The Slumbering Boar Inn was quieter than usual.
Ren stepped through the door with his party, scanning the common room. Only a handful of patrons occupied the tables—a few merchants nursing drinks, a pair of adventurers reviewing maps, the innkeeper polishing glasses behind the counter.
"Looks like we're first," Tersia observed, stretching his arms over his head. "Nice to have the place to ourselves for once."
They claimed their usual table near the back—large enough for all of them, with a good view of the entrance. Ren slid onto the bench, immediately feeling some of the day's tension leave his shoulders. The cathedral was behind him. The endless pleasantries were behind him. All that remained was food, rest, and the comfortable company of his party.
A serving girl appeared almost instantly. Ren ordered for the group—meat, bread, whatever vegetables were in season, and plenty of it. She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Tersia leaned back, propping his boots on the edge of the table. Welt shot him a look. Tersia ignored it.
"So," the blonde said, his grin turning mischievous, "tomorrow's the big day. The sparring match. The duel of the century." He cupped a hand around his mouth like announcing a tournament. "Ren the Sword Hero versus... some guy we've never met!"
Farrie snorted. "You're making it sound like a bigger deal than it is."
"Am I? The captain's going to have to actually fight someone in front of an audience. That's pressure." Tersia's eyes gleamed. "My money's on the knight."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "You're betting against me?"
"I'm betting on entertainment value. If you destroy him instantly, that's boring. If he actually puts up a fight, we get a show." Tersia shrugged. "Basic logic."
"What a bastard you are," Farrie muttered.
"Thank you."
Ren allowed himself a small smile. "I'm not going to lose, you know."
Tersia leaned forward, interested. "Oh? Confident, are we?"
"Nah," Ren said simply. "I'd win."
The table went quiet for a moment. Then Tersia burst out laughing.
"Listen to this guy! 'Nah, I'd win.' Like it's nothing!" He slapped the table. "Alright, Captain, explain yourself. What makes you so sure?"
Ren considered the question. It wasn't arrogance.
"Based on what I know," he began, "newly appointed knights fresh from the academy are usually around level ten to fifteen. That's the standard for graduation—enough combat experience to prove competence, but not enough to be truly seasoned."
Welt nodded, his serious expression thoughtful. "That tracks with what I've read about the knight academies. The curriculum focuses on fundamentals, theory, and basic combat training. Graduates are considered qualified, not experienced."
"Right." Ren continued. "Level ten to fifteen means decent stats, solid fundamentals, but limited real combat experience. They've trained against other students and instructors. They haven't fought for their lives against monsters that actually want to kill them."
"And you have," Farrie said.
"Exactly." Ren paused, then added quietly, "Besides. In my world, I'm the strongest swordsman. Number one on the leaderboard."
He didn't elaborate. Didn't mention that the leaderboard was from a game, that the swordsmanship was digital, that the opponents he'd defeated were code and algorithms. That context didn't matter here. What mattered was the experience—the thousands of hours of practice, the strategies internalized, the muscle memory that had crossed over with him into this world.
He is level six now. Lower than the knight, probably. The stat difference might be significant—higher strength, more agility, better endurance. For most people, that gap would be difficult to overcome.
But Ren wasn't most people.
He'd spent years studying combat mechanics. Frame data, hitboxes, optimal rotations, enemy patterns. He understood fighting on a level that went beyond raw stats. He knew how to read opponents, how to bait and punish, how to exploit openings that others wouldn't even notice.
The knight would be stronger. Faster. Tougher.
None of that mattered if Ren could predict his every move before he made it.
"I'll win," he said simply. "The level difference doesn't matter."
Tersia studied him for a long moment, his usual grin fading into something more genuine. "You really believe that."
"It's not belief. It's fact."
Bakta grunted approvingly. "Good attitude."
Farrie nodded, though she looked slightly concerned. "Just... be careful, okay? Don't underestimate him because he's… less skilled than you are? I'm honestly still not sure about you being more skilled than an academy graduate."
"Don't worry about me," Ren assured her. "I don't underestimate my opponent."
Welt adjusted his glasses. "For what it's worth, your logic is sound. Stats provide advantages, but they don't guarantee victory. Combat experience, strategic thinking, adaptability—those matter just as much. Sometimes more."
Tersia leaned back again, hands behind his head. "Well, I'm still hoping for a show. Make it last at least a few minutes, yeah? Let the guy feel like he accomplished something before you demolish him."
Ren considered this. "I'll think about it."
"That's all I ask."
The food arrived then—plates piled high with roasted meat, fresh bread, and steaming vegetables. The conversation shifted to lighter topics as they ate, the tension of the day dissolving into comfortable camaraderie.
But Ren's head was idly thinking about the fight tomorrow. The knight—Aldric—would come in confident. Fresh academy graduate, eager to prove himself against a real hero. He'd probably use standard forms, the ones drilled into him by instructors. Predictable patterns. Telegraphed movements.
Ren would let him attack first. Read his style. Identify his habits. Then, when the moment was right…
He'd win.
The night wore on, the inn gradually filling with more patrons as the hours passed. Ren's party had long since finished eating, but they lingered at the table, enjoying the warmth and company.
Finally, the door opened, and Noritoshi's party filed in.
Ren spotted them immediately—the Bow Hero's noble bearing made him easy to pick out in a crowd. Behind him came Kairn with her spear, Myne with her sword, Welst with his ever-present book, and Rojeel's massive frame bringing up the rear.
