The man studied me like a scientist eyeing a rare specimen, his gaze sliding from my shoulders to my arms, then down to my mud-caked boots, as if every detail held a story he was piecing together. A faint, almost wistful smile played on his lips—like he knew me, but not from any memory I could claim. My sweat-soaked shirt, the throbbing ache in my chest, and the crusty wolf blood on my face felt trivial in his presence. The forest's darkness grew heavier, more alive, with him standing there. The hairs on my neck prickled—not from fear, but from an eerie sense of familiarity. Had he always been watching, lurking in the shadows?
He tilted his head, his gray-blue eyes catching the dim light. His voice carried a tired but resolute weight, like it bore years of unseen burdens.
"Hmm… Your body's not exactly screaming 'warrior,' kid. But no worries. A proper grind session'll sharpen those senses, toughen that spirit. You've got… a spark. Could take you places."
Training? The word rang in my head like a gong. When had I signed up for this? I didn't even know this guy's name, let alone his deal—no backstory, no motives, nothing. But those eyes… it was like they saw right through me, knew my every move before I made it. For a second, I swore I'd felt them before—on the village bench while scarfing a hot dog, during my wolf fights, even staring at the stars from my pod. Had he been there all along, a silent shadow keeping tabs? My pulse raced, not from panic, but from an odd trust. This guy talked like a dad—tough, but protective. Yet behind those eyes lay untold stories, maybe dangers.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with a laugh—short, gruff, but genuine. "Don't worry, kid," he said, a playful lilt in his voice, "nobody's eating you. Haha!"
His chuckle was warm, but it hid a trace of sorrow, like it stirred something long buried. Gods, I thought, this guy's a dad-joke machine. But that laugh, those eyes… every quip felt like it veiled a secret, a puzzle begging to be solved. His face—short, neatly cropped hair, a jaw shadowed by fresh stubble—was both familiar and unnerving. His armor—light, high-tech, with faint glowing lines snaking through the dark—didn't belong to some random corner of this universe; it came from somewhere deeper, darker. A bandit? No way. A leader, a guide, or… something else? My brain was a mess.
"What're you gonna train, exactly?" I asked, my tone half-mocking, half-dubious. I crossed my arms, wincing as the stench of my muddy shirt hit my nose.
"Everything," he said, his eyes flashing for a moment. His voice carried the weight of a vow, like this wasn't just about swinging a sword. "Your body, your mind, your instincts… even how far your heart can push you."
Heart? The word hit something deep inside. I wanted to ask, but my tongue froze. "Why me?" I managed, my voice shaky. "There's millions of players—why pick me?"
He went quiet, his gaze drifting to the forest, like he was searching for something unseen. Then he looked back, his smile softer, more cryptic. "You'll have to find out by trying," he said. "Go far enough, and you'll see why I chose you." His words were a promise and a riddle. Suddenly, he grabbed my arm—gentle, but firm. "Come with me," he said, like he already knew my next move.
I hesitated, but my feet moved anyway, like his presence sapped my will to resist. He led me away from the village's chaos, to a place where only wolf growls echoed. It was a rundown clearing—trees packed tight, the sky barely visible. No one was around, but distant player shouts and battle clangs still reached my ears. The man settled onto a rock, casual as if he were about to spin a bedtime story. But his eyes… they screamed that a test was coming.
"Fight," he said, his voice carrying neither mockery nor expectation—just a calm command.
The absurdity and speed of it all spun my head. What, now? I thought, but his steady, grounded aura swallowed any chance of arguing. I stepped toward a wolf, reaching for my sword—then remembered the damn mud clogging its mechanism. Of course, I grumbled, irritation flaring. I shot him a helpless look. As if he'd been waiting, he smiled—not that dad-joke grin, but something deeper, wiser. He held out his hand, and a sword materialized, woven from the forest's own darkness, radiating a quiet, lethal aura.
I took it, and the system blared in my mind:
[New Item Acquired: Regere Dominari (Incomplete)]
New Quest Unlocked: Divide, Expugna, Impera.
