I lay there, my breath heavy and ragged. The cold mountain air felt thin—too thin—as if it couldn’t reach my lungs fast enough. My heart still pounded, but the bloodlust… it was fading. Slowly. Painfully.

  Seria remained kneeling beside me, her golden aura dimming but still present—a reminder of just how outclassed I was. I should have felt frustrated. Angry. But instead, there was only a dull ache—both in my body and in my pride.

  "You’re lucky I stopped you when I did," she said quietly, her voice devoid of her usual teasing. "If I hadn’t…" She trailed off, shaking her head.

  I swallowed, trying to find my voice. "I… lost control."

  She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes—sharp, analytical—studied me as if trying to figure out what to do next. "No," she finally said. "You didn’t lose control."

  I frowned. "I didn’t?"

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You gave in. That’s worse."

  I clenched my fists, frustration flickering back to life. "It felt… right," I admitted, hating how weak my voice sounded. "Like I could finally match you. Like I could cut through anything."

  Seria sighed, standing up and brushing the snow from her robes. "Of course it felt right," she said. "That’s how it works. Bloodlust doesn’t force itself on you—it whispers. It promises power. And when you let it in, it doesn’t let go easily."

  I sat up slowly, wincing as the ache in my muscles protested. "Is that how you saw it?" I asked. "I only swung once, but the entire south side of the forest…" I shook my head, the memory still fresh. "It felt like I was on the edge of something—like I could push even further."

  She gave a bitter smile. "You were. And if you’d taken one more step, I would’ve had to do worse than knock you out."

  Her words hung in the air like a blade over my neck. She wasn’t joking. If I’d gone any further, she would’ve killed me.

  "So what now?" I asked, finally managing to stand. My legs felt like lead, and the splintered remains of the wooden sword hung loosely in my grip. "Do I just… suppress it?"

  Seria turned to face the rising sun, her expression unreadable. "You’re thinking about it the wrong way," she said. "Bloodlust isn’t something you suppress. It’s something you master."

  I frowned. "Master?"

  She nodded. "The strongest warriors—those who walk the edge of power and madness—don’t deny their hunger. They accept it. They shape it into something their own."

  Her voice grew softer, almost distant. "There’s a legend about a warrior who did just that. They say his blade was so fast, it cut through the wind itself. But he didn’t reach that point by resisting his bloodlust. He reached it by bending it to his will."

  Her words stirred something inside me—a spark against the cold. "Lagibeks," I murmured, the name of the sword style she had been drilling into me for weeks. "That’s what this is about, isn’t it?"

  Seria gave a slight nod. "You’re closer than you think. But you can’t move forward until you accept every part of yourself—even the parts that terrify you."

  I exhaled slowly, my breath curling in the cold air. "So… what’s next?"

  She smirked, and for a moment, I glimpsed the usual playful glint in her eyes. "You’re going to fight me again," she said simply. "And this time, you’re not going to let the bloodlust take you—you’re going to make it yours."

  A chill ran through me—but it wasn’t fear. It was anticipation.

  I tightened my grip on the broken sword and took a step forward. "Fine," I said, my voice steadier now. "Let’s finish this."

  And so, the training continued. For two more weeks, I clashed against Seria again and again. Each day blurred into the next—pain, exhaustion, and the constant hum of something primal trying to claw its way to the surface.

  But I wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

  I was going to make it mine.

  ...

  [SYSTEM]

  [Name]: Kelvin

  [Class]: Former Sergeant (Aerospace Engineer)

  [Level]: 26

  [STATS]

  [STRENGTH]: 48 (50% reduction)

  [VITALITY]: 125

  [AGILITY]: 69

  [ENDURANCE]: 54

  [DEXTERITY]: 67

  [AURA]:

  Ashen Resolve (Active)

  Bloodlust (Unstable)

  [SWORDSTYLE]:

  Lagibeks – Mastery: Beginner

  ...

  Then we started. Every time I swung my wooden sword, I felt it—the desire to overcome an opponent, the hunger to kill. It pulsed beneath the surface, raw and unrelenting. But this time, I couldn’t let it take over. I needed to control it—to master it.