Ren raised a hand, gesturing toward the empty tables near them. "Noritoshi. Over here."
Noritoshi nodded and led his party over. Chairs scraped against the floor as they settled in, ordering food and drink from a passing server.
"How did your day go?" Ren asked once they were situated.
Noritoshi leaned back, a tired but satisfied expression on his face. "It went well. I leveled up and unlocked lots of new Bow Forms." He paused, rubbing his temples. "Though, the strengthening methods are really giving me a headache."
Ren tilted his head. "How so?"
"It's basically menu hell." Noritoshi's voice carried a rare note of frustration. "There are so many options—different paths, different combinations, different requirements. I spent an hour just navigating through everything, trying to figure out what I should prioritize. The interface isn't exactly intuitive."
Ren considered this. He hadn't explored his own Sword's systems nearly as thoroughly. "I see. I know you'll get used to it soon enough." He paused, thinking. "As for me, I haven't really touched much of the strengthening methods beyond Mastery, Spirit Enchantment, and Status Enchantment. Not counting absorption, of course."
Noritoshi nodded, then asked, "How about weapon copy? Have you done it yet?"
"No." Ren shook his head. "I haven't had the chance. I'll probably do it tomorrow." He glanced at his own sword, resting beside him. "There are a few weapons I've seen that I want to try replicating."
"Any particular reason you haven't yet?" Noritoshi pressed, genuine curiosity in his voice.
Ren shrugged. "Priorities. I focused on grinding levels and unlocking forms through absorption first. Weapon copy requires me going to the blacksmith. Time isn't exactly a luxury I have at this moment."
Noritoshi nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Then I think I should come with you when you go."
"Sure," Ren agreed easily. Having company for that errand wouldn't hurt.
"Noritoshi," he said quietly, glancing around to ensure no one outside their group was listening. "If my sword were to absorb your blood, what would happen?"
Noritoshi met his gaze, understanding immediately. "If you're thinking whether or not you would be able to use my cursed technique, I don't think so."
Ren blinked. "You tried it already?"
"With my own blood, yes." Noritoshi nodded. "All it unlocked was the Human Bow Series and a specific Blood Bow form. Nothing about cursed energy or techniques crossed over." He paused, considering. "The Blood Bow itself grants increased stat boosts per level up. Because of that, I had each of them give blood, saliva, and hair samples."
Kairn, overhearing, made a face. "Still weird to think about. My spit is your bow."
"I'm personally really happy about it," Myne said, grinning. "Thinking of it as if I'm always by Noritoshi's side, is really satisfying."
Kairn muttered something unintelligible and looked away.
Noritoshi continued, "Now the Human Bow Series is fully unlocked. It grants increased stats per level up, increased experience per kill, and... something called 'growth correction.' I don't really understand what that last part means."
Ren leaned forward, interest piqued. His gamer instincts kicked in at hearing the familiar terminology.
"That sounds like a really big deal."
"You think so?"
"Absolutely. Increased stats per level means your party will scale better than normal adventurers. Increased experience per kill means they'll level faster. And growth correction..." He paused, thinking. "That likely refers to the fact that every time they level up, the stats that increase will suit them the most. Optimized growth. The system correcting their development toward their natural strengths."
Welt, seated beside him, widened his eyes in shock. "That's... truly significant. If true, it means your party members won't waste stat points on attributes they don't need. Every level gives maximum efficiency."
"Essentially," Ren confirmed. "Your stats will develop in whatever way benefits you most. Whether it's MP, Agility, or Attack. The system figures out what you need and gives it to you."
Tersia let out a low whistle. "That's broken. Reaaaallll broken." He turned to Ren with an eager expression. "Hey leader, can we get something like that too?"
Ren considered this, then looked at Noritoshi. "Of course. Noritoshi, can you give me your blood? To unlock that sword form in my weapon?"
Noritoshi raised an eyebrow. "Couldn't you use your own blood?"
"I could," Ren admitted. "But you can make your blood come out without wounding yourself, right? Your cursed technique allows that. It would be faster and cleaner than cutting myself open."
Noritoshi considered this for a moment, then nodded. He held out his hand over Ren's sword, focusing. A moment later, a small bead of blood pushed through his skin without any visible wound—gathering on his fingertip before dripping onto the blade.
The sword absorbed it immediately, glowing softly.
Ren waited for the familiar notification. When it came, he read it silently—then froze.
Weapon Form Unlocked: [Human Sword Series] [Common]
All Human variants now available for unlocking.
Weapon Form Unlocked: [Blood Sword] [Common]
Equip Bonus: Minor lifesteal on hit | +2 Attack, +1 Vitality
Ores Equipped: [0]
Status: [LOCKED]
Mastery: 0%
Weapon Form Unlocked: [Blood Manipulation Sword] [Legendary Rare]
A blade infused with the essence of Blood Manipulation. The techniques of the Kamo family echo within this weapon's form.
Equip Bonus: +30 ATK, +10% MP Capacity, +15% SP Capacity
Skill: [Blood Manipulation (Medium)] - Allows the wielder to control their own blood as a weapon and tool. Effectiveness scales with Mastery.
Ores Equipped: [0]
Status: [LOCKED]
Mastery: 0%
Ren stared at the notification, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing.
"Noritoshi," he said slowly.
