Chapter 12 — Scars, Steel, and Soft Eyes
The morning sun over Molgrim Mountains cast no warmth—only harsh white light that made the snow glare like glass. Kaito lay on a stone bed inside a dimly lit room, body wrapped in thick bandages. The scent of herbs, smoke, and dried blood filled the air.
He blinked slowly.
Pain was still there.
But he wasn't dead.
"About time you woke up, brat," came a voice like cracking stone.
Gorrim Ironhide stood over him, arms crossed, eye squinting.
"I've seen corpses livelier than you yesterday."
Kaito groaned. His ribs felt like shattered glass. "I… feel like one."
"You heal like a monster, though," Gorrim muttered, placing a glowing palm over Kaito's chest. A golden shimmer spread—soothing, warm, familiar. "Ten days. You're back from the brink. Typical Bloodcrest nonsense."
Huh...? Ten days? Was I unconscious for ten days....?
Gorrim shrugged. "Yeah. Thought you were dead. Would've buried you if you didn't keep twitchin'."
Gorrim stood and tossed a small vial onto Kaito's lap.
"Drink that. Then sit up. Time for your real training."
Kaito blinked. "Real…?"
Gorrim cracked a grin. "We're done fixing you. Now we break you again."
—
Mana flowed. Slow. Heavy.
"Imagine an ocean," Gorrim said. "Now imagine a dry crater in the middle. Your job is to drag all the water—your mana—into that crater. That's mana control. Basic, but harder than it sounds."
Kaito sat cross-legged in a cold chamber beneath the mountain, breathing slowly. He imagined the ocean, the crater, and the flow.
It didn't work.
"Again," Gorrim said.
Kaito repeated it. Again. And again.
By the third day, sweat poured from his temples. His fingers trembled. His head throbbed.
Then—
The flow shifted.
His mana swirled inward.
The crater filled.
He gasped. "I… did it."
"Well, look at that," came a voice. "The royal brat's not completely hopeless."
Kaito turned.
A girl stood there, arms folded.
She looked around his age—maybe a little older. Dark red hair tied in a braid, piercing green eyes, and a sharp smirk. Her skin was pale like snow, and she wore a tunic stitched from mountain wolf fur.
"I'm Lyra," she said. "Gorrim's daughter."
Kaito blinked. "You're his… what?"
"You look like a slave, y'know. All bruised up, half-starved. Thought father brought you in from the mines."
"I'm his disciple," Kaito muttered.
She paused. "...He actually took a disciple?"
"Surprised me too."
—
Over the next few days, Kaito healed under Gorrim's brutal schedule, while Lyra helped cook, carry supplies, and spar with wooden swords.
"During sparring, Lyra's wooden blade moved faster than his eyes. There was power behind her light frame—a dancer's speed masking a soldier's strength."
Gorrim began teaching him a warrior's art—starting with "Mana Skin."
"Your flesh should feel like steel," Gorrim said. "Even mages can't pierce it with spells if done right. But mages don't get this. They shoot from a distance. Cowards."
He explained the three main combat classes:
- **Warriors**: Use body enhancement, mana skin, melee domination.
- **Mages**: Spellcasters. High damage, long-range, weak close up.
- **Magic Swordsmen**: Rare. No body buffs or spells, but can channel raw magic through weapons.
"Only Advanced Warriors can coat weapons in mana. But even then, it's nothing compared to a true Magic Swordsman."
Then Gorrim whispered something that sent a chill through Kaito.
"There are others… unbound. Not tied to classes or limits. Born once in a generation. Like your parents."
"Your parents weren't just warriors or mages. They were storms that broke the sky."
Kaito clenched his fists.
"I'll reach that level too."
"Yeah, yeah. But first, reach stage two… you brat."
—
One week later.
Kaito stood at the base of the Molgrim Mountains, bandages gone, cloak new, heart burning. Lyra stood beside him.
"You finally finished stage one," she said. "Let's go into town. You've earned it."
Downhill, beyond snowy cliffs and frost-covered trees, lay Durakmire—the city of stone and flame.
It was a blend of everything.
Dwarves with hammers, humans in cloaks, beastkin peddling spices. Mana-lit lamps floated over streets. Crystal vendors. Sword dancers. Magic-infused pancakes.
"Try those," Lyra said, pointing. "Dragon-breath crepes..." It burns your tongue, but it's worth it."
They laughed.
Then came the Adventurer's Guild.
A giant building of blackstone and wood, alive with shouting voices and clinking mugs. Inside: chaos.
Tall men laughed. Dwarves arm-wrestled. Banners of beast hunts and monster bounties hung on every wall.
"Wanna go in?" Lyra asked.
"Hm. Why not?"
They stepped in—and were immediately noticed.
"Oi!" barked a tall man with a lion's mane haircut and jagged teeth. "Two kids? This ain't no playground."
**Brakkon Grayjaw.**
A B-rank adventurer with muscle bigger than most torsos.
He leered at Lyra. "Pretty little mountain rose like you shouldn't be wasted on a runt."
"Why not leave the brat and come drink with me?"
Kaito stepped forward. "Leave her alone."
Brakkon grinned—and punched him.
Kaito somehow dodged the first strike—but the second hit home. He slammed into the wall, groaning.
"Still injured, huh?" Lyra muttered.
She dashed forward.
Two punches. One kick. "Her fist moved like a piston—Brakkon's nose exploded".
Brakkon collapsed like a sack of stones.
The entire guild stared.
"Brakkon got beat by a girl?!"
"He once crushed a beast's skull with bare hands". And now his own skull was crushed by a brat.
Cheers. Laughter.
—
As they left, Kaito whispered, "Sorry I couldn't protect you."
Lyra chuckled. "You're the one bleeding, idiot. I should apologize."
Then—
A cry.
"Aw aw aw aw!"
A little boy, maybe ten, shielding his mother from four adults in dirty armor.
Kaito tried to step forward. His body screamed in pain.
"Don't overdo it," Lyra said. "I'll handle them."
She kicked one. Punched another. But the third hit her with a strength spell coating his entire body—she staggered. Then a fireball struck her chest, hurling her backward in a burst of smoke and heat.
Kaito raised a trembling hand, forcing mana into his palm—but instead of fire, only blood spilled from his lips. His mana shattered like glass.
They were being beaten. The punks hit Lyra multiple times until she coughed blood again and again.
The boy sobbed. "Please! Hurt me, not them! Just let my mom live!"
Kaito clenched his fists. His eyes burned.
"His hands trembled, not from pain—but helplessness. It was just like that day. Blood. Screams. His body, frozen."
"He couldn't even scream. It was happening again."
_"I'm…"
His vision blurred. Blood dripped from his mouth.
"…too weak. Again."
---
[To be continued…]