  I shifted my focus. Not on defeating Seria. Not on overpowering her. My goal wasn’t to win the fight—it was to control the force behind my strikes. To harness the bloodlust without letting it consume me.

  Every swing felt like walking a razor’s edge. If I held back too much, my strikes became sluggish—predictable. If I gave in even slightly, the power surged, threatening to tear through everything in its path.

  Seria didn’t make it easy. She was relentless, her movements swift and precise. Blades of wind cut through the air around me, forcing me to react—forcing me to maintain control. She pushed me, again and again, never giving me a moment to breathe.

  "Focus!" she barked, her voice cutting through the storm of our battle. "Don’t fight it—guide it! If you can’t even manage that, you’ll never master Lagibeks!"

  I gritted my teeth, adjusting my grip on the sword. My muscles burned, but I refused to stop. Each strike became a test of will. I had to feel the power without losing myself in it. I had to walk the line perfectly.

  I swung again, putting just enough strength behind it. The air trembled, but the trees stayed standing. I was close—so damn close.

  "Good," Seria said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "But that’s not enough. Again!"

  I moved faster, my senses sharpening. I wasn’t just swinging wildly anymore—I was measuring each blow. Testing the limits of my control. Every strike became a deliberate choice.

  And slowly, something shifted.

  The bloodlust, once wild and chaotic, began to feel… manageable. Like a beast on a leash. I could still feel its hunger—but it was no longer controlling me. I was controlling it.

  Seria’s expression grew more serious as she matched my pace. "Better," she said. "But if you want to master this, you have to push further. Feel it. Control it. Make it yours!"

  I pushed harder. Each clash of our weapons echoed through the clearing. I didn’t hold back—but I didn’t lose myself either. For the first time, I felt balanced—like the bloodlust was a part of me, not something I had to resist.

  I swung again, faster and sharper. The air around my blade trembled. Seria raised her hand, summoning a barrier just in time to stop the strike—but even she looked surprised.

  "You’re starting to get it," she said, her voice quieter now. "But you’re still afraid."

  I froze for a split second, my grip tightening. "Afraid?"

  She stepped forward, lowering her defenses slightly. "You’re still holding back. If you can’t trust yourself, you’ll never control it completely. And when the time comes—when you face something stronger—you’ll lose. So…" Her eyes locked onto mine. "Let go. Show me everything."

  I hesitated. Letting go meant risking everything. But if I wanted to survive what was coming—if I wanted to cut down the enemies in my path—I couldn’t afford hesitation.

  I took a breath, steadying myself. "Fine," I said, feeling the bloodlust stir to life again. "You asked for it."

  I let the beast off its leash.

  The next swing wasn’t just fast—it tore through the air like a storm. The ground trembled beneath my feet. Seria’s barrier shattered under the pressure, forcing her to retreat a step.

  But this time, I didn’t lose myself.

  I was in control.

  And I wasn’t done yet.

  My muscles screamed in protest, my vision blurred at the edges—I was at my limit. Every breath burned in my chest, and my grip on the wooden sword trembled. I could barely stand, but I had one more swing left in me. One more strike to give everything I had.

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  If I stopped here—if I backed down—I would never move forward. This was the path I had chosen. And if I couldn’t break through now, then everything I had endured would be meaningless.

  I tightened my grip, pushing past the pain. "This is the path I’m going to take…" My voice came out low, steady. My heart pounded like a war drum. "So with this swing… I’ll break the first wall in my path!"

  The bloodlust surged within me, wild and unyielding—but this time, I didn’t fight against it. I pulled it in, harnessing every ounce of rage, every shred of willpower, and channeled it into my next strike.

  Seria’s eyes narrowed. She felt it too—the change in the air. For the first time, I saw her stance shift slightly, her magic flaring brighter. She wasn’t holding back anymore.

  Good.

  I stepped forward, raising my sword. My body protested, but my mind was clear—sharper than ever. This was it.

  I swung.

  The world slowed to a crawl as my blade cut through the air. The force behind it was beyond anything I had ever unleashed—an overwhelming wave of raw power and intent. I wasn’t just swinging a sword. I was cutting through the barrier holding me back—through my own limits.

  A deafening CRACK split the air.