Noritoshi caught something in his tone. "What? What is it?"
Ren looked up, his expression caught between disbelief and wonder. "I think I just unlocked a sword that lets me use your cursed technique."
The table went silent.
Noritoshi's eyes widened. "What? How is that possible?"
"I don't know." Ren read the notification again, making sure he hadn't imagined it. "It's right here. Blood Manipulation Sword. Legendary Rare. Grants the skill Blood Manipulation at Medium proficiency."
Noritoshi leaned forward, his calm demeanor finally cracking into genuine astonishment. "Unbelievable. I fed my own blood into this Bow and didn't unlock something like that." His tone was inquisitive, confused, but still calm—more analytical than accusatory. "What's the difference between us that lets you unlock that form?"
Ren shook his head slowly. "I have no idea. Maybe it didn't work for you because it's your own blood? Sorry I don't really know it myself."
Welt interjected, his scholarly mind already working. "Or perhaps it's the weapon type. Swords may have different affinities than bows. What manifests as a skill in one weapon might manifest as something else—or nothing at all—in another."
Noritoshi held up a hand, cutting off further speculation. "Well, no matter. In the end, anything we can come up with is mere conjecture. No use thinking about it anymore." He turned to Ren. "For now, Ren, just focus on unlocking that form. Whatever the reason, you have access to something incredibly powerful. Make use of it."
Ren nodded. "Yeah, sure. Once I'm actually able to use it, that is."
Noritoshi blinked. "Huh? Oh, did that Sword Form have a level requirement?"
Ren glanced at the notification again, confirming. "Yeah. An astoundingly high level 60."
The table went quiet.
"...I see," Noritoshi said slowly.
Suddenly, the inn's door burst open with enough force to make half the patrons jump.
Motoyasu stood in the doorway, grinning like a man who had just won a prize. Slung over his shoulder was a massive bag—the kind used for hauling bulk goods—and from the muffled clanking sounds it made with every movement, it was filled with something heavy and metallic.
"What kind of stupidity are you up to now, Motoyasu?" Ren asked flatly.
Motoyasu's grin somehow widened. "Jeez, I haven't even taken a seat yet, and you're already insulting me. That's cold, Ren. Real cold."
Behind him, his usual gaggle of female companions filed in, looking amused and slightly overwhelmed by whatever errand they'd just been dragged on.
Ren sighed and gestured to the empty space at their table. "Just sit down."
Motoyasu hefted the bag over to their table with a grunt, dropping it beside him with a thunderous CLANG that made several nearby patrons wince. He plopped onto the bench, his party squeezing in around him.
"Ta-da!" He threw his arms wide, gesturing at the bag like a game show host revealing a prize. "This bag is filled with all sorts of ores. Iron, copper, silver, even some small amounts of mythril and orichalcum. And—" He leaned forward conspiratorially, addressing Ren and Noritoshi directly. "I'm going to teach you guys how to use the Smelting Strengthening method. With this much amount, we won't have to worry about running out in the middle of the process."
Ren stared at the bag. Then at Motoyasu. Then back at the bag.
"So the fact that you didn't carry these in your inventory must be because it's very varied, right?" Noritoshi asked, catching on quickly.
Motoyasu pointed at him approvingly. "Exactly! If I just fed all this to my weapon, it would only get absorbed as generic ore material. Maybe unlock one or two basic forms. But if we use them for my strengthening method, we would be able to get better bonuses and better stats."
He patted the bag fondly. "This bag is basically filled with potential, you know. I couldn't wait for Naofumi to finally arrive so that I could finally start my lesson."
Tersia leaned over to peek inside the bag. "That's a lot of potential. How'd you even carry this?"
"Carefully," Motoyasu said. "And with lots of complaining from the ladies."
His party members rolled their eyes in unison but didn't deny it.
Noritoshi tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, if there's any leftover ore, we should use it to experiment with Ore Equip and see what kind of bonuses it holds and what stats it could give. It would be easier too, since there's no chance of failing with the Ore Equip methods."
Motoyasu nodded. "Good thinking. We'll make sure to save some for that."
While they discussed smelting ratios and Ore Equip possibilities, Ren quietly turned to his own party. Tersia, Farrie, Bakta, and Welt were listening to the heroes' conversation, but they glanced over when Ren addressed them.
"I need samples from all of you," Ren said quietly. "Saliva, hair, and a little blood. For the Human Sword Series unlocks."
Tersia's eyes widened. "Like, right now?"
"Yeah. The sooner I unlock it, the sooner you all get the stat bonuses."
Tersia, Farrie, Bakta, and Welt each provided small vials of saliva, strands of hair, and a few drops of blood. Ren absorbed each one, watching the notifications pile up.
Human Sword Series progression increased.
Human Sword unlock progress: 4/10
Ren was about to speak when a sudden scream cut through the inn's ambient noise.
"WHAAATT!!"
Every head in the establishment turned toward Motoyasu, who was staring at his spear with an expression of pure shock. His face was frozen mid-exclamation, eyes wide.
Ren blinked. "What happened?"
Noritoshi, sitting calmly beside the Spear Hero, held up his hand—a small bead of blood still forming on his fingertip. "I offered my blood to Motoyasu. To see if he could unlock the same Blood Manipulation form you did."
Motoyasu was still staring at his spear. "It's here. It's actually here. Blood Manipulation Spear. Legendary Rare." He read the notification aloud, voice filled with awe. "Equip bonus, skill, the whole thing. I can't believe it."
