oblivious to the cold. But those cries and hoots were fewer and more muted than they had been in summer. Winter’s icy embraced had taken the air from the whole city.

Most elected to take shelter in their well heated domiciles, snuggling up together in mutual embrace and the warmth of their fireside. The smoke from their chimneys flowed in a million lazy rivers up to the sky, little prayers for warmth and comfort drifting towards Heaven. One such cozy hearth could be found in a non-descript residential district in Northwestern Orario. The house stood out amidst its peers with its ochre paint, like an ember had fallen from the sun and nestled within white ash below.

Inside this house, three figures shared the warmth of their hard-won fireplace. One young lady, with eyes and hair of chestnut, hummed a soft tune as she examined her Little Ballista automatic crossbow for any damage or defect. The gnomish construction had been well made, but it had seen regular use as she had fought to support her captain and leader. In front of her, on a threadbare brown mat, were an amalgam of items, carefully cataloged and organized. Incendiary, armor piercing, and other specialty crossbow bolts lay in neat bundles in their segregated rows. Potions, smoke bombs, monster bait, and other useful gadgets sat in neat piles on the rest of the blanket. The crown jewel of this collection was a tiny cerulean magic dagger that sparkled happily in jovial firelight.

Sitting beside her in front of the hearth was a young man of rather off-putting countenance. He was clad in a tattered black cloak over a navy shirt and brown woolen pants. His woody brown hair and youthful features marked him as a boy no older than fifteen, or perhaps sixteen summers. His hands and face were absent much of the weathering and spotting that come with age. Father Time collects his interest from all mortal creatures, and by most appearances this man had yet to experience much in the way of such privation. Yet his eyes told a different story. Those viridian marbles stared into the fire with the serious gaze of a hardened veteran, a man who had seen enough seasons to accrue the wisdom of a Sage. A Sage of battle at least. His hands tenderly cleaned an ivory blade suffused with esoteric runes, oiled cloth moving diligently yet lovingly over its now-gleaming surface. His weathered cloak rustled as he shifted a little in his seat, foot tapping the wooden floor quickly with bottled up energy seeking escape.

The last of this trio was a middle-aged woman sitting in a creaky wooden chair, staring at a painter’s easel, humming a pleasant tune in harmony with the younger lady. She wore a comfortable black robe like the young man’s, though more well cared for. Tan skin crinkled in smile lines were what made her clearly older looking than the others, though they only seemed to enhance her extraordinary beauty. Raven dark hair cascading down her back and striking orange eyes only drew the eye even further, her allure deepened in the hearth’s light. Her brush moved delicately over the crackling paper canvas, the painting clearly still in its infancy. Yet pleasant green and blue paint spoke clearly of a bright spring day, a dream still far away for those caught in the onset of winter.

Adama’s eyes were on the fire, but his mind was far away. It flitted first to his status sheet, fresh from his defeat of the Irregular Infant dragon:

Timaias Adama,

Level 2

Swordsman: H, Spirit Healing: H, Strong Body: H, Hunter: H

Strength: I-0

Defense: I-0

Dexterity: I-0

Agility: I-0

Magic: I-0

Spells:

Rippling Sword

* Swift Strike Magic

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Endless Sword

* Mid-Grade Magic

* Chant: “Endless Sword”

Skills:

Predator

* Increased Growth

* Killing Monsters provides increased Growth.

* Killing more Monsters in a short period of time results in an even greater bonus

Mind of a Swordsman

* Automatic Reception of the Swordsman and Spirit Healing Abilities. These Abilities are automatically raised to grade H upon reception.

* All Grade I Abilities the user possesses at the time this skill is obtained are also promoted to grade H.

* Swordsman and Spirit Healing increase in potency as long as the user can maintain a cool head in grave danger.

Abilities were remarkable attributes that adventurers could obtain as they Leveled up, giving their owners supernatural or extraordinary capabilities of one form or another. Hestia had calmly, though with some exasperation, informed him that his status spat in the face of common sense. It was normal for an adventurer to naturally gain an Ability at Level 2. To gain two of them was very lucky, though not impossible. To obtain 4, and immediately have all of them upgraded to H, was just plain ridiculous. Admittedly, that was mostly thanks to his skill, but he still was set up for future success in an unprecedented way, since Abilities also tended to improve in grade as one Leveled as well.

