Lucian's eyes widened as the elder unsheathed the blade.
A sharp hiss cut through the night air.
"Kageyori no Retsujin," the elder said calmly.
The words felt like a whisper and a shout at once.
Lucian's heart beat faster.
He didn't know what had changed, but the air around him felt heavier, denser, as if gravity itself had shifted.
The elder advanced first, his steps silent. Lucian lifted the wooden practice blade instinctively, a weapon he brought in case of danger.
The old man's katana flicked forward in a thin, precise arc. Lucian barely blocked it, feeling the force ripple through his arms.
What… is this?
The elder's blade struck again and again, deliberately slow at first, then faster.
Lucian tried to parry, to predict, but his body felt sluggish. His legs were heavy, his hands slow, the wooden blade moving like it was caught in thick air.
The elder's movements were fluid, fast, almost too fast to track. He circled Lucian, forcing him to step back, pivot, retreat.
Each strike forced Lucian to react differently, readjust, think quickly—but his reflexes seemed oddly disconnected from his thoughts.
The elder's katana slashed low to high, side to side, then down, spinning like water, forcing Lucian to jump, duck, roll, and retreat.
The boy tried to strike, but every motion felt strange, delayed.
His mind screamed, Focus! React! Move! but his body betrayed him.
The old man smirked under the moonlight, prolonging the battle. He struck a shoulder, a side, a leg—not to kill yet, but to play.
Lucian tried to find an opening.
He lunged, feinted left, aimed a quick strike.
The elder sidestepped, stepped into him, and flicked the blade. Lucian spun back, but he felt a sharp sting along his arm.
He looked down. His sleeve was red. A long, thin cut ran across his forearm.
Damn… this is bad, Lucian thought, gritting his teeth. I… I can't move like this. It's like… my body isn't mine…
The elder circled once, calm, almost casual.
Lucian's head spun, legs heavy, and his mind raced.
What is he doing to me? Why am I this slow? I need to think. I can't… I can't fail here…
He raised the wooden blade again, pain burning in his arm. Every instinct screamed to defend, to survive, to find a way.
But deep inside, he knew—he was being toyed with. Every movement, every delay, was testing him.
And he would have to solve it, or die trying.
The katana slid back into its sheath with a quiet shing.
Instantly, Lucian felt his body loosen, his movements returning to normal.
The sluggish, heavy weight that had trapped him vanished like mist.
The elder stepped back, breathing heavily, and a small, cruel smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Do you feel it now?" he asked, voice low and cutting. "Do you feel what it's like to face death, to know your life can end in an instant?"
Lucian straightened, calm and unreadable, his eyes fixed on the elder. "You're pathetic," he said flatly.
"Using your most powerful ability on a nine-year-old child. You really think that impresses me?"
The elder's jaw tightened. His grip on the sheath trembled slightly. "You don't understand! You don't know what I've gone through, the battles, the losses, the—"
Lucian's expression remained cold, almost bored. "I know enough," he said simply, and his gaze sharpened.
"You're angry. That's all I need to see."
The elder's anger flared, red in his eyes. He growled lowly. "You have no idea… Marissa… what I suffered to protect her, to—"
Before the words could even settle, Lucian moved with impossible speed, or perhaps with sheer inevitability.
In a blur, his head tilted, and in the span of a single heartbeat, it dropped to the ground.
THUMP!
Lucian's body remained upright for a moment longer, but the weight of inevitability hung in the air.
The old general's hand tightened around the sheath, but even he knew—he had underestimated the boy.
And in that second, all the rage, all the pride, all the years of experience, felt suddenly fragile before what Lucian had become.
---
Lucian blinked. I'm back...
Darkness lifted, replaced by the faint morning light of the garden. He was back.
Yet the system did not appear.
For the first time, he noticed it. He had been so focused—on the scroll, the elder, the fight—that he hadn't thought about the system itself.
A thought struck him sharply. In a life… I can die infinitely… unless it's a unique quest. That's when there's a limit.
His mind turned to the elder. Why did he kill me?
Confusion tangled with unease. Lucian's stomach twisted.
The answer didn't come. He had survived, yes, but the question remained.
Why would someone so powerful, someone who knew everything about fighting, take this risk… and end me?
Maybe… it's because I defeated him earlier. That made sense. The elder had underestimated him once, and perhaps he wanted to correct that.
But then, another thought struck. Where am I?
He looked around. The garden, the faint glow of the mansion in the distance… it was all familiar.
His stomach dropped.
It's the same day. The exact same day.
And then the memory hit him fully: the fight, the fear, the blade pressed against his arm, the moment the elder's words had cut through the night air.
He had won.
A shiver ran down his spine. Confusion mixed with fear. So the system… or something else… sent me back here.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts to focus. A plan formed in the quiet spaces of his mind.
For now, he waited. He kept busy, cleaning, tidying, and observing every small movement around him, letting the day pass.
When night fell, he would be ready.
Lucian lay on his bed, eyes half-closed. The boys had fallen asleep one by one.
He waited, careful, patient. He knew what he had to do. Tonight, he would stay hidden, silent, ready.
Hours passed.
He pretended to sleep, body still, breathing even. Nothing stirred. The night stretched long, and still the elder did not come.
Lucian exhaled softly, letting his body truly relax.
Then, he felt it. A tug, gentle at first, almost imperceptible. His body shifted slightly.
He opened his eyes.
The room looked the same, yet something was wrong. He tried to move, to sit up, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish.
What… what is this? he thought, panic rising.
Something invisible pulled him slowly, inch by inch. He struggled, but his arms would not obey.
He tried to call out.
"Help…!" His voice came out strangled, thin, as if his mouth had shrunk.
The pull increased. His body slid across the floor, away from his bed. The clock on the wall spun wildly. The hands moved faster than his eyes could follow.
"Someone… stop… me…" His lips moved, but the sound barely formed. His throat strained, weak and failing.
The shadows stretched across the floor.
He tried to turn, to look behind him, but his neck refused. His body dragged slowly, inexorably, as though some force was feeding on his fear.
No… no… he thought. I cannot—move—fast—enough…
The room blurred. His body scraped against the floor. He tried again. "Please… stop—!"
The motion was relentless.
He felt himself leaving the bed entirely, sliding across the floor, away, farther and farther.
Every second stretched into an eternity. The clock's hands spun. His mouth moved, but nothing came.
The darkness pressed in closer.
He could only fight with his mind, small and weak, while the invisible force carried him relentlessly forward.
Lucian's body shuddered violently and then stopped. His eyes snapped open.
The clock read 4:30 AM.
He tried to scream, a sharp, desperate sound tearing from his throat.
"HAAAH!"
A sudden thud echoed through the room. His head hit the floor. A small, high-pitched shrieeeek followed, almost swallowed by the quiet.
Riven stirred in his bed, eyes half-open. "What was that…?" he mumbled, voice groggy.
He pulled the blanket over himself and turned, pretending nothing had happened.
Behind him, on the floor, lay a headless body. Limbs sprawled awkwardly, the neck ending in a dark, jagged wound.
Riven yawned and muttered, "Kids these days… really need to stop screaming."
But even as he spoke, a chill ran down his spine. His eyes flicked back toward the body.
Lucian's head rested a few feet away, eyes wide open, staring.
A faint whisper escaped his lips: "Don't… ignore… me…"
Riven blinked, shaking his head. "Yeah… yeah, whatever…"
He pulled the blanket tighter. The room went silent again, except for the faint, unnerving sound of the head twitching slightly.