The table erupted in excited murmurs. Tersia whistled low. Farrie leaned forward, intrigued. Even Welt looked genuinely surprised.
But then Motoyasu's expression shifted. The excitement drained, replaced by something between disappointment and resignation.
"Ahh..." He deflated, shoulders slumping. "It requires level 65 for me to be able to use this."
A beat of silence.
Then Tersia burst out laughing. "Level sixty-five! That's even higher than Ren's!"
Before anyone could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"How dare you mock Lord Motoyasu!"
A woman Ren recognized as Elena—brown-haired swordwoman with sharp eyes, part of Motoyasu's party—had risen halfway from her seat, her hand twitching toward her sword. Her glare at Tersia could have cut glass.
Tersia blinked, genuinely surprised. "Whoa there, I was just joking—"
"Joking? You think the Spear Hero's struggles are a matter for amusement? He worked hard to gather those ores for everyone's benefit, and this is the respect he receives?" Elena's voice was harsh, unwavering.
The table went quiet. A few nearby patrons glanced over.
Tersia, to his credit, didn't flinch. He just tilted his head, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "You're intense. I like it. But seriously, relax. We're all friends here."
Elena's eye twitched. "Friends? You—"
"Now, now, Elena." Motoyasu's voice cut in smoothly, accompanied by a charming smile directed at his party member. "Don't take it so seriously. Tersia's just being Tersia. No harm done, right?" He fluttered his eyelashes. "I appreciate you defending my honor, though. It's really cute when you get all worked up like that."
Elena's fierce expression flickered. A faint blush crept up her cheeks. "I... that's not... Lord Motoyasu, please don't say things like that in public..."
"And why not?" Motoyasu leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Should I save it for private instead?"
"LORD MOTOYASU!"
The table could only watch in... confusion. No, maybe dazed was the right word. They were witnessing someone actually flirt with multiple people simultaneously and somehow not get rejected on the spot.
Ren stared at Motoyasu with blank eyes, his brain struggling to process the scene, even though he had seen the exact same thing play out yesterday. It was like watching a completely different species operate.
"See this, Welst," Noritoshi said quietly, gesturing vaguely at Motoyasu. "This is the true power of authority."
Welst, seated beside him, nodded slowly with a mock expression of academic fascination. "Fascinating. I'm documenting this for future reference."
"Oh! Do you perhaps want it too, my Bow Hero?~"
Everyone turned to look at Myne, who was leaning toward Noritoshi with a teasing smile that promised nothing but trouble.
Noritoshi didn't even hesitate. He held up both hands in immediate surrender. "I'm sorry. Let's not start this again, Myne."
Myne pouted dramatically. "You're no fun."
"I'm aware."
Tersia, recovered from Elena's outburst, snorted. "The Bow Hero knows how to pick his battles. Smart man."
Smirking, Noritoshi looked at Tersia and said, "Call it a survival instinct."
Meanwhile, Motoyasu had somehow escalated his flirting, now complimenting another one of his party members on her hair while Elena sat fuming (and blushing) beside him.
Ren continued to stare, his expression unchanged.
Farrie leaned over to him. "You okay?"
"I'm learning," Ren said quietly.
"Learning what?"
"That I understand nothing about human interaction."
Farrie patted his arm sympathetically. "Same, buddy. Same."
Bakta, who had observed the entire exchange without comment, finally spoke. "Top tier entertainment."
Before anyone could respond to that rare assessment, the inn's door opened once more.
Naofumi walked in, looking tired but composed. What drew everyone's attention, however, was the small figure clinging to his side—a little girl with raccoon ears twitching nervously atop her head and a fluffy tail peeking out from behind her.
Behind them, trailing instead of Bara, was Rhea—the green-haired fighter Ren remembered from Noritoshi's story yesterday.
Ren leaned slightly toward Noritoshi, keeping his voice low. "Is that Raphtalia?"
Noritoshi nodded, his expression soft. "Yeah. That's her."
Ren studied the girl. Small. Thin. Clinging to Naofumi like he was the only safe thing in the world. Her eyes were wide, darting around the inn with obvious fear before settling back on Naofumi's sleeve.
A child, Ren thought. A child who was a slave.
He didn't know what to do with that information.
Naofumi approached the table, offering a small wave. "Sorry guys, I'm a bit late."
Noritoshi immediately gestured to an empty seat. "No need to worry about that. For now, just sit. Have you eaten?"
"Not yet," Naofumi admitted, settling onto the bench with Raphtalia still attached to his side. Rhea took a seat beside them, scanning the room with quiet awareness.
Ren's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Nothing came out.
He didn't know how to act around children normally. He didn't know how to act around anyone normally, if he was honest. But a child who had been through something as terrible as slavery? Who had probably experienced things no one should ever experience?
What was he supposed to say? Hello? How are you? Both felt monumentally wrong.
So he did what he always did when faced with social uncertainty.
He shut his mouth and stayed quiet.
Meanwhile, Motoyasu had zero such inhibitions.
"So Raphtalia came with you, huh?" The Spear Hero leaned forward, his usual grin in place. "I don't mind at all. It's my first time seeing her and she's so cute!"
He reached out, fingers extended to pinch the girl's cheeks.
Raphtalia made a small squeak and immediately hid behind Naofumi, pressing her face against his back. Her tiny hands gripped his cloak like armor.
