The morning sun had barely climbed over the eastern ridge when the three brothers gathered in the backyard. Dew still clung to the grass, sparkling like tiny stars scattered across the earth. Their home sat on a gentle slope behind the village, surrounded by wooden fencing and long, swaying trees that cast soft shadows over the training yard.
The backyard itself was more than a yard—it looked like a small training field. Wooden dummies stood in neat rows, each one carved from sturdy oak. Their surfaces were covered with old dents and shallow cuts from the years their father had spent training alone. Some had straw bundled around their arms to simulate blocking positions; others held wooden shields or had faded circles painted across the chest where a trainee was meant to aim.
To the boys, the place looked like a playground of battle.
Their father stood in front of them. Even in simple clothes, he carried the confidence of a seasoned warrior. His long dark hair swayed as the wind brushed past, and he planted his feet with the grace of someone who understood every inch of the land beneath him.
He held three wooden swords.
"Today," he said, voice steady and proud, "I finally begin training you three."
The boys straightened immediately.
"I want you to become warriors. Not ordinary ones—special ones. Warriors who will stand above the rest."
Their father raised his wooden sword.
He swung downward.
The strike came like lightning—fast, precise. A sharp whoosh cut through the air, and the breeze that followed struck the boys' faces and lifted their hair.
Doari's mouth fell open.
Koari's eyes sparkled.
Zoari didn't react—but even he felt his chest tighten in awe.
Their father lowered the blade. "You need to move like this. A sword that wavers is useless. A sword that hesitates is already defeated. But a sword swung with precision…"
He flicked the tip of his blade.
"…is deadly."
The three boys swallowed in unison.
"Now," he said, handing them the wooden swords, "let's see what each of you can do. Swing."
Doari stepped up eagerly.
He gripped his sword, raised it—and swung—
WHAP!
The blunt side smacked directly into his head.
"OW! That hurts!"
Koari burst out laughing. "Let me try!"
He stepped forward with an exaggerated nod, as if he were already a master. He held the sword with surprising form and swung it neatly, the blade slicing cleanly through the air.
Then he puffed out his chest. "Do you see, brother? You don't just swing to hit your enemy—you make sure the sword doesn't hit you."
He demonstrated again, this time spinning the sword the way he'd seen fighters do in books—though it looked more comedic than elegant.
Their father chuckled but nodded. "Excellent work, Koari."
Doari pouted but their father ruffled his hair. "Don't worry. You'll get it eventually. Training isn't a race."
Then Zoari stepped forward.
He didn't posture.
He didn't grin.
He simply lifted the sword—
And swung.
The blade moved like air itself. Each strike was perfectly balanced, clean, smooth. Every swing blew gusts of wind strong enough to rustle the grass and lift their father's hair slightly.
Koari blinked.
Doari froze.
Even their father's brows rose a fraction.
This… This kid is remarkable.
Zoari lowered the sword quietly.
"Nice," he said simply.
Their father cleared his throat. "Alright. Enough practice swings. Let's see how you move in real combat."
The brothers froze.
"A mock battle?" Doari asked, eyes wide.
"Yes," their father said with a grin. "I'll take it easy on you. So don't worry too much."
Doari tightened his grip. "I'll give it everything I've got!"
Koari nodded fiercely. "Same here!"
Zoari rolled his shoulders once. "Let's begin."
Their father stepped back, his wooden sword resting casually on his shoulder—yet the air around him felt heavier, sharper.
The battle began.
---
⚔️ The First Clash
Doari charged first.
He sprinted forward with a loud shout, raising his sword high. His father let him come close—then gently tapped Doari's blade aside with minimal effort.
Doari stumbled from the redirected force and rolled across the grass.
"Ow—okay, that was unexpected…"
Before he could stand, Koari dashed in. Unlike Doari, his attack had rhythm. He swung from the side, switching angles mid-strike.
"Good footwork," their father praised.
Then he shifted one step to the left.
Koari missed completely, fell forward, and slid across the dirt.
"Hey—! My face!"
Doari and Koari regrouped, breathless but determined.
Zoari watched quietly.
Their father pointed his sword toward him. "Your turn."
Zoari stepped forward. No running. No yelling.
He just moved.
Clack!
The first clash rang through the field. Zoari's swing met his father's block perfectly—not too strong, not too weak. Their father's eyes widened slightly.
Zoari pivoted and struck again.
Clack!
Blocked—but his movements were fluid, almost instinctive.
Their father increased the tempo.
Strikes came from above, from the side, from low angles.
Zoari blocked each one, barely stumbled, and kept his footing stable.
Wind danced with their swords.
Grass bent from the pressure.
Doari and Koari stared, jaws dropped.
"He's—he's fighting Dad," Koari whispered.
"And he's keeping up," Doari added, stunned.
Zoari launched a counterattack. His swings were calm but swift, carving arcs in the air. Their father's smile widened.
This boy… he's not normal. He's a natural talent.
Their father decided to test him.
He moved faster.
Their swords clashed again and again, echoing like distant thunder. Zoari's arms trembled slightly, but he didn't stop. His feet slid across the ground as he tried to match every shift and stance.
Finally, his father performed a flourish—a spin, a gentle sweep—
And tapped Zoari's shoulder.
The boy froze.
His father lowered the sword. "Good. Very good."
Zoari breathed out softly.
Doari and Koari ran over, still amazed.
Their father exhaled and placed a hand on Zoari's head. "You're exceptional."
The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in orange and gold.
Their father clapped once. "That's enough for today. It's getting dark."
The boys started gathering the swords.
"And none of you tell your mother we did a mock battle," their father added quickly. "She'll kill me."
"We won't!" Doari said.
"No way we'd tell," Koari added.
Their father glanced at Zoari.
Zoari nodded once.
But inside, their father thought:
I'm an A-rank warrior… and he fought on par with me. Even if I was holding back, a five-year-old should never be able to do that.
He looked at them one last time as they went inside, a mixture of pride and worry stirring in his chest.
---
🌙 Midnight Determination
Hours passed.
The house fell silent.
Then—
creak
One of the bedroom doors opened.
A small figure slipped out and stepped into the moonlit backyard.
Koari peeked from his bed and frowned. He quietly followed.
Outside, the night air was cool and crisp. Crickets chirped softly. The wooden dummies stood tall under the pale glow.
Koari stepped closer—then recognized the small silhouette striking at one of the dummies.
Doari.
Sweat rolled down his cheeks as he swung the wooden sword over and over, the sound of wood hitting wood echoing through the yard.
"What are you doing?" Koari whispered.
Doari froze, panting.
Then he sighed. "I… need to train."
"Why at night?"
"Because…" Doari lowered his sword. "We got reincarnated into a fantasy world. A real one. A chance to be like those characters in the stories we used to read."
He clenched his fists.
"And today… Zoari was so strong. Stronger than both of us. I'm not jealous. I'm happy for him. But I want us all to be equal. I want us to stand as rivals—together."
Koari stared at him.
Then he walked to a different dummy, grabbed a wooden sword, and said:
"You're right."
He swung.
Hard.
Then again.
And again.
Doari grinned—a tired, relieved grin—and resumed striking his dummy.
At the window above them, a figure watched silently.
Zoari leaned against the frame, eyes soft.
He smiled.
Not in arrogance.
Not in superiority.
But in understanding.
This was the beginning.
The beginning of everything.