So, for four years now, I have been in this world, and to this day, I still haven't managed to hold a sword or use magic. My parents are, of course, disappointed in my situation, but they refuse to give up. It annoys me on one hand, yet on the other, it stirs something within me that I can't quite name. Maybe hope?
Since my parents died when I was just eleven years old, and my grandparents were already gone, no one wanted me. I've always been alone, yet somehow, I still remember the cause of my death. Unlike in manga, I wasn't run over by a truck—I was in the office when it happened.
,,Can you cover my work today? I need to get home as soon as possible," a coworker begged me.
,,No problem." That night, I worked straight through and ended up with that stupid, incompetent goddess. At least she couldn't decide anything except for me to be born at the edge of the world.
,,Yeah, I had a boring death. From today on, I'll never help anyone again!"
,,Romy, can you grab the fork real quick?"
"Sure."
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A little later...
,One, two, three, four, fi— Romy, how can you still not hold the wooden sword for longer than five seconds?" his father asked in a neutral tone.
,,HOW? THIS WOODEN SWORD IS SOMEHOW ALREADY HEAVY! AND THE BLADE LENGTH WITHOUT THE HANDLE IS AT LEAST A DAMN METER! OF COURSE I CAN'T CARRY IT!" Romian spiraled into euphoria, screaming inwardly in response.
As Romian caught his breath, wiping the sweat dripping from his forehead, he glanced at Paul and spoke in a devastated tone:
,,I think this wood is abnormally heavy. What's even the density of this thing?"
,,Density? Well, the wood is special—it's from the demonic forest nearby. It's sourced from the deeper circles of the forest, which already takes up a significant area. The monsters there are extremely dangerous. I could venture in, but only into the first two of six zones. The zones are vast, but as far as we know, no one has ever returned alive from beyond them," his father explained, detailing the origin of the wood and the peril of the location.
Romian listened intently, his eyes narrowing at a figure pointing toward the forest. He wondered why they were gesturing there and asked:
,,Which zone does this wood come from if even you can only reach the second one?"
,,The wood is harvested from the end of the second zone to the end of the third. It grows harder the deeper you go. I'm not exactly strong either—I can barely handle a sword. So, spare me the praise." His father scratched the back of his head, smiling humbly.
,,...Right, 'not strong'—you just train with a sword every single day and look insanely skilled. Cut the crap!" Romian shot him a suspicious, irritated glare.
Romian stood up, dusted off his hands, and tried again to lift the sword.
,,This sword is definitely heavier than a normal one. What's with this wood? Can't we just use a regular wooden swor— ngh!" He strained to hold it before giving up once more.
His father watched him with a concerned look, nodding as if admitting his own mistake.
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A few days later...
Romian was now training with a normal, even lighter wooden sword. It still felt heavy to swing for extended periods, but this was normal for him—part of building his body for the future.
,,Hmm… The man who showed me those skills also demonstrated something else. The diagonal slash seemed ordinary to me, but I felt something… It looked utterly perfect, as if that slash could slice through dimensions—maybe even more. But mastering it is insanely difficult. I won't succeed anytime soon. I should focus on learning the fundamentals of sword arts first, then think about advanced techniques. For now, a quick five-minute break~" Romian practiced some basic forms, hoping to make future training easier for himself.
Leaning against the fence with his back, Romian gazed at the house he lived in and realized how fortunate his life was.
Sure, he was on the weaker side—but that was it. He had loving parents and a kind maid.
,,What if I hadn't been born here, but somewhere else…?" As Romian muttered this, his mood darkened. His thoughts spiraled, and a shadow crossed his face.
Slap! Slap!
He smacked his own cheeks to snap back into focus.
Still drenched in sweat, he stood up and resumed swinging his sword.
,,Diagonal slash! Horizontal slash! Thrust! Vertical slash!" He shouted each move with fierce determination, vowing not to let life destroy him this time. He had goals—goals he had to achieve.
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A few hours later...
,,Ugh…"
Romian was still exhausted from his training. He'd pushed himself for a full hour—extremely taxing, both physically and mentally. His usual limit was 30–45 minutes of low-pain practice, but the final stretch had been brutal. Now, he lay on his bed, about to take a bath to wash off the sweat clinging to him like a sauna session.
,,Wait—should I even be lying here? The bed's gonna reek of sweat and get all damp… Meh, whatever." Romian couldn't care less. He couldn't move a muscle anyway.
