"...Not bad," the man in black armor said, brushing dust off his shoulder. "Coating stones with mana and lightning like that. Hey, I like you, kid."
Ikarus smirked, breathing still a little rough. "You can call me awesome."
Toji blinked, then barked a laugh. "I asked for your name, brat."
"Same thing." Ikarus rolled his eyes, hands on his hips. "But fine. Ikarus. Eight years old. Professional bandit-bait."
The armored man—Toji—shook his head, amused. "Mouth on you too. I'm Toji. Swordsman. Master rank."
Ikarus's gaze sharpened for a second. Master rank. So the system's guess wasn't wrong. He tilted his head, studying Toji's relaxed stance, the casual way he held his sword, as if the fight had been nothing but a warmup.
"And who are you exactly, Toji‑san?" Ikarus asked. "Just some random master‑rank guy wandering around in a forest, 'saving' kids for fun?"
Toji grinned. "You're quick. I'm a swordsman under a certain person. You'll meet him soon enough."
Ikarus narrowed his eyes. "And your rank?"
Toji scratched the back of his head. "Told you. Master rank swordsman."
Ikarus clicked his tongue. "So there are masters just casually walking around while we're dealing with trash bandits. Nice world."
Before Toji could respond, the air shifted.
It started as a prickling at the back of Ikarus's neck, like static building on the skin. Then a weight pressed down—slow, heavy, absolute. The forest seemed to quiet in an instant. Birds stopped calling. Leaves stopped rustling. Even the faint crackle of leftover electricity in the air felt like it bowed.
A presence stepped into range.
Ikarus's knees almost dipped before he locked them, jaw clenching.
...The hell is this pressure?
"System?" he asked silently.
[That, host,] the system replied, voice uncharacteristically serious, [is one of the pinnacles of strength on this continent.]
Pinnacle. Not "strong." Not "dangerous." Pinnacle.
Ikarus's mind sharpened. He forced his breathing steady as footsteps approached through the trees—unhurried, confident, the kind of pace used by someone who had never needed to run from anything.
"Why is he leaking this much aura?" Ikarus thought. "What, is he trying to crush an eight‑year‑old?"
[He wants you to know his rank,] the system said. [He is very deliberately showing off. You cannot hide from this one. You also cannot fight.]
"What's with the dramatic response?" Ikarus shot back. "His rank?"
[Transcendent,] the system answered. [Best of luck, host.]
…Great.
A figure emerged from between the trees.
He looked middle‑aged at first glance—thick dark hair tied back, light stubble on his jaw, deep lines at the corners of his eyes that spoke of laughter and battles both. He wore no shining armor, just a worn black coat over simple clothes, boots caked in dirt. A long sword hung at his hip in a plain scabbard, but the air warped slightly around him with each step, reality itself seeming to move out of his way.
Toji straightened immediately, mouth tightening into something close to respect.
"Master," he said.
So this is the one.
The man's eyes landed on Ikarus.
They were calm, unreadable—but the pressure intensified, pressing on Ikarus's chest, shoulders, even on his thoughts, like the world wanted him to kneel.
Ikarus smiled instead.
"Hi, mister," he said lightly. "What's up?"
The system sputtered.
[What the—are you insane?]
Toji covered his face with a hand. "Kid…"
The man stopped a few meters away. The aura didn't fluctuate. If anything, it focused, like a hand closing around Ikarus alone.
Up close, that calm face held a hint of amusement.
"You know," the man said, voice mild, "I am a person you cannot fight."
His tone was not arrogant. It was simply the truth, delivered as plainly as saying the sky was above and the ground was below.
"So," the man continued, tilting his head slightly, "can you show me the trump card you did not use against Toji here?"
Ikarus's smile thinned, turning eerie at the edges. Inside, his heart pounded, but his gaze cooled, pupils sharpening, breath slowing.
Battle aura.
He did not call it by name out loud, but the moment he let that part of himself rise, something in the air around him shifted. The weight pressing down met a faint, invisible push from inside his own small body—a fighting intent that refused to crawl, even in front of a mountain.
Battle adaptation.
Every sensation sharpened. The heaviness in his legs, the tightness in his lungs, the strain in his muscles under that transcendent aura—all of it fed into new calculations, new ways to move.
