The fresh smell of grass filled the morning air, and the sun's rays broke through small clouds, lighting up the valley. The gentle sound of the river flowing steadily in the distance added to the peaceful atmosphere. Birds flitted through the trees, chirping happily as they searched for their morning meal. Larrios slowly opened his eyes, the events of the previous night flooding back to him. Shame crept over him immediately. He slowly rose from the fireplace and looked up. Where the moon had been, a clear blue sky now filled his view.
"I was ready to throw it all away..."
He stood up. Despite the beauty of the scene around him, his internal turmoil remained. The fear and anger that had consumed him last night had nearly led him to end it all.
"I panicked, and now I've become a coward..."
A deep shame weighed on him for his actions. His mind was tired after everything, yet something inside pushed him to act.
"Bath. I need to take a bath."
Even though his thoughts kept circling with self-doubt, he knew he needed to do something. And that something was to clean himself. He smelled awful. After a few moments, he reached the riverbank, stripping off his clothes. Looking at the stream, he took a few steps back before running toward it and diving in headfirst. Moments later, he resurfaced, pushing his wet black hair out of his face.
"Gasp—COLD!"
The shock of the cold water jolted him out of his overthinking, bringing him back to the present. Perhaps that was exactly what he needed— a shock.
As Larrios washed himself, a scene unfolded in the river a few meters away. A group of river otters swam gracefully along the bank, chasing after fish. Their webbed paws allowed them to glide effortlessly through the water, and their sensitive whiskers detected the faintest ripples in the current. With swift, precise movements, each otter caught its prey in the blink of an eye. Watching them, Larrios recalled last night's epiphany.
"The law of nature... As cute as these animals are, they still need to eat to survive. The strong feed on the weak..."
As he reflected, a new feeling began to stir within him—ambition. More specifically, the ambition to survive.
His wounds were slowly healing, and his energy was gradually returning. Stepping out of the river with renewed determination, he dressed himself. The birds still circled overhead. It was time for breakfast. With quick, precise movements, he shot small rocks at them, managing to strike one. But he wasn't finished. He repeated the action, taking down three more birds. He quickly collected them and returned to the camp, where he roasted and ate them. Afterward, he tended to his potato patches. To his surprise, small sprouts were beginning to emerge from the soil. His hard work was paying off.
"The sun is up again..."
Though the memories of the past few days lingered in his mind, Larrios found himself absentmindedly picking up his wooden sword. He swung it horizontally through the air as if battling a ferocious beast, Larrios swung his sword up and down relentlessly, his movements fuelled by anger. His face contorted into a vicious mask of madness, yet beneath the fury, there was something deeper—an intense pain coursing through his mind. To any onlooker, it might have seemed like he was fighting an invisible enemy that was slowly consuming him. In truth, he was trying to kill his fear.
Without realizing it, the frenzy of his swings began to subside. In its place, a growing concentration emerged. His surroundings faded from his attention, and he became absorbed in the rhythm of his body's movements.
"AGAIN!"
For an entire hour, Larrios repeated the same strike over and over, his body drenched in sweat and his limbs growing heavy with fatigue. At last, he dropped the sword, collapsing to the ground and falling asleep.
Thirty minutes later, Larrios awoke. He slowly regained his composure and stood up. While the exercise had left him exhausted, he felt better—calmer. For the first time since the wolf attack, his mind was at ease.
"I need to continue. Control. That's what I need. That's how I can regain it."
With renewed purpose, he rushed to the river, washed himself off, and returned to his training spot. The wooden sword lay where he had dropped it, waiting for him. With a swift motion, he gripped it tightly with both hands. His heart pounded with a mix of determination and anxiety. He swung the sword with all his might, the blade cutting through the air. But his strikes were wild, erratic, and the sword felt heavy in his hands.
"Why can't I get this right?" he thought, frustration bubbling up inside him. "I need to focus. I need control."
His mind flashed back to the fight with the wolf—the terror, the chaos. He had felt so powerless.
"Never again..." he vowed silently. "I won't let fear control me."
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He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart.
"Calm down."
But the memories continued to intrude. Fear and doubt gnawed at him.
"What if I'm not strong enough? What if I fail again?"
He shook his head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts.
"No. I can't think like that. I have to keep going. I have to get stronger!"
He swung the sword again, this time with more purpose, trying to channel his frustration into his movements. But still, his strikes were wild, and his grip remained unsteady.
"Why is this so hard?" he wondered, a pang of despair creeping in. "Why can't I just get it right?"
But he knew the answer. He wasn't only fighting the weight of the sword—he was fighting his own doubts and fears. Taking another deep breath, he steadied himself.
"One step at a time. One swing at a time. I can do this."
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the ground, Larrios paused to catch his breath. His muscles ached, and his hands were blistered from gripping the rough wooden hilt. Still, he pressed on. The repetitive motions brought him back into the same meditative state he had found earlier in the day. But this time, his will was stronger. This time, he was fully present—not reliving past moments, but training with purpose.