20 minutes later...
,,Young master, your bath is ready, and dinner will be served afterward," called the maid, standing outside his door and waiting for him to stir.
,,Yeah, yeah, I'm coming… Agh—!" Romian replied casually, then winced as he stood up.
,,You shouldn't train beyond what your body can handle," the maid said neutrally, though a flicker of concern tinged her voice.
,,Phillia do you train?" Romian ignored her advice and lobbed a question back, sitting slumped on the edge of the bed.
She blinked, surprised, but answered politely: ,,Yes. Whether it's magic or sword arts, I learn both from your mother and father." Her tone carried gratitude.
Romian tilted his head. He'd never actually seen Phillia train—their schedules must never overlap.
,,Whatever. I'll go bathe." He stretched, grabbed fresh clothes, and shuffled out of his room. Turning left, he trudged 22 meters forward, then right, reaching the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and sank into the tub.
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A few days later...
,,Hah! Heah! FWÆH! Wait—since when am I music? Ugh, never mind. Focus on the fundamentals of sword arts, not… whatever that was." Romian muttered to himself mid-training, hacking at the air with horizontal slashes for half an hour before finally pausing.
,,This routine's getting repetitive. Train mornings, maybe evenings… I should study magic at night. It's crucial, and supposedly easier if you've read enough. Mana points are like qi points, but the systems work differently. This magic stuff could be interesting—but what's the ranking system here? Ugh, whatever." Leaning against the fence, he spotted Phillia and his father, Paul, stepping outside—Paul clutching a sword.
Not just any sword. A real steel blade. Romian's eyes widened in shock.
,,Ah, Romy's here! Training alone again?" Paul greeted him cheerfully.
,,Nah, I just fought a god and won. So, yeah, it's just me," Romian shot back sarcastically.
Phillia stifled a laugh. Paul's smile tightened.
,,Oh, so you're that strong now? Want to try the other wooden sword?" Paul jabbed, trying to knock him down a peg.
,,Nah, I'd rather untie my hair—or maybe cut it. What do you think, young Padawan?" Romian smirked, glancing downward.
Both adults froze. What's a Padawan?
,,Hey, why target my glorious hair? Got nothing better to do?" Paul teased, faux-dramatically flipping his tied-back locks.
,,Yep. You've got it all: a perfect wife, a genius kid forged by God Himself to remind you how blessed you are." Romian tilted his nose up, dripping mock arrogance.
,,But can the boy even swing a normal wooden sword?"
,,True. He should eat more. Look how scrawny he is!"
They stage-whispered loudly enough for Romian to hear.
,,Hey! Those wooden swords are denser than… whatever! And could you grasp magic at four years old? Didn't think so!" Romian crossed his arms, pouting semi-seriously.
"We didn't mean it like— Stop being so chil— Stop being so embarrassing," Paul started, then caught himself. Romian was only four—easy to forget, given his mature aura and speech.
,,Did you forget I'm literally a child?" Romian shot Paul a suspicious glare, adding internally: Damn, he's right! Why do I act childish sometimes? Is it because I'm in a kid's body, influencing my behavior? Maybe… but that's not the whole answer. Whatever—acting younger probably hides that I'm older than my parents anyway.
,,Perhaps~ But you do behave far more maturely than most kids your age," his father countered, tone tinged with mild bewilderment.
,,I have to agree. It sometimes feels like speaking to someone older," Phillia chimed in.
,,Stop ganging up on me, you Groots," Romian smirked, gripping the wooden sword diagonally. ,,Weren't you two here to train? I'll watch."
He waited, eyebrows raised.
"Ah, right. Let's start. Though I'm still curious why you wanted to practice so early today," Paul mused, turning to Phillia.
"Uh—I just… felt like training earlier!" She glanced away, voice faltering.
Romian stared blankly, disappointed by her terrible lie.
,,If lying were a "unique ability," yours would be "Truth Compulsion." Can't even fake a reason—might as well say, "The sky's sunny today," he quipped inwardly.
The two assumed combat stances, closing the distance in three seconds.
,,Oho—less talk, more action. That's more like it," Romian muttered, eyes sharp as he analyzed their movements.
Their initial stances seemed similar, but diverged wildly—body structure and muscle distribution between a man and woman made their styles inherently different.
As they clashed, Romian noticed instantly:
,,Paul's barely trying—like, 20% effort. What the hell? Phillia's giving her all but can't land a hit!'' He blurted aloud, forgetting to filter his thoughts.
