The world returned slowly.
Darwin's consciousness drifted in a haze—warmth, darkness, then a rhythmic clang echoing through the air.
*Clang.
Clang.
Clang.*
Metal striking metal.
Not violent, but steady—like a heartbeat forged in steel.
Darwin opened his eyes.
A ceiling of dark wooden beams stared back. The air smelled of iron, burning charcoal, and something earthy… clay.
He tried sitting up. Pain rushed through his back like a blade.
"Ghh—!"
"Don't move too much, brat," a gruff voice rumbled nearby.
Darwin blinked. His vision slowly focused on an old man leaning over an anvil, hammering a glowing slab of metal. The man's shoulders were broad, his beard ash-gray, and his eyes sharp enough to cut through frost.
He didn't even look at Darwin as he spoke again.
"Your body's weak. Half-frozen, half-bleeding, and half-dead. A miracle you're breathing."
Darwin opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a shaky breath.
Minutes passed—the old man continued hammering, sparks scattering in all directions, glowing embers lighting the dark workshop.
Finally, he quenched the metal in a basin of water, steam rising with a hiss.
Only then did he turn.
His gaze went straight to Darwin—piercing, measuring, cold, yet not hateful. Simply observing.
"So," he said, voice rough like gravel, "you alive enough to talk?"
Darwin swallowed. "I… think so."
"Hmph." The old man crossed his arms. "Good. Then tell me. What in the name of the frozen peaks were you doing lying beside a dead Ice Hound?"
Darwin froze.
Because the truth… sounded insane.
"I… killed it."
The old man blinked once.
Then twice.
Then snorted.
"You lie like a three-year-old."
"I'm not lying," Darwin whispered. "I killed it… with my sword."
The man's eyebrow rose. "Sword? What sword? I found no sword on you. Only a cheap knife and a nearly empty bottle of alcohol."
Darwin felt his breath catch.
The sword had vanished. Returned to the pendant.
"Wait—!" He gripped the pendant on his chest. "I can show you."
He focused on the feeling he had felt during the attack—the desperation, the will to live, the fear. The same spark that had awakened the blade.
*Please… please answer me…*
A faint purple shimmer flickered at the pendant's core.
The old man's eyes widened.
And with a soft crackle of energy—
**The katana materialized.**
Black steel, purple veins glowing faintly. A blade born from night itself.
Darwin held it in his left hand, its weight comforting and familiar despite its appearance only a day ago.
The old man stared at the blade.
Then at Darwin.
Then back at the blade.
"…So you weren't lying," he muttered.
The old man stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "That black hair… those red eyes… no, they're not common traits. And that blade—" His voice deepened. "Brat, who are you?"
Darwin hesitated.
Then lowered his eyes.
"…Darwin. Darwin Elkevis."
The hammer the old man had been holding dropped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.
"**Elkevis?**" His voice cracked slightly. "Don't tell me you're from *that* Elkevis household. Blizzard Valley's pride and terror."
Darwin nodded once.
The old man let out a long sigh and sat down heavily on a nearby stool. He rubbed his forehead with a tired groan.
"So you're the duke's bastard boy?" He squinted. "No, wrong word. You're the duke's *actual* son… but the one they never mention."
Darwin lowered his gaze shamefully. "Yes."
A long silence passed.
The forge crackled gently.
Finally, the old man—Grajisk—spoke.
"Tell me everything."
Darwin felt a lump in his throat.
Everything.
That word carried years of pain.
But for the first time in his life, someone asked with no mockery. No disdain. No disgust.
So he began.
---
**The Elkevis Household — A Legacy of Ice and Blood**
"Blizzard Valley," Darwin started softly, "is one of the harshest lands in Zenatia. The cold is endless. The winds freeze bone. And the haze Forest… is filled with spiritual beasts far stronger than anywhere else."
Grajisk nodded. "That's why the Elkevis household is known as monsters among men. Their bodies… their martial roots… their affinity with ice. I've never seen one of them lose in direct combat."
Darwin's expression dimmed.
"That's what they're known for. My father, Alskade Elkevis—he's a sword grandmaster. People say his blade carries the spirit of winter itself. He's fought in wars, executed Malives, even severed an ogre's spine with a single draw."
"Hmm. Sounds like the rumors weren't exaggerating."
"And my mother, Lavita Elkevis… she's a seventh-circle mage. Ice and space answers her like a loyal dog."
"Is that so?" Grajisk scratched his beard. "Then where do you fit in all that?"
Darwin hesitated.
His voice trembled faintly.
"…I don't."
Grajisk's eyes shifted.
Darwin continued.
"My sister—Auria—she's younger than me. But she awakened her mana when she was seven. Huge mana pool. Genius in both sword and magic. Her hair even turned silver… because of her affinity with ice and not even that she has affinity with a rare element like time ."
"Silver hair…" Grajisk murmured. "So you weren't blessed like her."
Darwin shook his head.
"When I was born… I didn't have a right arm."
He touched the empty space where the limb should've been.
"And when I turned seven… I couldn't awaken my mana. Not even a single spark."
Grajisk's eyes softened—not with pity, but with understanding.
Darwin's voice weakened.
"My parents tried, at first. They hoped. They believed maybe I would awaken late. But every year… nothing changed." His hands trembled. "And slowly… their eyes changed."
Grajisk remained silent.
"They stopped training me. Stopped talking to me. Stopped looking at me."
Darwin felt heat building behind his eyes.
"Auria excelled at everything. Sword competitions. Mana tests. Spell mastery. People praised her everywhere. Servants called her the 'true heir.' My parents smiled at her every day… but never once looked my way."
His breath shuddered.
"One day… I realized I hadn't spoken to them properly for almost a year."
Grajisk clenched his jaw.
"And then," Darwin whispered, "my grandfather died."
The forge quieted.
"My grandpa… Damisk Elkevis, the Sword God… he was the only one who cared. He spent time with me every day. He told me stories. He held my hand even though I didn't have two." Darwin's voice cracked. "He taught me things no one else bothered to."
The pendant felt heavy against his chest.
"He gave me this. He said it chose me. But that same day… after giving it to me…"
Grajisk's voice softened. "He died."
Darwin nodded.
"That was the day everything shattered. At that time I was ten and after four year my parents exiled me at fourteen. They didn't even come to see me off. A servant handed me a bag and pushed me out the gate."
He swallowed.
Alone.
Unwanted.
Unloved.
"And now I'm here."
The forge was silent except for Darwin's shaking breaths.
Grajisk didn't speak for a long while.
Then, finally—
"…Damn."
Darwin looked up.
"That's a lot for one kid," the old man muttered. "A hell of a lot."
Darwin wiped his eyes.
"I'm… sorry. I talked too much."
Grajisk snorted.
"Brat. You almost died. Talking is the least you're allowed to do."
Darwin blinked.
Grajisk stood, picking up the black katana, examining it closely.
"That blade is no ordinary weapon. And you…" He narrowed his gaze. "You're no ordinary failure, regardless of what those bastards told you."
Darwin's throat tightened.
"So here's my deal," Grajisk said gruffly. "If you want to live, and if you want to prove them wrong—stay. Train. Learn. I'll teach you everything I know."
Darwin stared at him.
Emotion swelled in his chest.
He bowed deeply.
"Please… let me stay."
Grajisk smirked.
"Good."
He tossed Darwin a small piece of bread.
"Eat. Tomorrow, your real life begins."
---