Motoyasu's hand froze in mid-air. His expression crumpled.
"...Crestfallen," Tersia murmured to Farrie. "That's the word. He looks crestfallen."
Farrie elbowed him to be quiet, but she was fighting a smile.
Naofumi didn't react with anger—just reached back and patted Raphtalia's head gently. "She's shy around new people. Give her time."
Motoyasu withdrew his hand, sighing dramatically. "I'll win her over eventually. Just you wait."
Noritoshi, taking on the role of a diplomat, smoothly redirected the conversation. "Well, she's sticking real close to you, Naofumi. That says something."
"Yeah." Naofumi's voice softened almost imperceptibly as he continued petting Raphtalia's head. The girl's tense shoulders relaxed slightly under his touch. "I visited her as early as I could. As soon as I arrived." He paused, then added, "Now she won't let go of me."
Ren watched the interaction silently. Naofumi's hand on the girl's head. The way she leaned into the touch. The trust there was fragile but... undoubtedly real.
It was... truly something. He's not good at describing this kind of stuff, but he felt relief and happiness at seeing that.
Naofumi continued, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. "The renovation for the other slaves already began, by the way. At the very least, in two to three weeks, they'll have a humane place to live in."
Noritoshi nodded approvingly. "That's good to hear."
"It's a start," Naofumi agreed.
Raphtalia peeked out from behind Naofumi, her large eyes scanning the table. They passed over Ren—who still hadn't figured out what expression to make—and landed on the food. Her stomach growled audibly.
Naofumi glanced down at her. "Hungry?"
A tiny nod.
"Then let's order." He signaled for a server, and the conversation shifted to practical matters—food, rest, plans for tomorrow.
Ren remained quiet, observing.
He didn't know how to talk to children. He didn't know how to talk to people who had suffered. But he knew how to listen, how to watch, how to learn.
And watching Naofumi with Raphtalia, he learned something.
This is what it looks like, he thought. To be a hero when no one's watching.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
He sat on the edge of his bed, calling up his weapon's status screen. The numbers glowed softly in his vision, a reminder of yesterday's efforts.
With Noritoshi and Motoyasu's help, he'd been able to raise his strongest weapon's stats significantly.
[Silver Wolf Fang Sword] [Common]
Equip Bonus: +5 Attack | +3 Agility
Skill: [Double Slash]
Ores Equipped: [+2]
Status: [UNLOCKED]
Mastery: 78%
Ore Smelting: [+1]
The gap closes, he thought.
Stats difference. That was the biggest wall that had plagued him yesterday. The knight—Aldric, he finally remembered, the name surfacing from somewhere in his memory—would be level ten to fifteen. Higher stats. Better numbers.
But numbers weren't everything.
Ren dismissed the screen and finished preparing. Today, he'd prove that.
His party was waiting for him in the inn's common room, already breakfasted and ready.
Tersia looked up as Ren descended the stairs, a massive grin spreading across his face. "Well, well. The man of the hour. Ready to embarrass a noble's son in front of his father?"
"Tersia, please," Farrie warned.
"What? I'm currently being supportive, you know. Of course, in my own special way."
Ren grabbed a piece of bread from the table, eating quickly. "I'm ready."
Welt adjusted his glasses. "We'll be there to observe. If nothing else, it's an opportunity to see how a formally trained knight compares to hero combat."
Bakta grunted. "We cheer."
"Loudly," Tersia added. "Very loudly. Possibly embarrassingly."
Ren didn't doubt they wouldn't.
They walked to the cathedral together, the morning sun casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. The city was waking around them—merchants opening stalls, children running to morning chores, the ever-present hum of daily life.
A servant in the baron's colors was waiting at the cathedral's entrance. He bowed crisply as Ren approached.
"Lord Sword Hero. This way, please. The Baron and his son await in the training courtyard."
Ren nodded and followed, his party trailing behind.
The courtyard was exactly what he expected—a rectangular space paved with flat stones, practice dummies lined against one wall, weapon racks holding wooden swords and training shields. A small viewing area had been set up with chairs and a canopy, where Baron Harvel sat with several other nobles Ren vaguely recognized from yesterday's cathedral gathering.
In the center of the courtyard stood Aldric.
The young knight wore no armor—just a leather vest over a simple tunic, a helmet covering his head, and padded trousers. A practice sword hung at his belt, its wooden blade worn from use.
He looked nervous. Excited. Determined.
Ren felt... calm.
He stepped into the courtyard, his party fanning out to the side.
The Baron rose from his seat, beaming. "Lord Sword Hero! Thank you again for this opportunity. My son has spoken of nothing else since yesterday."
Aldric bowed deeply. "I am honored, Lord Hero. I will give you my best."
Ren inclined his head. "That's all I ask."
He drew his practice sword—a wooden blade provided by the baron, since using his actual weapon would be unfair and unnecessary. It felt light in his hand, almost insubstantial compared to his real sword.
But it would do.
Ren stepped into the training courtyard, wooden sword in his right hand. On his back, secured by a simple strap, rested his Legendary Sword in its strongest form.
Across from him, Aldric waited. He looked nervous but focused.
Baron Harvel sat in the viewing area with his noble companions. Ren's party gathered at the edge of the courtyard—Tersia with his usual grin, Farrie trying to look serious, Welt with a book already open, ready to document and catalog everything, Bakta standing like an immovable statue.