Phillia's face twitched at his words. She attacked more aggressively.
,,Oh, rattled that easily?" Paul taunted, grinning.
Without a word, Phillia intensified her strikes—fluid, precise, like a rapier duelist—until she did something shocking:
,,A kick? Mid-sword fight?'' Romian gaped.
She launched a high kick at Paul's head. He reacted instantly, snapping a kick to her knee's outer edge to disrupt her balance. She staggered but pivoted smoothly, releasing her sword. It arced toward Paul, forcing him to dodge.
Seizing the opening, Phillia swung a fist at his temple. Paul spun away, evading effortlessly. She stumbled, caught herself with a palm on the ground, and lunged forward, snatching her sword back mid-motion.
"Not bad," Paul acknowledged, readying his next strike. This time, he struck first—a brutal diagonal slash from upper right, aiming to overpower her.
She knew she couldn't block the attack head-on, so she let the momentum of his sword glide along her blade, guiding his strike downward near her crossguard. Using the inertia of his swing, she deftly deflected the blade. In one fluid motion, she lashed out with her left hand, aiming a precise strike at Paul's ribs. Though he tried to block, her speed outmatched him—the blow landed, if only lightly.
"Urgh!"
Phillia's follow-up slash veered just below Paul's ribs, targeting his liver—a critical weak point. Paul gasped as pain paralyzed him, staggering momentarily. Those seconds were all Phillia needed. She unleashed a flurry of strikes, some finding their mark before Paul recovered.
But then Paul raised his hands, conjuring a shimmering magical barrier between them. Phillia recoiled as she collided with the invisible wall. Paul used the breather to steady himself.
Now, magic clashed alongside steel—no longer just a swordfight. Paul wielded fire; Phillia summoned water and ice. The battle erupted into a lethal dance of flames and frozen shards. Ice spikes shot toward Paul, hemming him in, while he erected fiery walls for defense.
Paul turned the flames into a smokescreen, dense heat obscuring Phillia's vision and masking his aura. Silently, he slipped behind the inferno, striking from shadows like an assassin. Overwhelmed, Phillia reacted on instinct—water orbs and ice daggers exploded outward in all directions.
One spike nearly grazed Paul, but he dodged with a gust of wind. Phillia anticipated this, lunging forward to slam her fist into his solar plexus. Paul crumpled, wheezing.
"I win. Even if you held back, victory sti—" Phillia pressed her sword to his head, smirking.
Cold steel kissed her throat before she finished. Paul stood behind her, blade poised. "Too slow," he whispered. "You only grazed my sleeve. I used wind to cloak myself and slow your sword—too subtle for you to notice."
Phillia froze, breath catching. Paul had outplayed her, predicting every move. He sheathed his sword, turning to Romian.
,,And that's how you win a fight. See that, Romy?"
,,Even half-hearted, it was impressive. She's talented—but I trained her. I know her patterns. Victory was inevitable," Paul explained, brimming with confidence.
Romian stood stunned, struggling to process the fight's rapid twists—and how Paul had orchestrated it all.
,,Wh—what the hell?! What just happened? The fight wasn't short, but that ending… How it turned out for Paul makes no sense! And their mana control is insanely good—neither of them is normal, right? Or is he so strong he can just brush that off? If that's the case, I'd rather become a farmer!"
Romian glanced at Phillia. She knelt, staring at the ground, visibly shaken and furious. But something dripped—
Tears. Romian ignored Paul and rushed to Phillia, kneeling beside her.
He placed a hand on her back, stroking gently, and spoke in a soft, reassuring tone.
,,Losing isn't shameful. What would be shameful is if you'd half-assed it—but you didn't. You gave your all and nearly beat him! You should be proud. Being this skilled at your age… Just seeing you fight him with everything proves how hard you've worked. You did amazing! Keep training, and you'll defeat him soon. Don't feel ashamed—only fools wallow in shame without learning. Every loss makes you stronger. You learn more from defeat than beating someone weaker."
Romian's gentle smile steadied Phillia as she listened. Slowly, she lifted her head, tears still glistening.
She wiped her cheeks, sobbing:
"B-but… I-I almost h-had him!"
,,Doesn't matter. You tried your hardest and grew from this. That's what counts. You're not a fool, right?" Romian hugged her, his tone teasingly sarcastic at the end.
She hugged him back, grinning through glassy eyes:
"O-of course not."