The sun had barely crested the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and orange, but Ren Takashi was already tasting dirt for the twentieth time.
"Get up," Sir Valdorn commanded.
Ren groaned, rolling onto his back. The pristine white stone of the Royal Training Grounds felt cool against his sweating skin. Every muscle in his body was screaming—a high-pitched, burning complaint that started in his calves and ended in his neck. He pushed himself up on trembling arms, grabbing the practice sword lying next to him. It was made of heavy ironwood, weighted with lead to mimic real steel. To Ren, with his Strength stat of 3, it felt like swinging a telephone pole.
"Again," Valdorn said.
The Knight Captain stood five paces away, holding a similar wooden sword. He wasn't even in a stance. He stood casually, legs shoulder-width apart, looking bored. He hadn't broken a sweat. Ren grit his teeth. "Yes, sir."
He lunged. It was a sloppy attack. Ren knew it was sloppy. He was just a high school student; the only thing he had ever swung was a baseball bat in P.E. class. He raised the sword over his head and brought it down with a shout, hoping gravity would do the work.
Whack.
Valdorn didn't even move his feet. He simply flicked his wrist. His sword met Ren's with a precise, sharp impact that sent a shockwave up Ren's arms. The vibration rattled his teeth. Valdorn stepped in, tapped Ren lightly in the chest with the pommel of his sword, and sent him sprawling backward onto the stone again.
"Pathetic," Valdorn stated, looking down at him. "You swing like a farmer shooing away a crow." "I told you," Ren gasped, staring at the sky. "I don't know… how to fight." "And yet, you carry the title of Hero," Valdorn said coldly. "The title does not care about your excuses. The Demon Lord will not pause because you are tired. Get up."
Ren squeezed his eyes shut. I can't. His body was heavy. His lungs burned. He wanted to quit. He wanted to go back to his room with the soft bed and the fruit bowl. He wanted to find Sora and joke about how stupid this all was. But then he remembered the King's face. The desperation. If I don't do this, everyone dies. Rika. Ayaka. Mom. Dad.
Ren forced himself to stand. His legs shook violently. He gripped the hilt of the sword so hard his knuckles turned white. Just one hit, Ren thought desperate. Just let me land one single hit.
He stared at Valdorn. The knight was a fortress. No openings. No weakness. Where? Where can I strike?
And then—it happened.
[SKILL ACTIVATED: DIVINE GUIDANCE (PASSIVE)]
The world didn't stop, but it seemed to hold its breath. The sound of the wind faded. The burning in Ren's lungs dulled to a background hum. His vision sharpened, focusing intensely on Valdorn. And there, floating in the air like a thread of spun sunlight, was a Line.
It started at the tip of Ren's wooden sword. It zig-zagged through the air, ducking under Valdorn's guard, twisting around his shield arm, and ending perfectly at the gap between his helmet and his pauldron—the neck.
Ren didn't think. He didn't decide to swing. His body simply obeyed.
It felt like a magnet pulling iron. His muscles snapped into action, moving with a fluidity that didn't belong to him. His foot slid forward, pivoting his weight perfectly. His hips turned. His wrist twisted at an angle he hadn't known was possible.
He lunged. Valdorn's eyes widened. The knight moved to block, raising his sword in a standard high guard. But Ren wasn't aiming for a high strike anymore. The Line pulled him low. Ren dropped to one knee, sliding under the knight's defense. The friction burned his skin, but he didn't stop. He thrust the sword upward, tracing the golden path with absolute, mathematical perfection.
The tip of his wooden sword flew past Valdorn's parry. It struck the armor right at the neck joint.
CLACK.
The sound was sharp, like a dry branch snapping. Ren froze. He was breathing hard, his sword pressed against the metal of Valdorn's armor. A perfect hit. A kill shot.
But Valdorn didn't fall. He didn't even stagger. The wooden sword simply stopped. Ren pushed, putting every ounce of his weight behind it. Nothing happened. The impact had been perfect, but the force behind it was… negligible. It was like tapping a tank with a chopstick.
Valdorn looked down at the wooden tip pressing uselessly against his gorget. Then he looked at Ren. "Interesting," the knight murmured.
Valdorn raised his boot and kicked Ren in the chest. It wasn't a hard kick—for Valdorn. But for Ren, it was like being hit by a truck. "Gah!" Ren flew backward, tumbling across the stone and skidding to a halt near the weapon rack. He curled up, wheezing, clutching his ribs.
"So, the Blessing has awakened," Valdorn said. He didn't sound angry anymore. He sounded… analytical. He walked over to where Ren lay gasping for air. "You saw it, didn't you? The path."
Ren nodded weakly, unable to speak.
"That is the difference between a Warrior and a Hero," Valdorn explained, sheathing his practice sword. "A Warrior trains for years to find an opening. You? You are given the opening by the Gods themselves. You possess the Eye of a Deity."
Valdorn knelt, grabbing Ren's wrist and lifting his trembling, skinny arm. "But this?" Valdorn shook Ren's arm. "This is the Arm of a Child. You struck me in a vital point. If you had the strength of a Vanguard, you might have cracked my armor. If you had the magic of a Paladin, you might have burned me." He dropped Ren's arm. It hit the dirt with a dull thud. "But you have neither. You have a aim-bot, Hero. You can see the kill, but you cannot execute it. You are a pistol loaded with blanks."
