The next day, Ren appeared on the training ground once again.
No greetings. No elaborate preparations. He simply tightened his grip on the sword in his hand, stepped onto the field, and launched straight into practice.
No thoughts. No hesitation. Just the sword and his body.
The first swing was so powerful that it cut through the air with a sharp hiss. The blade slashed through empty space, but the recoil sent a tremor up his arm. Sharp pain shot through his muscles. But he ignored it.
Faster.
His feet moved constantly, gliding across the ground, refusing to stop for even a second.
Stronger.
Relentless slashes tore through the air with such force that it felt like reality itself was being shredded. His body protested, but he forced it to continue.
More precise.
The imagined target in front of him was as clear as a real enemy. The first slash aimed for the throat. The second, for the vital point on the chest. A thrust through the gap in the armor. A finishing blow in a single strike.
Sweat dripped down his face, his shirt clinging to his back, hair sticking to his forehead. But he didn't stop.
The pain from yesterday lingered, his shoulders ached, his muscles burned, every breath felt like fire scraping against his ribs. But none of that mattered.
Still too slow.
Still not strong enough.
He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. I can't stop.
Ren remembered the fear of fighting the Alpha, Mito's insane movements, and the way she wielded that massive scythe with such ease.
He wanted to be like that…
The sword slashed harder.
Ren wanted to forget. Wanted to erase the hollow feeling gnawing at his chest.
No comrades, no one to rely on. He only had himself.
Keep training.
A slash.
A thrust.
A spin.
His body screamed from exhaustion, but he ignored it.
One more time.
Again.
And again.
His breathing turned ragged, his heart pounded so hard it felt like it might explode. His arms trembled beyond control, his fingers numb from the strain. But he still didn't stop.
Not enough. Still not enough.
"Stop."
A deep voice cut through the air.
Ren froze.
The tip of his sword hovered in midair.
His chest heaved, sweat trickling down his face. He turned his head, vision blurred from exhaustion and sweat.
But he could still make out a figure standing at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed, gaze locked onto him.
Someone unfamiliar.
Yet those eyes weren't cold, weren't angry. They were… evaluating.
As if they had just found something worth noticing.
Ren squinted, trying to see more clearly.
This time, it took less than a second to recognize him.
A tall, broad-shouldered man clad in old, worn armor, short black hair slightly disheveled, and most importantly, sharp eyes that carried the weight of someone far too familiar with the battlefield.
None other than Gareth.
Ren felt his heartbeat falter for a moment. Not out of fear or anxiety, but because he hadn't expected to see him here. Not now.
The Captain of the Town Guard. The man who had been watching him since his very first days in the Starting Town.
The one who had given him warnings, silent tests, and had bluntly told him he wouldn't survive if he held a sword like an amateur.
And now, those same eyes were watching him once again.
Gareth took a few steps forward, slow, deliberate. His right hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, an unconscious habit of those always ready for battle.
His left arm remained folded across his chest, his posture relaxed, as if merely observing something… interesting.
"How long do you plan to keep swinging your sword like that?"
His voice was deep, steady, carrying an odd sense of calm.
Ren took a deep breath, his breathing still uneven after hours of relentless practice. Sweat trickled down his spine, his stiff fingers still gripping the hilt of his sword. But instead of answering, he simply stood there, eyes locked onto the captain.
Gareth stopped, now only a few steps away.
"Your swordsmanship… isn't bad."
Ren blinked, his brows slightly furrowing.
That remark was… unexpected.
The man who had never hesitated to point out his weaknesses was saying that he was "not bad"?
Gareth didn't let him dwell on it for long.
"But the way you're training, it's a problem."
His tone carried no mockery, no reprimand. Just a firm statement. A cold, objective assessment from a seasoned warrior.
Ren felt his throat tighten. A part of him wanted to argue. But before he could speak, Gareth continued.
"A sword isn't just about speed. It's not just about strength. If you're just swinging it blindly on instinct, all you're doing is wearing yourself down, for nothing."
Ren bit his lip.
He knew that.
He knew he was training without direction, without focus.
He knew his swings lacked control, lacked strategy, lacked a clear purpose.
But he couldn't stop.
If he stopped, the thoughts would come crashing in.
Ren clenched his sword tighter, ignoring the tremors in his exhausted hands.
He still wasn't strong enough.
He was still too slow.
He still wasn't the person he wanted to become.
Gareth's gaze never wavered. As if, in just a single glance, he had already seen through everything inside Ren's mind.
Silence lingered for a moment. Then, the captain's lips curled slightly.
"You want to be stronger, don't you?"
Ren stiffened.
Those words carried no judgment or scrutiny.
It was merely a question, yet it bore such weight that he couldn't ignore it.
