Nearly two months had passed since I arrived in this world.
Sometimes…
I forgot that I wasn’t on Earth anymore.
The smell of fresh bread every morning.
Kai’s endless complaints.
Master Borin’s sarcastic remarks.
Even Ashfall City’s bustling streets had become familiar.
Then I would look toward the corner of my room.
The Black Devil rested there.
Wrapped in the same black cloth.
Silent.
Patient.
As though reminding me…
“You do not belong here.”
⸻
“Faster!”
The instructor’s voice echoed across the training hill.
The sand bucket dug into my shoulders.
One lap.
Two.
Three.
The path that once felt impossible had become manageable.
Not easy.
Never easy.
But no longer impossible.
The instructor watched from beneath a tree.
“You’ve improved.”
I almost smiled.
“…Really?”
“No.”
My smile disappeared.
“You’ve simply become less pathetic.”
The other trainees burst into laughter.
Even I laughed.
The old me would’ve felt humiliated.
The new me…
Understood he wasn’t insulting me.
He was acknowledging my progress.
⸻
Training ended near noon.
As I walked back toward the city…
I noticed a large crowd gathering near the central plaza.
“What’s happening?”
A merchant answered excitedly.
“The Imperial Inspectors are demonstrating martial arts!”
Curiosity pulled me forward.
⸻
The plaza had transformed into an arena.
Thousands of citizens surrounded a circular stone platform.
Children sat on their parents’ shoulders.
Merchants abandoned their stalls.
Even Master Borin stood silently near the back.
In the center…
Five Imperial Inspectors stood motionless.
Each wore the same crimson cloak.
The same black armor.
The same emotionless expression.
One elderly official stepped forward.
“The Empire wishes to remind its citizens…”
“…that peace exists because strength protects it.”
He looked toward the crowd.
“Who wishes to challenge one of our soldiers?”
Silence.
No one moved.
Finally…
Taken from NovelPhoenix, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
A large man carrying an enormous axe stepped onto the platform.
“I’ll try.”
The crowd murmured.
“That’s Karg!”
“A veteran hunter!”
“They say he once killed a Mountain Bear alone!”
The Imperial official nodded.
“You may begin.”
⸻
Karg roared.
His axe cut through the air with terrifying force.
The soldier…
Didn’t move.
The axe stopped only inches away.
Not because the soldier blocked it.
Because…
Karg himself had frozen.
His entire body trembled.
Sweat poured down his face.
His muscles bulged as he desperately tried to complete the strike.
He couldn’t.
The Imperial soldier hadn’t drawn his sword.
Hadn’t taken a step.
Hadn’t spoken.
Simply…
Looked at him.
After several agonizing seconds…
Karg dropped his axe.
“I surrender.”
The pressure vanished instantly.
The hunter collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.
The crowd remained utterly silent.
I couldn’t understand what had happened.
⸻
“Master…”
I whispered.
“He never moved.”
Master Borin nodded.
“He didn’t need to.”
“But…”
“How?”
The old man watched the platform carefully.
“That…”
“…is killing intent.”
⸻
The words sent a chill down my spine.
The Imperial soldier calmly returned to his place.
As though nothing had happened.
The elderly official addressed the crowd once more.
“True strength…”
“…isn’t measured by how many enemies you kill.”
“It’s measured by how many battles end…”
“…without drawing your sword.”
⸻
For some reason…
Those words struck me deeply.
Back on Earth…
I had always imagined strength as violence.
Power.
Victory.
Here…
The strongest man hadn’t even attacked.
⸻
As the demonstration ended…
People slowly dispersed.
I remained standing.
Lost in thought.
Suddenly…
A voice interrupted me.
“You watched carefully.”
I turned.
The speaker was one of the Imperial soldiers.
Not the one from the arena.
A younger man.
Perhaps in his late twenties.
His expression remained calm.
“I…”
“Yes.”
He glanced toward the wooden practice sword tied to my waist.
“You train?”
“A little.”
He nodded.
Without warning…
He picked up a fallen branch.
“This is a sword.”
He handed it to me.
“Attack.”
Again?
Why did everyone in this world want me to attack them?
I sighed internally.
Then…
I swung.
The soldier took one step.
Just one.
My strike completely missed.
Before I recovered…
The branch gently touched my chest.
“You died.”
Again.
I attacked.
Again.
“You died.”
Again.
“You died.”
After ten exchanges…
I hadn’t landed a single hit.
The soldier handed the branch back.
“You’ve learned the basics.”
My eyes widened.
“…I have?”
He nodded.
“You watch your opponent’s center.”
“You don’t waste unnecessary movement.”
“But…”
He pointed toward my feet.
“You hesitate.”
I looked down.
Without realizing it…
I had been shifting my weight backward before every attack.
“You fear losing.”
He said quietly.
“So your body prepares to retreat…”
“…before your mind chooses to fight.”
The words froze me.
That…
Was exactly how I had lived.
Not only with swords.
With life.
Always preparing an escape.
Always expecting failure.
The soldier turned to leave.
After a few steps…
He spoke one final sentence.
“A swordsman with talent may win a hundred duels.”
“But a swordsman without resolve…”
“…loses before drawing his blade.”
⸻
That evening…
I practiced alone in the courtyard.
Not sword swings.
Not footwork.
Standing still.
Watching my own feet.
Every time I unconsciously leaned backward…
I corrected myself.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Master Borin quietly observed from the kitchen window.
“He met one of them.”
He whispered to himself.
He could tell.
Not from my words.
From my posture.
For the first time…
The boy who had always run from life…
Was learning how to stand his ground.
⸻
Far away…
Within the Imperial residence established inside Ashfall City…
The young Imperial soldier entered a quiet chamber.
The captain looked up from a map.
“You met the boy?”
“I did.”
“And?”
The young soldier remained silent for a long moment.
Finally…
“He has no cultivation.”
“No talent.”
“No technique.”
The captain nodded.
“As expected.”
“But…”
The young soldier added.
“…his eyes changed while we spoke.”
The captain slowly smiled.
“So the seed has sprouted.”
Outside the chamber…
Rain began to fall over Ashfall City.
No one noticed.
Not the merchants.
Not the guards.
Not the tavern owner.
But somewhere deep inside the Black Devil…
A faint crimson line appeared along its pitch-black blade.
For the first time…
The sword had responded.
Not to power.
Not to blood.
But to the resolve of the one who carried it.
End of Chapter 20