In a bright green garden filled with pristine sunlight, a young man could be seen drawing strange and complex sword stances again and again without pause.
Ethan was practicing the second form of the Tempest Sword Art: Thunderclap Sever, his body lean, athletic, and far more conditioned than it had been two years ago.
Each motion carried weight and precision, the blade sweeping arcs through the air as if carving invisible paths of wind.
After a few thousand repetitions, his body finally began to strain under exhaustion, sweat dripping from his cheeks and jawline, falling to the grass below.
His once innocent, bright green eyes no longer held childish softness but instead carried a steady, determined sheen that refused to fade.
For him, the world had changed completely for no good reason two years ago.
A catastrophe had swallowed his hometown, tearing apart everything he had ever known and taking away the last fragment of warmth he possessed.
"Sister Nancy…" he muttered softly as he looked down at the small scabs on his arm, faint reminders of the injuries he had sustained during that hellish time.
"I promise I'll avenge you."
For an orphan like him, she had been everything, warmth, comfort, compassion, discipline, and maternal affection gathered into one gentle soul.
She had saved him when he was a crying child, given him food when none remained, held him in winters when the cold seeped into his bones.
And the irony of fate was brutal.
Even the last source of relief and love in his life had been ripped away just like his parents, leaving him standing alone in a world that offered only blood and grief.
"You seem to be sulking," a calm voice echoed from behind.
Ethan immediately broke out of his stance and turned sharply.
Sword Saint Klaus stood there with a serene smile, arms folded behind his back, golden eyes relaxed yet sharp in their depths.
He was just as impossibly handsome and composed as he had been before the catastrophe, his presence exuding an aura that made the wind itself seem obedient.
The only difference now was the scar resting on the right side of his face, cutting across his cheek like a reminder of that day.
Ethan remained silent for several seconds, swallowing the emotions that threatened to surface, before finally speaking.
"When will I reach your level?" he asked quietly, his voice carrying both admiration and a burning desire.
He remembered vividly how Klaus had appeared that day, how he had split the skies apart, cut through thousands of demons, and saved Ethan from a calamity that should have taken his life.
Klaus chuckled lightly.
"If your aim is merely to reach my level," he said, "then you're thinking itself is flawed. Instead, aim to surpass me. Aim to achieve strength so absolute that no demon could ever scar you the way one managed to scar me."
He tapped the mark on his face with a faint smile, though his eyes reflected something deeper distress, memories, and a fierce determination.
Ethan lowered his head but nodded, gripping the handle of his sword harder until the knuckles turned white.
He looked up again, the emotions finally slipping past his guard.
"Thank you for saving me that day," he whispered. "I just… I wish life wasn't so unfair. It took my parents first. And now… it took the only person I cared about. Sometimes I feel like the unluckiest person alive."
His voice cracked slightly at the end.
Klaus observed him quietly before responding.
"Life is not unfair to you, kid," he said softly. "If anything, it has been strangely benevolent."
Ethan blinked, confused.
Klaus continued, "Had life not wanted me to be there at that exact moment… you would not be standing here now."
Ethan shook his head. "That was just a coincidence. You had no reason to be anywhere near Opera Town."
Before he could speak further, Klaus's tone shifted.
"It was not a coincidence."
Ethan froze.
Klaus's expression turned serious, more serious than Ethan had ever seen.
"I knew about the attack beforehand," Klaus said.
Ethan's breath caught in his throat.
"You… knew?"
"Yes," Klaus replied calmly. "A mysterious warning reached me a week before the calamity. Delivered in a manner I cannot explain."
He then described the entire scene, his voice steady and vivid, as if the memory were etched into his mind, the flickering space, the tiny celestial butterfly, the glowing scroll that appeared from nowhere.
Ethan listened in astonishment, struggling to imagine such a surreal event.
"Then… how did you know the letter wasn't fake?" he asked hesitantly. "How did you trust it?"
Klaus sighed, his gaze drifting toward the sky as though revisiting a distant memory.
"I suppose, since you are my disciple, you deserve to know a few things," he said. "In my youth, I had a master. A being whose identity was hidden from the world. No one, not my comrades, not the empire, not even my closest friends ever knew this."
Ethan leaned forward unconsciously, unable to restrain his curiosity.
Klaus continued.
"In that letter… I was addressed by my master's name, it called me my master's disciple"
Silence fell between them.
The weight of those words pressed heavily on the air.
Ethan swallowed. "Just… who is your master?"
Klaus looked at him with an expression that mixed nostalgia, caution, and a faint pride.
"Storm Dragon."
Ethan blinked.
"I haven't heard that name at all," he said, deflated.
"That's fine," Klaus replied with a small smirk. "But do not speak that name aloud again unless you wish to be kidnapped immediately."
Ethan shivered, imagining dozens of horrifying possibilities in his mind.
Klaus chuckled softly at his reaction. Yet beneath that smile, the seriousness had not faded.
And Ethan understood something clearly:
His master was far more involved in the world's deeper mysteries than he ever realized.
And whoever or whatever had sent that warning. It wasn't someone ordinary.
"Well, let's get to the point for now," Klaus said as the atmosphere shifted subtly around him. He took a single step forward, and even that small motion carried enough weight to make the surrounding air feel heavier.
"I'm here to give you this," he continued, bringing out a small crystalline bottle filled with a faintly glowing liquid before placing it gently into Ethan's hands.
"Drink it during your awakening. It will ease the pain and stabilize your body."
Ethan nodded slowly, his fingers curling around the cool surface of the bottle, before another question rose. "How is the investigation going?"
Klaus's expression hardened in an instant, annoyance flashing across his eyes.
"They still haven't found the source," he said, voice laced with irritation. "And frankly, they don't care enough to look. Those noble bastards only know how to flex their authority in front of people they can control or intimidate. When it comes to real threats, they hide behind the thick walls of capital."
His tone carried the bitterness of someone who had seen this pattern far too often.
Ethan stayed quiet, understanding from where the Sword Saint's anger came.
"Oh, right, before I forget," Klaus added after a moment, his expression shifting to an amused one.
"The day of the attack has already been recorded in every imperial document, and do you know what they decided to name it?"
Ethan shook his head lightly, showing no interest. People could call it whatever made them feel poetic, to him, that day would always be the worst moment of his life, the moment everything he loved was ripped away.
Klaus let out a small, humorless chuckle.
"Well, they're calling it 'Bloody Tears' now," he said. "At least their naming sense isn't completely terrible."