Ren's eyes flickered.
Gareth saw his reaction and chuckled softly.
"If you truly want to get stronger, follow me."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and walked away, his steps firm and confident.
Ren remained where he stood.
His breathing was still uneven. His body still ached. But inside him… something was beginning to change.
He looked down at the sword in his hand and gripped it tighter.
And then…
He followed.
Ren followed Gareth, his steps heavy but unwavering.
He didn't ask where they were going or why. If it were before, he might have hesitated, questioned, doubted. But now, only one thought remained in his mind: to grow stronger.
Gareth said nothing more and simply led the way, crossing the training grounds and passing the ancient stone buildings of the Starting Town.
Instead of heading toward the town guards' barracks, he turned onto a quieter street.
On both sides, old gray brick walls stood covered in moss, the remnants of a town that had existed for far too long. Occasionally, a breeze drifted by, carrying the scent of rusted iron and dust from old weapons.
Ren stayed silent, merely observing. He recognized this path, it was the road leading to the familiar blacksmith shop he often passed.
Gareth stepped inside. The blacksmith was still hammering away at molten metal, and when he saw Ren enter with his son, he said nothing, just shook his head.
Gareth continued walking deeper into the shop.
Eventually, the two of them reached a secluded open space hidden behind the buildings.
It wasn't an official training ground, but the marks on the earth showed that it had been used countless times. Cuts marred the wooden training posts, broken sword fragments littered the ground, and the faint scent of burnt steel lingered in the air.
A place meant for real training.
Gareth turned, crossing his arms as he looked straight at Ren.
"I don't teach slackers."
Ren frowned. "I've never been a slacker."
Gareth chuckled, but his eyes remained as sharp as blades.
"Then prove it."
He placed a hand on his sword hilt and drew it from its sheath.
Steel gleamed under the dimming light.
Ren instinctively tightened his grip on his own sword.
He understood.
This wasn't a lecture. It was a test.
Gareth didn't wait.
He lunged.
Ren didn't have time to think, his instincts forced him to raise his sword in defense.
Clang!
The impact sent a numbing shock through his arms. Gareth's sword was heavier and sharper than Ren's worn-out blade, and his strike held no mercy.
Ren grit his teeth, struggling to hold his stance, but the moment he blocked the first slash, Gareth twisted his wrist and swept his blade horizontally.
Ren hurriedly stepped back. A second slower, and the edge would have grazed his skin.
But Gareth didn't stop. He lunged again, this time with a swift, precise thrust.
Ren dodged, barely, but the thrust was a feint. In an instant, Gareth adjusted, twisting his sword at an impossible angle.
Ren couldn't avoid it completely.
The blade skimmed his shoulder, leaving a shallow cut.
A small spray of red pixel fragments scattered in the air.
Ren clenched his teeth, not from pain, but from realizing the difference in their skill.
I can't beat him.
But the moment that thought crossed his mind, he pushed it away.
He didn't need to win. He just needed to endure.
Ren adjusted his stance, lowering his center of gravity. His grip on his sword tightened, his focus narrowing onto Gareth's every movement.
Gareth raised an eyebrow, as if noticing the change in his gaze.
"Good. Stop just running away."
Then, he attacked again.
This time, Ren didn't only dodge, he struck back.
He slashed diagonally toward Gareth's side.
But...
Gareth deflected the strike effortlessly. He didn't budge, didn't waver.
Ren immediately twisted his wrist, shifting the angle of his swing, but his blade was knocked off course before it could land.
Faster!
He stepped in, slashing horizontally, then spun into a follow-up thrust.
Gareth wasn't caught off guard.
He moved as though he had already predicted every move Ren would make, parrying each strike with a terrifying composure.
Ren's attacks were strong. But they weren't fast enough. Weren't sharp enough.
And above all...
They lacked refinement.
"You're wasting your energy," Gareth suddenly said.
Ren's grip tightened, but he didn't reply.
"Without a goal, without an endpoint, you're just swinging blindly. No matter how many times you train like this, it's meaningless."
"I'm not blind," Ren growled, lunging again.
He brought his sword down in a powerful slash. But just as the blade was about to land, Gareth sidestepped with a startling smoothness.
Before Ren could recover his stance.
Thud!
Gareth's kick landed square in his chest.
Ren was sent flying backward, crashing onto the ground. No damage, but the force of the impact stole his breath for a moment.
He gasped for air, sweat dripping down his face.
Gareth stood over him, expression unreadable.
"Get up."
Ren gritted his teeth. He wanted to shout, to argue. But he had no strength to waste on words.
He had only one choice.
Pressing his hands to the ground, he pushed himself up, slowly, unsteadily.
Gareth nodded. "Good. Now, listen."