  The shockwave from my strike exploded outward, ripping through the ground and sending a gust of wind howling through the clearing. Every tree in the south, untouched until now, trembled—then fell in a clean, perfect line.

  For a moment, everything was silent. Even the wind seemed to stop.

  I stumbled forward, barely catching myself before I hit the ground. My entire body felt like it had been torn apart from the inside, but I didn’t fall. I couldn’t.

  When I looked up, Seria stood in the middle of the shattered clearing, her barriers flickering and fading. Her expression—usually calm and unreadable—was one of quiet shock.

  "You…" Her voice was softer, almost disbelieving. "You really broke through it."

  I exhaled slowly, my vision swimming. "Told you," I muttered. "I’d break it."

  But even as I spoke, the bloodlust I had been holding in surged back—stronger, wilder. I had pushed too far. My body moved on its own, my vision tinged red as my instincts screamed for more.

  I lunged at her.

  Seria reacted instantly. A dome of pure magic surrounded her, shimmering like liquid light. I struck the barrier, again and again, the force of my attacks shaking the ground beneath us. I wasn’t thinking anymore—only moving, only attacking.

  "You’re losing control," she warned, but I barely heard her. My heart pounded in my ears, the bloodlust drowning out everything else.

  I struck harder—faster—each blow carving through the air like a storm. For the first time, I felt like I was pushing her back.

  But she wasn’t done yet.

  "Enough," she said, raising her hand. In an instant, the pressure in the air shifted. The barrier I had been hammering against shattered—and a torrent of energy surged forward, slamming into me like a tidal wave.

  I couldn’t react. My body froze as an invisible force wrapped around me, pinning me in place.

  Seria’s voice cut through the chaos, cold and unyielding. "I told you to control it—not let it control you."

  A burst of magic struck me square in the chest, and the world spun violently. My vision blurred, and darkness crept in at the edges.

  The last thing I saw before everything faded was Seria’s silhouette, standing tall amidst the wreckage.

  And then—I blacked out.

  ...

  I woke up with a pounding headache, my whole body aching. "It took over again," I muttered, clenching my right fist—the only one I had left. Despite the pain, a grin crept across my face. "I'm getting the hang of this… too bad I can't move."

  "That's right," Seria's voice came from above. I shifted my eyes to see her standing over me, arms crossed as usual. "The last part of our training—your skinny body. It's too fragile to handle your aura at full strength."

  I sighed, letting my head drop back against the cold ground. "What are you gonna do? Make me carry a boulder on my back while I climb the mountain with one arm?"

  Her lips curled into a wicked smile. "Exactly. Since you only have one arm, it’ll be harder. But you’ve survived this long—you’ll manage."

  I let out a dry chuckle. "Of course. Why would I expect anything else?"

  I forced myself to sit up, my muscles screaming in protest. Every motion was harder with just one arm, but I’d already accepted this reality. Complaining wouldn’t change anything.

  "Get up," she ordered, turning toward the edge of the temple grounds. "If you want to master your aura, your body needs to catch up. And don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you’re missing a limb."

  I exhaled sharply, pushing through the pain as I stood. The cold wind bit at my skin, but I ignored it. I had no choice but to get stronger.

  One arm. One path forward.

  And I wasn’t going to stop.

  Seria raised her hand, and a soft, pale light began to glow around her fingertips before washing over my body. A gentle warmth spread through me, easing the sharp aches in my muscles and soothing the raw strain left from our battle. The throbbing in my head dulled, and the stiffness in my limbs gradually faded.

  I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. "Healing magic, huh?" My voice came out rough, but the relief was undeniable.

  "You’d be dead without it," she said flatly, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone. "Don’t get used to it. If you break yourself again, I might not bother fixing you."

  I snorted. "You say that, but you’ve patched me up every time so far."

  She narrowed her eyes but didn’t deny it. The light around her hand dimmed, and with a graceful motion, she lowered her arm. "I’m only doing this because we’re not done yet," she said, her voice serious now. "Your body’s stronger than when you arrived, but it’s still not enough. If you can’t control that bloodlust or keep up in a fight—next time, you won’t walk away."

  I flexed my right arm, the only one I had left. The familiar weight of absence on my left side was something I couldn’t afford to forget. I wasn’t whole—but that didn’t mean I was weak.