He bent slightly, then kicked up a fallen branch from the ground.
His foot snapped out faster than his age should allow. The branch leapt into the air, and his hand caught it in a smooth motion, the crude stick settling in his grip like a familiar partner.
Toji's eyes widened a fraction. The man's gaze cooled further, interest flickering.
Ikarus took a step.
The world seemed to blur at the edges.
He moved. The branch in his hand sliced out, not with raw power, but with such precise control of angle and intent that, for a heartbeat, it felt as if the space in front of it split—a thin, invisible line cutting through the pressure bearing down on him.
Dimensional slash.
The man—Argo, though Ikarus did not yet know the name—lifted his hand lazily.
There was no grand clash, no explosion.
His palm simply descended.
The pressure spiked like a hammer.
Ikarus's body slammed into the ground before the branch even completed its arc. Dirt exploded under his back. He felt the impact rattle his bones, darkness flashing at the edges of his vision as his face met the earth.
For a moment, he couldn't lift his head. The aura pinned him, pressing his skull toward the soil.
"Well," the man said, as if discussing the weather, "give up."
Ikarus's fingers dug into the dirt.
Give up?
He forced his arms to move. Muscles screamed, but battle adaptation fed him micro‑adjustments—minutely different angles, the exact pathways where the pressure was weakest.
His elbows shook. His shoulders trembled. His back burned.
Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, he pushed himself up.
"Toji," the system muttered, "would be crying by now."
Shut up.
Ikarus's teeth ground together. The branch lay just beyond his fingertips. He could feel the man's gaze on him, watching, measuring.
"You can't win," the man said calmly.
"I know," Ikarus rasped, voice low. "But I said I'd stand… didn't say I'd win."
He managed to get one knee under him.
The weight increased just enough to slam him back down.
His arms buckled.
The ground met his face again.
Silence stretched.
After a long breath, Ikarus exhaled and went still. He tested his limits one more time, then let the tension in his muscles fade.
"…Fine," he muttered into the dirt. "I give up… for now."
The aura lightened slightly. A hand gripped the back of his shirt and lifted him like a wild cat caught by the scruff. He dangled in the air for a moment before being set on his feet.
The man looked at him, expression unreadable.
"So," the man said. "What do you want?"
Ikarus dusted himself off, not bothering to hide the wince in his movements.
"Well, if you're going to beat me into the ground, at least make it quick," he said dryly. "If you plan to kill me, get it over with."
Toji choked. "Oi, kid—"
The man's lips twitched.
"Kill you?" he said. "No. I have a different offer."
He folded his arms.
"Become my disciple."
The forest seemed to hold its breath again—this time not from killing intent, but from the weight of those words.
Toji's jaw dropped. "Master—"
"Fuck off, old man," Ikarus said automatically.
Toji froze.
The system exploded in his head.
[ARE YOU—]
The man stared at him for a beat.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't mocking. It wasn't angry. It was a low, genuine laugh, rough like someone who hadn't used it in a while.
"I like you," he said.
Toji dragged a hand down his face. "Show some respect, brat. Do you know who—"
"It's fine," the man—Argo—cut in. "Let him talk."
He looked down at Ikarus, eyes sharp now.
"You ask why I want you as a disciple?" Argo said. "Fine. Listen carefully."
Ikarus crossed his arms, glaring up at him, but he listened.
"First." Argo pointed loosely at the stick still in Ikarus's hand. "Your swordsmanship. With nothing but a branch, your lines are cleaner and more precise than many veterans with real blades. Your footwork, your balance, your ability to read openings… it's at a level that scares people who have fought for decades."
He paused.
"And you're eight."
Ikarus's fingers tightened around the branch.
"Second," Argo continued, "the way you use magic. Most mages throw elements around like fireworks. You don't. You think. You coat stones with mana, you time your lightning, you use your head more than your power. Out of dozens of mages I've seen, very few treat magic like a tool to enhance everything else rather than a main show."
His eyes narrowed.
"And what you call 'lightning' isn't quite lightning, is it? It's sharper. Finer. It clings differently to objects. It feels… like electricity, not just generic lightning mana."
Ikarus's heart skipped once. He kept his face blank.
