Chapter 2 The Weight of Steel
The forest was quiet when the mornings came , but never kind.
Dew clung to the grass like cold needles, and the mist hung low, thick enough to hide the trees until you were nearly touching them. Birds didn't sing. Insects didn't stir. Only the rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of Aeren's boots broke the silence.
And of course… the thwack of wooden swords.
I was six.
And already dying.
Not literally .... not yet . But every morning, just after sunrise, I found myself face down in the dirt, lungs burning, muscles screaming, vision swimming. My body was a punching bag shaped like a child.
"You're slow," Aeren said, standing over me with his arms crossed and a blank expression. "Again."
I coughed, spat blood-tinged saliva, and pushed myself up on trembling arms. My wooden training blade felt heavier than steel, like it had absorbed every failure from the last week and decided to punish me with it.
"You said I did better yesterday," I croaked.
"I lied."
Thwack.
The flat of his sword struck my shoulder, not hard enough to break anything , but enough to knock me back on my ass.
"No warrior ever got strong by being coddled," he said, voice low. "And you're not a warrior. Not yet. Just a boy with potential. Potential's worthless if you don't bleed for it."
That was the rhythm of my new life.
Daylight was painful.
Grueling training under the weight of wooden swords and wooden expectations. Drills, footwork, stances, swings. Over and over again, until my arms turned to jelly and my legs could barely hold me upright. Every day, the same routine.
Fall. Rise. Repeat.
And Aeren watched, always watching, never speaking more than he needed. He struck when I faltered, corrected when I hesitated. Yet somehow, I understood it wasn't cruelty. He wasn't beating me down, he was forging me, one painful repetition at a time.
I hated him some days.
I feared him on others.
But I learned.
---
Night came
The cabin was old and creaked like it was alive, but the fireplace kept the cold away. I'd lie on a worn fur cloak near the fire, my limbs too sore to move, my hands blistered and wrapped in rough cloth. And Aeren ,the same man who'd knocked me flat a hundred times by morning would sit beside the fire, sharpening his sword, humming a quiet tune with no melody.
That was when the world opened up.
"Do you know why the mist never lifts?" he asked one night, his voice low, like he feared waking something just beyond the walls.
I turned my head toward him. My throat was dry, but I managed to shake my head.
"This forest," he said, staring into the fire, "was once a veil. A border between realms. Blessed or cursed by Veluna herself."
Veluna. The name rang like a distant bell in my mind. One of the Month Gods.
"She guided the lost through dreams. Lovers. Thieves. Spies. Anyone with something to hide or something to seek. Her breath made the fog, and her tears drowned those who lied to themselves."
The way he said it… it wasn't reverent. It was respectful. Like he was speaking of someone he once knew.
I swallowed. "You believe the gods were real?"
"They are real," Aeren said without looking at me. "But they've turned away from us."
"Because we betrayed them?"
He didn't answer for a long time. Just the steady scrape of stone against metal.
"Mortals stopped waiting. Built temples that demanded, not thanked. Twisted divine gifts into weapons. Burned sacred groves and slaughtered in their names. One king even tried to seal Valmira the Crimson Empress inside a forge to steal her power. That was the last straw."
I sat up slowly, the cloak slipping from my shoulders. My fingers brushed against the cold wooden floor.
"I thought this was just a game," I muttered. "I played Tales of Arcania for years… but I skipped everything. The lore. The side quests. The storybooks…"
"That is your burden now," Aeren said calmly. "You've been reborn in a world you only half-understood. What you ignored could kill you."
He reached into a drawer beneath the hearth and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. When he unrolled it, I saw an old map hand-drawn, weathered, beautiful.
"This world is larger than you imagine. But we'll start with what matters."
He pointed to the center of the map, a shaded green expanse labeled The Vale of Mist.
"This is where we are. The forest that once sang Veluna's name. Some say her essence still lingers here… whispering in dreams, hiding things even the gods fear to find."
Then he moved westward. "Aranthos — a kingdom in decline. Greedy nobles, fractured order. They used to have yellow-tier knights. Now? Thieves wear armor and call it knighthood."
North, to icy peaks. "The Spine. Carved by Kaelion himself. Pilgrims go there chasing rebirth, enlightenment. Most don't return."
East. A black scar on the parchment.
"Dreadhollow. Corrupted. Where men who craved power made deals with demons. Now it belongs to things no longer human."
"Thats what happens when people chase shortcut to power." Aeren emphasize.
I stared at the map, hands clenched.
I should've known these names. These histories. I played this world. But I treated it like a grind fest. Rushed to endgame. Skipped every line of dialogue, every story.
Now I was living in that same world, and I was helpless not because I was weak, but because I was ignorant.
That night, as Aeren rested his sword on the wall and tossed another log into the fire, I summoned the only thing in this world that still looked familiar:
---
[Status Window]
Name: ???
Tier: Colorless
Class: -
Title: -
[Stats]
Health: 20/20
Mana: 5/5
Strength: 2
Stamina: 2
Agility: 1
Dexterity: 1
Endurance: 2
Intelligence: 1
Perception: 1
[Skills]: [None]
[Quest Panel]
Category: Main
Title: Beginner's Path
Clear Conditions:
Survive to Age 10
Reward:
Stat Allocation +10
Skill Unlocked: [System Adaptation I]
Bonus Objective:
Complete Basic Physical Training with Aeren
Bonus Reward:
Unlock Red Tier Potential
Penalty for Failure:
Permanent Death
---
The numbers barely moved a point here and there.
But that was okay. I didn't need to rush. I didn't need a shortcut.
I had Aeren. I had time.
And I had a reason.
If the gods had turned their backs on mortals…
Then I'd find a way to make them look back.
---