Details:Regere Dominari, once shattered by ***** ******* ******* and scattered across the vast universe. You've done well to find its largest fragment. Seek the remaining pieces throughout the cosmos. Forge them together in the Faber United Coalition.
Progress: 1/12
Whoa, I thought, my breath catching. This sword… it wasn't just gear. Its hilt bore intricate carvings, the blade humming faintly—like it was alive. I looked at the man, eyes wide. "Sir," I said, respect and doubt mixing in my voice, "this sword… it looks crazy valuable. You sure you wanna give it up?"
He burst into laughter—a big, booming roar that echoed through the forest, silencing even the birds. "Hahaha! Don't sweat it, kid, it's not that big a deal… for now." His eyes twinkled with mischief, but there was a serious edge beneath. "Come on, quit yapping and let that sword do the talking. Show me what you've got."
I was annoyed, but… curious. This guy acted like he knew the game's rules better than I did—like he held the universe's strings. I gripped the sword, its weight perfect in my hand. I turned to the wolf, but my eyes kept flicking to him. He sat there, calm, watching every move like a dad—protective, but judging. Who is this guy? I wondered, but there was no turning back. I raised the sword, and the fight began.
The wolf lunged at me, just like the others, its teeth glinting in the dim light. Instinctively, I raised my new sword, the memory of my earlier fights guiding my hands. But something felt different—hours of sparring with that strange wolf had sharpened my senses. It was as if my body moved before my mind could catch up. The sword sliced through the air with a sharp whistle, its balance so precise it felt like an extension of my will. I wasn't just swinging; I was directing it, like a conductor leading an orchestra.
This new blade, Regere Dominari, wasn't like my old plasma sword. That one had been heavy, clumsy, like lugging around a metal pipe. This? It was light—almost too light—its weight distributed so perfectly I had to rethink every move. The hilt was wrapped in crimson and black bindings, worn but deliberate, as if stained by blood long ago. I wondered if it was blood, but the stains didn't flake or smear, so I left them alone, half-afraid to disturb whatever history clung to it. The blade itself shimmered faintly, like a mirage, complete yet somehow incomplete. It had a presence, but its lightness betrayed that it wasn't whole—not yet.
I aimed for the wolf's flank, ready to drive the blade in, when the man appeared beside me. Not walked—appeared, as if he'd stopped time itself. My muscles froze, the wolf mid-leap, its claws inches from me. The forest held its breath. His voice cut through the silence, calm but firm, like a teacher correcting a student's sloppy work.
"Not like that," he said, eyeing my grip. "Don't choke the hilt like you're punching a wall. Hold it firm but relaxed—let the sword breathe." He stepped closer, his calloused hand adjusting mine. "Angle your wrist slightly—here. Keep the blade's edge aligned with your forearm's momentum. You're not hacking wood; you're carving air."
His words came fast, a cascade of advice: "Shift your weight to your back foot for balance. Don't lean into the strike—let the blade's arc do the work. Eyes on the target's center mass, not its eyes." I blinked, trying to process it all, his voice steady but insistent, like he'd taught a hundred stubborn kids before me.
Then, as suddenly as he'd appeared, time snapped back. The wolf recoiled, resetting to its starting point, like a video rewound. My jaw tightened—what kind of power was this? But I didn't dwell on it. This universe was full of weirdness; I'd seen enough to know better than to gape. I tightened my grip, following his instructions: firm but relaxed, wrist angled, weight balanced. I lunged again, the sword humming as it arced toward the wolf's shoulder. This time, the blade connected—a clean, shallow cut. The wolf yelped, stumbling back, blood matting its fur. One more strike, precise and controlled, caught its neck. The beast collapsed, lifeless.
[Canis Lupus Killed: +5 EXP]
I knelt to skin it, but before I could start, the man hopped off his rock with a chuckle. "Hah! Not like that, rookie!" he said, snatching the sword from my hand with a fluid motion. His hands moved like a butcher's—quick, practiced. He slid the blade under the wolf's hide, separating fur from flesh with surgical precision, not a single wasted cut. The pelt came free, pristine, while the carcass dissolved into light, feeding the forest floor. He tossed the sword back to me, grinning. "That's how it's done. Your turn."