"So," Argo said lightly, "I see a child who fuses sword and magic in a way most people don't understand even after decades. That alone is enough to be interesting."
He lifted a third finger.
"Third… will."
Ikarus frowned slightly.
"Your mental strength is absurd," Argo said. "Most eight‑year‑olds cry under the aura I used just now. Many grown men can't even stand. You? You struggled, pushed, adapted, and tried to stand again even when every instinct told you to lie down. Your will, at minimum, is comparable to a seasoned seventeen‑year‑old on the battlefield."
Toji nodded slowly, watching Ikarus in a new light.
"But," Argo said, voice flattening, "all of this is still nothing in front of true power."
He glanced up at the sky.
"There are beings stronger than me. Stronger than the Swordmasters. Stronger than most gods you've heard about in bedtime stories. In front of them, even my strength is an ant's."
His gaze dropped back to Ikarus.
"That is why you need a master," Argo concluded. "You have talent. You have will. You have creativity. But without proper direction, you'll die long before reaching the people you want to kill."
Ikarus was quiet.
He knew Argo was right.
He also hated it.
"…Why me?" Ikarus asked finally. "There are many rich nobles, geniuses, and prodigies. Many families with better backgrounds. Why do you want to train a forsaken orphan who plays with sticks in a forest?"
Toji clicked his tongue. "Kid, watch your mouth—"
Argo raised a hand and stopped him.
"That attitude is exactly why," Argo said. "You're not groveling. You're not begging. You're suspicious. That's good."
He looked at Ikarus, eyes calm.
"As for why you," he said, "one reason is simple: I watched you."
Ikarus blinked.
"I've been in seclusion for a long time," Argo said. "After… certain failures, I stepped away from the world. Recently, I left my place and wandered. From the moment I first saw you training with that stick, night after night, while the other children slept—your lines, your focus, your refusal to slack—I felt something familiar."
He smiled faintly.
"I once chased someone above me too. Someone so high I couldn't see his shadow clearly."
Ikarus tilted his head. "Who?"
Toji stiffened.
Argo looked amused by Toji's reaction, then answered slowly.
"You know there are seven Swordmasters in this continent," he said. "Names that make kingdoms tremble. Above them, there are those who have touched demi‑godhood, godhood, and beyond."
Ikarus nodded once.
"I," Argo said, "was once the best swordsman among the seven Swordmasters. I attempted to descend to Demi God, like the Battle God did long ago, and in my arrogance, I tried to challenge the person who inspired me."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"The Infinity God."
Ikarus's mind blanked for a heartbeat.
…Infinity…?
"System," he thought sharply.
[Keep calm, host,] the system said. [This is good information. Also… try not to scream.]
"What do you mean, 'Infinity God'?" Ikarus asked aloud, trying to sound casual. "Is he that famous?"
Toji actually shivered.
"Famous is too small," Toji said quietly. "He's… a monster."
Argo's lips twisted somewhere between respect and frustration.
"He is the youngest person to ever rise through the ranks," Argo said. "You could call him a battle freak. There was a time he challenged four gods…and won. Whole races fear him. Even now, the mention of his name makes certain beings nervous."
Ikarus's chest tightened.
So that cosmic idiot really is that ridiculous here too.
"And you challenged him?" Ikarus asked.
Argo laughed softly at himself.
"I couldn't even stand properly next to him," he admitted. "His presence alone was too much. My sword could not reach him. I lost before the fight could even begin."
He looked at Ikarus, gaze burning now.
"That humiliation," Argo said, "and that awe, pushed me into seclusion. I decided either to break my limits or die trying. Then I saw you—an eight‑year‑old, training with obsession, shouting at a system no one else could hear, moving like a tiny echo of that same relentless will."
Slowly, his expression softened.
"I felt," Argo said quietly, "that your talent is equal to, or perhaps even greater than, the Infinity God's… if properly nurtured."
Silence stretched.
Ikarus stared at him, heart thudding.
Equal to Infinity God?
The system snorted.
[He has good taste, at least.]
"Take a minute," Argo said. "Decide. I don't want a half‑hearted disciple. If you accept, you train under me fully. If you refuse, I walk away and never look back."
Ikarus closed his eyes.