A referee—one of the Baron's household knights—stepped between them.
"This will be a combat where the first to achieve 5 wins is the victor," he announced, voice carrying across the courtyard. "Victory conditions are incapacitation or surrender. Use of the heroes' legendary weapons is prohibited for fairness. Begin."
Ren settled into his stance. Feet apart. Knees slightly bent. Sword held at an angle. The same form he'd used thousands of times in the game.
In the game. The VR world where he could upload his consciousness, living whole days in a digital realm that felt almost real.
Aldric raised his blade, waiting.
Ren bolted forward.
He started with a basic overhead strike—something simple to test Aldric's reactions. The knight raised his blade and caught it easily, the wood clacking against wood. Ren immediately followed with a horizontal slash aimed at the ribs. Aldric twisted, deflecting it with the flat of his sword.
Left side open, Ren's mind registered. Now.
He pivoted, bringing his blade around in a tight arc toward the exposed opening. But his feet weren't positioned right—they were still planted from the last strike, weight too far forward. By the time he adjusted, Aldric had already recovered, bringing his sword down to block.
Another opening. Aldric's guard was high after the block, his midsection vulnerable. Ren thrust forward, aiming for the stomach.
The strike was too slow. Aldric saw it coming a mile away, stepped sideways, and slapped Ren's blade aside with contemptuous ease.
Ren gritted his teeth and pressed harder. Two quick strikes—left, then right. Both blocked. He tried a feint, pulling back mid-swing to change angle, but his shoulder screamed at the sudden motion and the delay cost him the element of surprise. Aldric just waited, let the real strike come, and knocked it away.
Again. Again. Again.
Each swing felt heavier than the last. His arms were burning now, lactic acid building in muscles never pushed this hard in the real world. His grip kept slipping, sweat making the wooden handle treacherous. He had to readjust after every block, wasting precious moments.
In his mind, he could see the perfect combo—a low feint to draw Aldric's guard down, then a rising slash to catch him under the chin. It would work. It should work.
His body wouldn't cooperate.
When he attempted the low feint, his knees didn't bend fast enough. The motion was jerky, unconvincing. Aldric didn't even bite—just kept his guard where it was and batted away Ren's actual strike like swatting a fly.
Ren stumbled back, gasping. How many swings had that been? Ten? Fifteen? His lungs were on fire. Each breath came in ragged, insufficient gulps. The world tilted slightly at the edges.
Aldric watched him calmly, barely winded. Waiting.
In the game, Ren thought dizzily, I could do this all day. The stamina bar would just tick down, then back up. No pain. No breathlessness. No—
His vision grayed for a split second. A lapse. A warning.
Aldric stepped forward and struck.
Ren's parry came a heartbeat too late. His sword was knocked aside. Aldric's blade tapped his ribs—light, controlled, but unmistakable.
The wooden sword slipped from Ren's numb fingers. He didn't even feel it go. He just stood there, chest heaving, gasping for air, staring at nothing.
The referee's voice cut through the ringing in his ears.
"The winner of round one: Aldric."
Cheers erupted from the nobles. Aldric lowered his sword, breathing hard but smiling. He looked almost surprised himself.
Ren's party was silent.
Tersia's grin had vanished. Farrie's hands were pressed to her mouth. Welt's pen had stopped moving. Bakta simply watched, expression unreadable.
Ren bent down and picked up his sword. His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking.
All those years, he thought. All those hours. And none of it prepared me for this.
In the game, he'd been unbeatable. Number one on the leaderboard. The strongest swordsman in a world of millions.
But that wasn't real. That was code. Algorithms. A body that never tired, never bled, never gasped for air.
This—the trembling, the burning, the humiliation—this was real.
He looked at Aldric—the young knight who had just beaten him, fair and square—and felt something he hadn't expected.
Respect. And fear.
The referee called out, "Prepare for round two!"
Ren gripped his sword tighter. The wood was rough against his palm. His heart was still pounding. His lungs still burned. His legs felt like lead.
He took a breath. A shaky one.
And stepped forward again.
Ren gripped his sword and forced air into his lungs. In. Out. Slow. Controlled. His arms still ached, his legs still trembled, but his mind was clearer now.
I was an idiot, he realized. I fought like I was still in the game. Burned through stamina like it would magically refresh. Swung at every opening instead of choosing my moments.
Aldric reset his stance across the courtyard, looking confident but not cocky. He'd won one round fairly. He had every right to feel good.
Ren wouldn't make the same mistakes twice.
Conserve stamina. Let him come to me. Wait for real openings, not just possibilities.
The referee's hand dropped. "Begin!"
This time, Ren didn't charge.
He settled into a low guard, sword angled down, feet planted. Defensive. Waiting.
Aldric hesitated, clearly expecting another aggressive rush. When Ren didn't move, the knight cautiously advanced, testing with a probing thrust.
Ren deflected it with a small motion—economical, efficient. No wasted energy. His feet shifted just enough to maintain balance, no more.
Aldric pressed forward with a combination. Slash, thrust, slash. Ren blocked each one, moving as little as possible. Let the knight exhaust himself. Save every breath.
In the game, I never thought about breathing, Ren noted distantly. Now it's all I think about.
Aldric's attacks came faster, frustrated by Ren's sudden passivity. A wide slash aimed for Ren's ribs—
There.