"Again!"
Larrios continued to train until the sun disappeared and the moon took its place, shining down on his sweat-drenched body. Even as his body screamed for rest, he refused to stop. He pushed himself until, finally, his muscles gave out. The sword fell from his hands, and he could no longer lift it. His training for the day was done. Slowly, he returned to camp and lit the fire. Moments after the flames flickered to life, he collapsed into a deep sleep, a faint smirk on his face. For the first time in days, he felt at peace. The soft glow of the fire cast a warm light over his features. It had been a good day.
In the days that followed, Larrios established a routine. Every morning, he bathed in the river, taking note of the wildlife around him. Afterwards, he would catch birds for breakfast, tend to his potato patches, and then resume his training. He followed this regimen every day for a week, never missing a moment. Each day he trained, and each night, he fell asleep by the campfire, inching closer to mastering the control he so desperately sought.
On the last day of the week, Larrios stood by the river as night began to fall. He bathed in the cool water, his body and mind far more at ease than they had been in days. The spartan routine of eating, training, sleeping and repeating was starting to pay off—his body had grown stronger, and the wounds from his encounter with the wolf were nearly healed. His face, once strained with tension, now bore a more peaceful expression.
As he walked back to the campfire, which was already lit, the moon made its appearance in the night sky. Larrios glanced at it, as he had done every night this past week. Each time he looked at the moon, there was a vague sense of shame lingering within him. But tonight felt different.
Nothing new had happened, yet his aura had changed. He wasn’t blaming the world for his struggles anymore. He wasn’t pushing his weaknesses onto others. He was simply living by the laws of this new world—the Law of Nature. Win or die trying.
The moonlight bathed his skin in a pale glow as he looked at his wooden sword. After a week of intense training, the sword's surface was rugged, the blade dulled. It was, after all, still just wood, not steel. He picked it up and gazed ahead. Something was different this time. Through his training, Larrios had learned to replace his anger and anxiety with a calm focus on the present.
He inhaled deeply and began his training once more.
“Hyaah!— Again! — Ha!”
Again and again, his sword traced the same movement—a simple horizontal slash from his right shoulder to his left leg. But now, his strikes were more precise, his movements fluid. No longer did he close his eyes at the end of the swing. He looked straight ahead, unbothered by anything around him.
As the night deepened, fatigue crept in.
"One more time!— Hyaah!— And one more— HA!"
Sweat poured down his face, and his body was soaked. He didn’t want to stop until he was utterly exhausted, until he could no longer stand. The repeated swings began to take their toll. His hands trembled on the sword’s hilt, and soon his entire body shook. His muscles screamed for him to stop, but he refused to give in.
“C’mon! One more time!”
His voice echoed through the valley.
“Ooh, you’re quick to give up on everything, but not now, you idiot!— Hyaah!”
He was yelling at an invisible figure in front of him. The more he trained, the more he realized that the enemy he was fighting wasn’t the wolf—it was himself. He hated the way he had thought that night, hated his own weakness. Most of all, he hated how close he had come to giving up.
“AGAIN!!!”
His legs gave out, and he fell to his knees, holding himself up by the sword’s hilt.
“NO!—One more time.”
His entire body trembled. He wanted to do it one last time. This was how his nights had gone all week, pushing himself until exhaustion overtook him. But this time, he was determined to do it once more.
“GET UP!!!”
He pounded his left hand against his right leg, forcing himself to rise. Slowly, painfully, he stood up. His body screamed in protest, but he gripped the sword tightly, preparing for the final slash.
“That’s it... You idiot... I can do it.”
He visualized the image of himself that night—the way he had cried, cursed the world, and blamed everything but himself.
“I won’t let you control me anymore!”
With all the strength he had left, he raised the sword and brought it down in a final, powerful slash. The image of his former self disappeared as the blade cut through the air. He had done it. He had finally overcome his inner demon.
“Do you see this?! I can become stronger! I can CHANGE!!!”
With those final words, Larrios collapsed onto his back, his eyes gazing up at the sky. Once again, the moon watched over him, its light shining softly on his face.
Swordplay → Discovered
→ Level 1
→ XP needed for Level 2 → 1000 XP
→ Effect → While wielding a sword, there is a 5% chance to land a critical hit.
New Class Obtained
→ Steel Initiate
→ Effect → +5 to all Stats
→ Description → The Steel Initiate is an emerging warrior. Through relentless training and unyielding resolve, they have awakened their latent power, enabling them to wield a blade.
New Title Obtained
→ The Seeker
→ Effect → Kill one enemy to unlock.
As the notifications popped up, there was no one there to read them. Larrios had already fallen into a deep sleep, a proud smile on his face. The moon's rays bathed him in a soft, peaceful light. It had been a good day.