The air in the clearing went still. Silas, the veteran adventurer, felt a strange prickle on the back of his neck—the kind of feeling he usually only got when a high-rank beast was watching him from the tall grass.
It's just a kid, he reminded himself.
But Kael didn't move like a kid. He didn't rush in blindly. He began to circle Silas, his feet light on the pine needles, the heavy stick held low. He was gauging distance, looking for the limp in Silas's bandaged leg.
"Come on then, brat," Silas challenged, spinning his dagger.
Kael burst forward. He didn't swing for the head; he dove low, aiming for the injured leg. Silas smirked and stepped back, but Kael's move was a feint. Mid-slide, the boy dug his heel into the dirt, twisted his small torso with violent torque, and swung the stick upward.
Crack!
The wood didn't hit Silas's leg—it slammed into the hilt of his dagger. The force wasn't enough to disarm the man, but it was enough to make his hand go numb.
"What the—?" Silas gasped.
Kael didn't stop. He used the momentum of the bounce to spin, aiming a back-end strike toward Silas's ribs. Silas had to actually use his mana, a faint blue aura flickering around his body to move fast enough to parry the blow with his forearm.
The stick shattered against Silas's armored sleeve.
Kael stood there, holding a splintered stump, breathing hard. His small chest heaved, his face flushed red. The "engine" was overheating.
Silas looked at his forearm. There was a faint dent in the leather. "You... you little monster. You actually aimed for the vibration point. Who the hell are you?"
Kael looked him dead in the eye, his gaze cold and unblinking. "A farmer's son who is tired of being hungry."
Silas stared at him for a long minute, then burst into a loud, boisterous laugh. "Hungry? Yeah, I bet you are. But you aren't hungry for bread, are you? You're hungry for blood."
He sheathed his dagger and looked toward the smoke rising from the village chimneys. "A talent like yours... it's a waste behind a plow. You'll die of boredom before you hit puberty."
"You said there was a way out," Kael said, dropping the broken stick.
"There is. But it's a hard life. You leave your parents. You train until your hands bleed every day. You hunt things that would eat a cow in one bite." Silas's expression turned serious. "And the pay is more than your father makes in ten years. If you survive, you can send enough gold home to build them a manor."
Kael thought of his new parents. They were kind, soft people—completely unlike the hard, war-torn family he had in his first life. They had looked after a "broken" child for years with nothing but love. He owed them.
"Take me to them," Kael ordered.
The conversation in the small farmhouse was tense. Elin sat at the wooden table, her knuckles white as she gripped a tea mug. Thomas stood by the hearth, looking at Silas with a mixture of awe and fear.
"He's too young," Elin whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "He just... he just got his mind back, Silas. He's finally talking, finally here with us."
"That's exactly why he has to go," Silas said gently, placing a small pouch of silver coins on the table. The sound of the clinking metal was heavy in the quiet room. "The boy isn't normal, Elin. He has the 'Warrior's Soul.' If he stays here, he'll be a lion in a goat pen. He'll grow restless, angry. But with the Hunters... he can be a legend. And he'll be taken care of."
Thomas looked at Kael, who was standing by the door, watching them with that unsettlingly calm expression. "Is this what you want, son?"
Kael looked at the silver on the table. It was enough to buy new grain, a better plow, and warm clothes for the winter. He looked at his father's calloused hands and his mother's tired face.
"I will go," Kael said. His voice was steady, lacking any of the fear a child should have about leaving home. "I will send word. And I will send more gold."
Elin sobbed, pulling Kael into a tight hug. Kael stood rigid for a moment. In his old life, affection was a sign of weakness. But as he felt her warmth, a fragment of his new self—the boy Kael—stirred. He reached up and awkwardly patted her back.
I will get my revenge, the Viking soul whispered inside him. But first, I will build a foundation that no King can tear down.
"Pack your things," Silas said, standing up. "We leave for the Academy city at dawn. It's a long walk, and I want to see if you can keep up."
Kael didn't need to pack. He had nothing but the clothes on his back and the burning fire in his chest.