Memories resurfaced for Veil. Memories of the fifteen years of his life he spent learning a martial art against his will—all because it was family tradition. Oh, how foolish he truly was. It was only until he broke someone's arm that he realized how weak everyone else in his world truly was compared to him.
This martial art he once thought invincible to all except grapplers was so unbearably weak in this new world—barely even an advantage.
It was a cold day in December, the kind of cold day where every time you spoke, fog would appear, and the kind that would turn your fingers numb in mere minutes.
He was only a tired twelve-year-old, exhausted from two hours of grueling dagger practice.
He was with his father at the time in the dojo that reeked of blood, sweat, and tears from the constant training of the Cross family across generations and the students of the dojo who had practiced Muay Thai the morning before.
Hahh… ahhaugh…
"Dad, please let me leave. I want to have fun with my friends online. Black Cold just increased the max level to 90,000 and added new abilities. I'm about to make an alt character."
A man with black hair, wrinkled skin, and baggy, blue-rimmed eyes walked toward him, his gaze full of love and pity.
"My son, you spend all your time lazing around. No matter how hard I try, I cannot change your nature. So instead, I will make it so you are forced to work hard no matter what. It is your punishments that will be the most extreme: if you get an F, two hours of grueling workout time; mess with your sister, one day without speaking; mess up in the dojo, and you shall be forced into a match with me. Now, correct your form with the wooden dagger in your hand and come at me."
(Flashback end)
His father taught him to be a strong champion. While the old man was strict, he was also caring—the only reason Veil never fell behind others.
The man taught him to be the strongest on Earth.
The only reason he died that day with no chance to fight back was because he was snuck up on. If he had seen the assailant a little bit earlier, there was at least a twenty percent chance he would still be alive today.
But now, he would win—not because he was Veil Cross, but because he was Veil Storm, someone who would suffer endlessly if he lost.
This martial art made him realize that whatever his new identity was, it would all just be a new version of Veil Cross. Veil Cross and Veil Storm were essentially one and the same, and even if they were separate, neither would want to spend eternity in hell.
The world was unknown. He had no idea how weak he truly was. He had no idea how strong he truly was. He didn't know if he could truly survive and move on from his old life. He had no idea how weak or strong Xerovock was.
Maybe someone like Xerovock, whom he thought strong, was a weakling—barely considered strong by the weakest of the weak or the most pathetic of warriors.
Veil felt more than just pathetic.
He had done nothing but lose ever since arriving in this world .
He lost to his murderer.
He became but a toy for some overpowered goddess.
Now, he was losing to goblins. In almost any story he had ever heard from any media, goblins were well known for being one of the weakest beginner enemies you would ever find.
To think he had to fight these monsters and struggle. His family taught him to be strong, even if he was lazy, but all that hard work now meant nothing.
"Xerovock, was it? I won't apologize for killing your tribe. They were in my way, you see. There is this piece-of-shit higher being telling me to kill you, so I have no choice. My own survival is more important to me than each and every one of the lives I just took. My name is no longer Veil Cross—it is Veil Storm. While I may not know what that name means, I will kill you while using it," shouted Veil.
"Hey, human, I don't want to know your whole life story. Shut up and just go ahead and die."
Those were the words spoken by a warrior facing an exhausted person who truly would rather not fight.
"Lord Xerovock, do you truly not require assistance in dealing with this human? He already has you on the ropes. Even if I am not the most loyal, I have been by your side all this time."
In response to the stupid question asked by his subordinate, Xerovock screamed with the pride of a warrior:
"Ezroph, you are but a shaman! I know letting you help me now would put me at a cost later, and I have the pride of a warrior. Don't you dare insist on helping me. Keep you and your monstrous creation away from me. I am Xerovock, and I shall not lose to some weak human brat!"
Ever since Xerovock was a child, he was the strongest—so strong, in fact, that even someone like the shaman Ezroph could only be his right-hand man.
At four, he was already beating other goblins twice his age. At eight, he was beating full-grown adults. By ten, most of the tribe's warriors had lost to him. At nineteen, he was crowned the new chief by the previous one for his raw strength and warrior's pride.
"Why do you two keep up your talking? You got me out here bleeding. Let's just end this, Xerovock. Just so you know, your afterlife will suck if you make it to hell. Trust me—I know from personal experience. Now, kindly perish for me."
Veil was not the kind to let arrogance blind him, but he sounded very cocky in that moment because he knew he had nothing to lose—yet everything to lose at the same time.