Marta's tired smile flashed before him. The kids' laughter. The first night under this world's stars. The first time he threw a lightning‑spark. The bandit's scream as Toji cut him down. The heavy, suffocating feeling of this aura pinning him to the ground.
And behind all of it, deeper, older—another image.
His father's back as he walked away.
Joseph's smug face.
Saya's cold eyes.
Noah Dawson's name.
He opened his eyes.
"I'll accept," Ikarus said.
Toji exhaled, shoulders dropping.
Argo nodded once, satisfied.
"But," Ikarus added, "I want something from you first."
Argo raised an eyebrow. "You negotiate already?"
"If I'm going to suffer and maybe die under your training," Ikarus said bluntly, "I at least want one answer."
"…Ask," Argo said. "You'll die under me eventually anyway, so I can grant a last wish."
Toji rolled his eyes. "Nice way to comfort a child, Master."
Ikarus met Argo's gaze, voice going low.
"Have you heard of someone named Noah Dawson?" he asked.
The air shifted.
For a split second, the killing intent that leaked from Ikarus was not childish at all. It was cold, clean, and hungry, seeping out of his small frame like black smoke. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white, veins standing out on his arms.
Argo's eyes narrowed slightly. He noticed every detail.
"…Noah Dawson," Argo repeated. "Yes. He is one of the seven Swordmasters. A strong one. Within the seven, he's likely in the top five."
He smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it.
"But in front of me, he is nothing."
Ikarus's jaw tightened.
"No," Ikarus said quietly. "He is mine."
The killing intent thickened. Even Toji took a half‑step back at the sheer hostility radiating from an eight‑year‑old.
"His death," Ikarus continued, each word carved from ice, "will be by my hands alone."
Argo studied him for a long moment.
This much malice, from a child. Interesting.
"You are far too weak for that now," Argo said honestly.
"For now," Ikarus agreed. "When I stand at the top, I will personally kill him."
For a heartbeat, their gazes locked—one small, furious, unyielding; the other vast, tempered, amused.
Then Argo smiled.
"Good," he said. "I prefer disciples with clear goals."
He turned slightly.
"Tomorrow," Argo said, "four in the morning. Outside the village, by the old training ground. If you don't appear, I'll assume you changed your mind and I will forget about you."
Ikarus snorted. "Fine, old man. I'll be there. Try not to die of old age before I surpass you."
Toji groaned. "Why are you like this?"
"Because I'm awesome," Ikarus said.
Argo chuckled again. "We'll see how awesome you are after a week."
He stepped back, the crushing aura gradually drawing in. The forest seemed to breathe again, leaves rustling, distant beasts making cautious sounds now that the suffocating presence receded.
"Wait!" Toji called, looking at Ikarus. "I still want to know something."
Ikarus tilted his head. "What?"
"How did you sense me earlier?" Toji asked. "Before Master arrived. I'm not exactly subtle. But you moved like you knew I was there from the start."
Ikarus's lips curled.
"Oh, that," he said. "I didn't really sense you."
Toji blinked. "Huh?"
"I had a suspicion," Ikarus said. "The bandit leader was too relaxed. Too confident. So I let him go on purpose and watched. When you killed him, the blood scent and mana burst were impossible to miss, and everything confirmed you were there. Simple. You took the bait."
Toji stared.
"Simple, he says," Toji muttered. "You really thought that far ahead…"
"It's not that deep," Ikarus said, turning away. "If someone stronger is in the shadows, better to drag them out myself than wait to be stabbed in the back. Anyway, I'm late. Marta will kill me if I miss dinner."
He lifted a hand in a lazy wave.
"See you at four, old man. Try not to cry when your disciple outruns you."
Argo shook his head, faint smile still on his lips.
Toji watched the boy's small back as he walked away through the trees, stick resting on his shoulder, faint sparks of electricity still dancing around his fingers when he thought no one was looking.
"…Master," Toji said quietly, "I never thought you'd actually take a disciple. When this news spreads, the whole continent will tremble."
Argo hummed.
"That boy's talent is too much to ignore," he said softly. "Sword, magic, will, killing intent, instinct… I want to see how far he goes."
He looked up at the sky again.
"Noah Dawson, huh?" Argo murmured. "That smug bastard just made a very terrifying boy his enemy."
A slow, sharp grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"This will be interesting."