Spirit Healing gave him automatic Mind regeneration, allowing Adama to regain lost mental energies immediately after usage, without having to disengage and wait for natural regeneration to kick in. Hunter was apparently naturally gained from killing a great deal of monsters, so he was almost certain to get it from the very beginning. It increased his abilities while fighting enemy types he had already defeated before. Strong Body just magnified his already remarkable physical strength, while Swordsman enhanced his already considerable skills as a swordsman during combat. Altogether, it was a perfect set for someone like him, and it would have been the envy of an adventurer twice his Level. Or so Hestia said. He was certainly pleased as punch with his abilities, but it was his magic that caught his eye.

“Endless Sword”

He muttered to himself as he cleaned his own sword. Thoughts of obtaining his old technique, his Path’s namesake, still sent shivers of satisfaction through him to this very day. He had been practicing it in the forest, as best as he could, since using a technique for the first time in battle was liable to get you killed. He was happy about its power yet frustrated about the need to chant for an extended period for its usage. Ruminating on his new magic also made him reflect on the final moment of his battle with the dragon. The final moment where his sword rang like a bell.

Standing abruptly, he startled the girls out of their musical harmony. They both looked at him in inquiry, but he preempted any questions with a terse explanation:

“Going for a walk. I’ve got an appointment, but I’ll be back for dinner.”

And with that, he strode out of the house with a swift goodbye to both ladies. Both shook their heads at the enigmatic behavior of their male companion before going back to their projects, regaining their interrupted song as they did.

…

Adama’s feet crunched through the snow on the forest floor, breath creating a hot mist in his face as he made his way to his training area. The noonday light was gray and gloomy, the dim atmosphere caused by dense cloud cover overhead and casting the black clad figure in a slightly sinister light. This menacing figure made its way to an open clearing that looked like it was the aftermath of a warzone. Several trees had been sliced clean in half, their stumps indicating the smooth cut that had done them in. Others had been totally shredded, like some maniac had hacked them to pieces in a manic spree of destruction. A part of Adama had felt bad at the brutalization of nature, so had had run and fetched several boulders for practice after he had confirmed his abilities on the trees.

Some of these boulders now lay in tiny pieces, scattered throughout the clearing because of their status as test subjects for his Endless Sword. Now, though, he faced down one of the larger boulders he had brought, having a decidedly different course of action this time. Setting his stance, he focused for a moment on his target, before closing his eyes. His breath was even and focused, falling into his cycling rhythm, even though there was nothing to cycle. The breathing pattern served its purpose of bringing him into a combat trance, and he meditated as he tried to focus on the energy within him. Without proper spiritual senses, it was like trying to fumble through the dark, but everyone had natural senses for what was happening in their own body. He followed those, trying to grasp the power that dwelt in his own Mind.

After a while, he began to feel it, a pulsing mass of warmth and strength that gathered within his cranium. He imagined what that power was like when it flowed out through his arms and into his sword, responding to and guided by the chants inscribed on his back. He remembered it and visualized the pattern of energy movement over and over again. He synchronized his breathing to that movement, trying to coax that Mind out with nothing but his own willpower, and he raised his sword. He never let go of the flow of power in his mind’s eye as it rushed out and created a beam of energy following his sword stroke. He struck, sword slicing vertically through the air as he stepped into the attack. He never said a word.

He opened his eyes and gazed at…nothing. The boulder remained entirely unharmed. But even so, he felt in his bones that his assumption was a good one. He had clearly felt a river of power flow out from him in his final strike against the dragon. Magic wasn’t terribly different from his madra, as it had a similar effect on his sword, and he felt in his bones that it could be controlled with his own willpower. Undaunted by his failure, he gave a lopsided grin and stepped back into position.

“One practice swing down, 9,999 to go.”