Ren stared at the sky, the humiliation burning hotter than his muscles. He had cheated. The System had moved his body for him. And he still couldn't do anything.
"Get up," Valdorn said, standing and walking back to his position. "We are not done. Until your muscles are strong enough to honor the path the Gods show you, you will swing that sword until your hands bleed."
Ren grit his teeth. He grabbed the handle of the sword. The Golden Line flickered in his vision again, waiting. Mocking him. One day, Ren thought, forcing himself to his feet. One day I won't just hit you. I'll hurt you.
"No."
The word echoed in the quiet courtyard of the Mage Tower. Master Elara, a tall woman in flowing violet robes with a face that looked like it was carved from marble, blinked slowly. She lowered her staff. "Excuse me, Initiate?"
Rika Aizawa flinched, looking terrified. She was standing next to Ayaka and the other girls in a semi-circle. In the center of the courtyard stood a large, jagged crystal pulsing with unstable mana. But the person who had spoken wasn't Rika.
It was the girl standing at the end of the line. Hanae Igarashi.
She was small, with short black hair tucked neatly behind her ears and round glasses that kept sliding down her nose. She was tapping her foot against the cobblestones—tap, tap, tap, tap—a nervous, rapid rhythm. She had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at the crystal like it was a bomb.
"I said no," Hanae repeated. Her voice shook slightly, but her chin was high. "I am not channeling my mana into that thing."
"And why not?" Master Elara asked, her voice dangerously low. "This is a basic capacity test. Your title is [Barrier Mage], is it not? You should be comfortable with energy manipulation."
"I am comfortable with facts," Hanae snapped, pushing her glasses up. "Fact one: That crystal has a visible fracture on the lower left quadrant. Fact two: You just told Ayaka to 'push until it breaks.' Fact three: None of us are wearing protective gear. No goggles. No shielding runes. Nothing."
Hanae took a step back, putting distance between herself and the crystal. "If that thing shatters under high pressure, the shrapnel velocity would be enough to blind us. I did the math in my head. I'm not doing it."
Rika stared at her, wide-eyed. Is she crazy? Talking back to a wizard? "Hanae," Ayaka whispered, leaning in. "Just do it. It'll be fine. Ren and the others are training too, we can't fall behind."
"Ren has a magic sword and a suit of plot armor," Hanae muttered, not looking away from the instructor. "I have glasses and anxiety. We are not the same."
Master Elara stared at Hanae for a long, agonizing moment. The air in the courtyard grew heavy with mana. Rika wanted to run. Then, slowly, the corner of Elara's mouth twitched upward. "Fracture on the lower left quadrant," Elara repeated. She glanced at the crystal. "It is barely visible to the naked eye. Most students would simply obey the order to show off their power."
Elara waved her hand. A shimmering, translucent dome of blue light appeared around the crystal—a protective barrier. "Paranoia," Elara said, looking at Hanae with a glint of approval, "is the primary survival trait of a defensive mage. If you do not fear the consequences, you cannot build a shield strong enough to stop them. Ten points to the Barrier Mage."
Hanae let out a breath she'd been holding, her shoulders slumping. "Oh, thank god. I thought you were going to turn me into a toad." "There is still time," Elara said dryly. "Now. Channel. Safely."
As the girls began to focus on the crystal, Rika moved closer to Hanae. "That was… intense," Rika whispered, her hands glowing faintly with red rogue-mana. "I would have just done it." "That's why you're the Rogue," Hanae grumbled, eyes fixed on the shielded crystal. "Rogues jump off cliffs and hope there's a haystack at the bottom. I check for pitchforks first."
Rika giggled nervously. It felt good to laugh, even for a second. "Hey," Rika asked softly. "You read everything, right? Have you… heard anything? About the other barracks?"
Hanae paused. The red mana in Rika's hands flickered. "You mean about Sora?" Hanae asked. Rika nodded.
Hanae pushed her glasses up her nose again. Her expression tightened. "I saw the duty roster when we passed the guard station," Hanae said quietly, so Ayaka wouldn't hear and worry. "The Outer Barracks… it's the dumping ground, Rika. It's where they send the drunks, the washouts, and the discipline cases."
Hanae looked at the ground, her foot tapping again. Tap, tap, tap. "They have them cleaning the wyvern stables today," she whispered. "Without masks. And then… 'physical conditioning' in the mud pits. The mortality rate for recruits in that division is… statistically significant."
Rika felt her stomach drop. "Mortality rate? You mean people die in training?" "People die when they're weak," Hanae said, her voice trembling just a little. "And Sora… he's STR 3. Just like us."
Hanae looked up, meeting Rika's terrified eyes. "If he's fighting in those pits without a System to help him… he's not just training, Rika. He's surviving."
Rika looked away, toward the high walls of the castle that separated them from the outer city. The golden sun was shining on them, warm and bright. But somewhere out there, in the mud and the filth, their friend was fighting a war they couldn't even see.
"Focus!" Master Elara barked.
Rika jumped, forcing her mana into the crystal. Please be okay, she thought, visualizing Sora's lazy grin. Please just be okay.