I nodded, still processing his speed, when he vanished—poof, like a glitch. Seconds later, he reappeared, dragging twelve wolves behind him, their bodies bound by some invisible force. My eyes widened, but excitement drowned out the shock. This was a chance—a real one. I didn't care how he'd done it; I was ready to learn. I gripped the sword, adjusted my stance as he'd shown—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent—and went to work. The first wolf snarled, lunging low. I sidestepped, letting its momentum carry it past, then swung the blade in a controlled arc, catching its flank. Blood sprayed, but I kept my focus, skinning it under his watchful eye. "Cleaner cuts," he barked. "Don't tear the hide—slide, don't saw." I adjusted, my hands steadier with each pelt.
We moved to the next wolf. I charged, the man perched back on his rock, watching with a grin that reminded me of an old coach enjoying a match. His eyes sparkled, not just with amusement but with something deeper—pride, maybe, or anticipation. It was weirdly infectious; I found myself grinning too, despite the sweat stinging my eyes. The wolf leaped, jaws wide. I pivoted, blade flashing in a diagonal slash—edge aligned, wrist steady. It dropped, and I skinned it faster this time, his corrections echoing in my head: "Angle the blade up. Don't rush—precision over speed."
Then it happened again. Mid-fight with another wolf, time froze. The man was beside me, pointing at my stance. "You're leaning too far forward—roots you to the spot. Stay fluid, like water." He nudged my shoulder back, adjusted my grip. "The sword's light, so let it flow—don't force it." Time rewound, the wolf reset. I attacked again, incorporating his advice: fluid stance, flowing strikes. The blade danced, each cut cleaner, more deliberate. The wolf fell, and I felt it—a spark of mastery, small but real.
This cycle repeated—eighteen times, by my count. Fight, freeze, correct, reset. My arms burned, my lungs ached, but my senses were razor-sharp. The sword wasn't just a tool anymore; it was part of me, its crimson-black hilt warm in my palm, its balance guiding my strikes. Sweat poured down my forehead, cooling and reheating so fast my skin felt sticky, like I'd been dipped in glue. But I wasn't complaining. This grind, this challenge—it was my kind of high. I thrived on it, my focus narrowing to the blade, the wolf, the man's voice.
Finally, the system pinged, its voice dripping with that familiar, snarky charm, like it was leaning back with a smirk:
[Quest Updated: Minor Wolf Hunt – 20/20 Completed]
[+100 EXP, +50 Free Stat Points]
[Hey, look at you, getting famous in the village! They're whispering your name at the tavern—well, mostly 'that sweaty wolf guy,' but it's a start.]
[Swing by the boss for your shiny coin reward. Don't spend it all on hot dogs, champ.]
I collapsed against a tree, gasping, the sword's tip grazing the dirt. My body screamed, but my mind buzzed with satisfaction. The man clapped slowly, his grin wide but gentle. "Not bad, rookie. Not bad at all."
Night had swallowed the forest whole. I looked up, and the sky stole my breath. It wasn't just stars—it was a cosmic tapestry, alive and endless. Pinpricks of light swirled in clusters, some pulsing like heartbeats, others steady as ancient beacons. Nebulae streaked across the void in violet and gold, their edges blurring into the black like spilled paint. Planets hung low, one ringed in faint silver, another glowing crimson, so close I could almost trace their curves. No haze, no city glow—just raw, unfiltered infinity. It wasn't Earth's sky; it was something purer, wilder, like the universe had peeled back its skin to show its soul. I grinned, a quiet "This is it" slipping through my lips, my exhaustion forgotten.
The man sat silently, his eyes on the sky too, but his face held something else—memories, maybe, or secrets. I didn't ask. For now, I just soaked in the moment, the stars burning brighter than any victory screen.