The motion was too broad, leaving Aldric's entire left side exposed. In round one, Ren would have lunged at it immediately, burning stamina in a desperate attempt to land a hit.
This time, he waited. Let the opening close. Let Aldric overextend again.
He did. Another wide strike, this time from overhead. Ren sidestepped—just barely, controlled—and let the blade whistle past his shoulder. Aldric's momentum carried him forward, off-balance.
Now.
Ren struck. Not a wild swing, but a precise thrust aimed at Aldric's exposed back. The wooden tip tapped between his shoulder blades.
Aldric stumbled, catching himself. He turned, eyes wide with surprise.
The referee's voice, "Point, Sword Hero. Round two continues."
Aldric reset, his expression more cautious now. He'd been hit. The invincible feeling from round one was gone.
They circled each other. Ren kept his breathing steady, his movements minimal. Every time Aldric attacked, he defended with the smallest possible motion. Every time Aldric created an opening, Ren waited—making sure it was real, not a trap.
Patterns, Ren thought. Everyone has patterns. Even trained knights.
Aldric's pattern was emerging. He favored his right side. After every two strikes, he reset his feet. When pressured, he fell back on the same three combinations he likely learned at the academy.
Ren remembered it all.
Aldric attacked again—the same combination from before. Slash, thrust, slash. Ren blocked the first two, then instead of blocking the third, he ducked under it. Aldric's blade swung through empty air.
Now Aldric was off-balance again, his weight too far forward. Ren could have struck immediately—but he waited half a second, let Aldric commit even more to the recovery, then struck.
His blade tapped Aldric's thigh.
"Second point, Sword Hero! One more wins the round!"
Aldric's face flushed beneath his helmet. He was breathing harder now, frustration mixing with exertion. Good. Frustration led to mistakes.
They reset. Aldric came in faster this time, abandoning combinations for raw aggression. Ren gave ground deliberately, letting the knight chase him, burning stamina with every missed swing.
There. His footwork is sloppy now. Too much weight on the lead foot.
Aldric lunged—a desperate thrust, all his weight behind it.
Ren wasn't there. He'd already pivoted, sliding to the side like water around a stone. Aldric stumbled past him, unable to stop his momentum.
Ren raised his sword and brought it down in a controlled arc—not hard, but precise. The flat of his blade smacked against the back of Aldric's helmet with a hollow thunk.
Aldric pitched forward, catching himself on his hands. For a moment, he just stayed there, breathing hard, defeated.
The referee's voice rang out: "Point and round to the Sword Hero! One round each!"
Ren lowered his sword. His chest heaved, his arms screamed, sweat poured down his face—but he'd won. He'd actually won.
Excitement flooded through him. Real, genuine, overwhelming excitement. He'd adapted. He'd learned. He'd won.
He strode forward, adrenaline carrying him, and found himself standing directly in front of Aldric. The knight was still on one knee, pushing himself up, helmet slightly askew.
"One!" Ren said.
It just slipped out. The score. One round each. In his head, it was just stating the obvious, a reflex from a thousand competitive matches in the game where you called out the score to your opponent.
Aldric froze.
His expression—what Ren could see of it beneath the helmet—shifted. Confusion. Then something else. A flicker of... hurt? Resentment?
Behind Ren, he heard a collective sound. A unified smack of palms meeting faces.
He glanced back. Tersia had his hand planted firmly over his eyes. Farrie's face was buried in both palms. Welt was pinching the bridge of his nose. Even Bakta had tilted his head back, staring at the sky like he was asking for patience.
What?
Ren turned back to Aldric. The knight had risen to his feet, dusting himself off. His expression was carefully neutral now, but his eyes...
His eyes said he'd just decided something about Ren. Something not entirely positive.
"Well fought, Lord Hero," Aldric said quietly. Too quietly. Formal. Distant. "Shall we proceed to round three?"
Ren opened his mouth to say something—he wasn't sure what—but Aldric had already turned away, walking to his starting position.
What just happened?
He replayed the last ten seconds. He'd won. He'd said "One." That was... normal, right? Stating the score?
But the looks on his party's faces said otherwise. And Aldric's sudden coldness said otherwise.
Did I... did I do something wrong?
He thought about it from Aldric's perspective. A hero who lost the first round badly, then came back and won the second. Immediately walks up to the defeated knight and says "One" to his face.
It could look like gloating. Like he'd been holding back in the first round and was now making a point. Like arrogance.
That's not what I meant, Ren thought desperately. I was just excited. I wasn't trying to—
But explaining that now would make it worse. Would sound like excuses.
He gripped his sword and walked back to his starting position, mind churning.
Focus. Round three. You can fix this after. Maybe.
But even as he settled into his stance, he could feel the weight of misunderstanding settling between them. Aldric's eyes were different now. Harder.
And Ren had no idea how to fix it.
The referee's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, "Round three. Begin."
In the end, Ren won all following rounds.
He'd adapted. Learned. His body slowly began to catch up to his mind, muscles remembering what his thoughts commanded. The joy of fighting—real fighting, against a real opponent who adapted and learned and pushed back—had flooded through him with every exchange.
And in the haze of adrenaline, he kept making the same mistake.
"Two!"
Another round won. Another score announced directly to Aldric's face.
"Four! Match point!"
Aldric's expression grew colder with each declaration.
By the time the referee declared Ren the overall winner, the applause from the nobles was polite but subdued. Aldric shook his hand with mechanical courtesy, his eyes avoiding Ren's. The Baron's smile was fixed, professional, nothing like his earlier warmth.
Ren stood in the center of the courtyard, chest heaving, victory coursing through his veins—and slowly realized that everyone was looking at him differently.
Whispers followed him as he gathered his sword and walked toward his party. Arrogant. Holding back in the first round. Is this what heroes are like?
His party met him with expressions ranging from pained sympathy (Farrie) to resigned disappointment (Welt) to Tersia's unusually quiet grimace.
"You, uh..." Tersia started, then stopped. Rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's just go, yeah?"
Ren nodded numbly.
They left the courtyard without looking back.
Now he sat on the cold stone steps near the cathedral's side entrance, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.
It was fair to say that most people here now thought his character wasn't quite that desirable as a hero.
Arrogant. Rude. A show-off.
None of it was what he'd intended. None of it was who he actually was. But intentions didn't matter—perception did. And his perception was in ruins.
His party sat scattered around him, trying their best.
Tersia had attempted three jokes. All fell flat. He'd finally given up and just sat beside Ren, a solid presence if nothing else.
Farrie had brought him water, then bread, then more water, as if hydration could fix social catastrophes. "You'll survive this," she'd said. Not very convincingly.
Welt had analyzed the situation with clinical precision, explaining exactly where the misunderstandings occurred. It helped intellectually. Emotionally, it just made Ren feel worse about his own blindness.
Bakta had simply sat on the step below Ren, back against his knees, silent and solid. Occasionally he'd grunt, as if to say Still here. It was oddly comforting.
"I should have just said nothing," Ren muttered. "Why did I keep saying the score? Why?"
"Adrenaline," Welt offered. "It impairs judgment. Combined with habit from competitive contexts where announcing scores is normal..."
"I know. I know." Ren dropped his head into his hands. "I just... I finally felt it. The joy of fighting something real. And I got so caught up that I forgot there were people watching. People judging."
Footsteps approached.
Ren looked up to see Noritoshi walking toward them, his party trailing behind—Kairn, Myne, Welst, and Rojeel. The Bow Hero's expression was curious, taking in the defeated posture of Ren and the awkward hovering of his party.
"Ren," Noritoshi called out. He stopped a few feet away, head tilting. "Hm? What's up with you?"
Ren let out a hollow laugh. "...Nothing. Just... made another monumental mistake that I wish I could forget."
Noritoshi's eyebrows rose. He glanced at Ren's party, who offered various shrugs and grimaces in response. "I see...?" He clearly didn't see, but was polite enough not to press. "Anyway, I just finished my business, so let's go check out the blacksmith. You mentioned wanting to try weapon copy today."
Ren blinked.
A reprieve. An escape from sitting here wallowing in his own failure. Something to focus on that wasn't the memory of Aldric's cold eyes or the nobles' whispers.
A reprieve was a reprieve in Ren's mind.
He stood up, brushing off his pants. "Alright. Let's go."
His party perked up immediately, relieved to have something to do. Tersia practically jumped to his feet. Farrie beamed. Even Welt closed his book with a decisive snap.
Noritoshi's party fell into step beside them as they headed toward the market district.
"So," Noritoshi said mildly, "what did you do?"
Ren sighed. "How much time do you have?"
Noritoshi's response came easily, without hesitation. "For you? As much as needed."
Ren felt something loosen in his chest.
He glanced at Noritoshi, then just as quickly looked away. "Please don't flirt with me."
Noritoshi blinked. Then a genuine laugh escaped him—warm, surprised, nothing like his usual composed demeanor. "Hahahaha." He shook his head, still smiling. "Noted. I'll save the sincere statements for Motoyasu instead."
"Please don't," Ren muttered, but there was no heat in it. The corner of his mouth twitched upward against his will.
Behind them, Farrie tugged at Tersia's sleeve, her expression genuinely curious. "Hey. Is it common for men to joke flirtingly between themselves like that? I've seen it a few times back home, but I never understood it."
Tersia's face split into a massive grin. "Of course it's common! It's practically a requirement for male bonding." He immediately turned to Bakta, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Bakta, my love, your silent stoicism calls to me like the moon calls to the tides. Run away with me?"
Bakta, without missing a beat, placed a massive hand on his own chest and replied in his deep rumble, "Only if you promise to carry my axe. It gets lonely at night."
Tersia gasped, faux-offended. "You'd make me your pack mule AND your lover? The audacity!"
"The axe comes first," Bakta said solemnly. "You would be second. But a very close second."
Tersia clutched his heart as if wounded, then turned to Welt. "Welt! My scholarly dove! Would you treat me so cruelly?"
Welt looked up from his book, pushed his glasses up his nose, and said in his most serious tone, "I could never. But only if you agree to let me catalog your combat forms for academic purposes. Purely professional."
Tersia waggled his eyebrows. "Purely professional. Of course. Whatever you need, my nerdy nightingale."
Welt's lips twitched. "I'll need at least three separate data sets. For accuracy."
"Naturally."
Farrie stared at the exchange, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Her eyes bounced from Tersia to Bakta to Welt and back again, searching for... something. Sincerity? Joke detection? The meaning of life?
"I'm never going to understand men."
Tersia patted her head consolingly. "None of us do, Farrie. None of us do. And that's the beauty of it."