  I sat up slowly, the lingering soreness in my muscles fading thanks to Seria’s healing. Just as I steadied myself, she stepped forward, her expression as calm as ever. With one hand, she effortlessly lifted a massive boulder—easily twice my size—and dropped it on the ground in front of me with a heavy thud that shook the earth.

  I stared at it, then at her. "Seriously?"

  She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. "What? You thought I was joking?"

  I sighed, already regretting my question. "And I’m supposed to do what—carry that thing up and down the mountain?"

  "Exactly." Her tone was infuriatingly casual, as if dragging a boulder around with one arm was an everyday warm-up. "You’ll start at dawn and keep going until sunset. If you can still stand by the end of the week, maybe—maybe—I’ll consider you ready for the next step."

  I shook my head, muttering under my breath, "You really enjoy this, don’t you?"

  A faint smile tugged at her lips. "You learn best when you’re suffering."

  I sighed again and placed my right hand against the rough, cold surface of the boulder. I only had one arm—no room for mistakes. If I wanted to survive whatever came next, I had to become stronger. No shortcuts. No excuses.

  "Fine," I said, gripping the edge tightly. "Let’s get this over with."

  And so, I did it. Day after day, I ran up and down the mountain with the boulder strapped to my back. The only things keeping it from crushing me were my right arm and the tension in my back. Each step burned through my muscles, the cold mountain air biting at my skin. Every time I passed through the village below, the locals gave me weird looks—some curious, others downright confused.

  I didn’t care. I couldn’t afford to.

  Once I finished my mountain runs, Seria found new ways to break me. She had Kuma—her oversized bear—"train" with me. And by "train," I mean the beast clawed and swiped at me while I struggled to dodge and stay on my feet. Each strike felt like getting hit by a boulder twice the size of the one I was carrying. My skin tore, blood dripped onto the snow, but I kept pushing forward.

  I sweated. I bled. I ran. I endured. And through it all, I practiced controlling my bloodlust—forcing myself to harness it instead of letting it consume me. It became my routine, a brutal cycle of physical punishment and mental focus.

  For three more weeks, this was my life. No breaks. No easy days. Just pain and progress.

  One evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountain range, I sat on top of the boulder, my breath heavy and my muscles screaming in protest. The wind was cold, but my body felt like it was on fire. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand and pulled up my UI.

  The familiar interface flickered into view. My heart pounded with anticipation—but my expression darkened. The timer for my left arm’s regeneration wasn’t moving. Not even a second had ticked down.

  I frowned. "What the hell…?"

  Weeks of punishing work, and still, no progress. Something was wrong. Something I wasn’t seeing.

  I clenched my fist, frustration simmering beneath the surface. If my body refused to heal itself, I had to push harder—go further. Whatever it took, I would get stronger. I had no other choice.

  I suddenly hear clapping. It was Seria. "I guess this is it," she said, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye.

  "What do you mean?" I ask, glancing down at her from the boulder.

  "Remember that tournament I told you about? Today’s the day," she says with a smirk.

  The moment those words leave her mouth, I hear a voice—smug, familiar, and just as irritating as ever. My eyes snap upward, and there he is.

  Veyrin.

  Lia’s personal bodyguard—the same guy who had the "honor" of dumping me at this temple. His polished armor gleamed in the sunlight, as pristine as ever. Of course, he still had that ever-present air of superiority clinging to him like a bad smell.

  He folds his arms, staring down at me with an unimpressed expression. "You still alive? Huh… figured you’d be broken by now."

  I roll my eyes and hop off the boulder. "Disappointed?"

  "Not really," he shrugs, his sharp gaze scanning me from head to toe. "Lia wants you back. I’m here to fetch you."

  So, it was finally time. I stretch my right arm, feeling the strain of weeks of brutal training. Whatever this tournament was, I wasn’t going to lose.

  ...

  "The same wagon," I mutter, eyeing the familiar ride we took on the way here. Nothing had changed—not the worn wooden panels, not the creaky wheels, and definitely not the guy standing next to it.

  "No shirt? Pft, just get on," Veyrin says with a smirk, already turning his back to me like I’m some luggage he’s been forced to haul.

  I ignore his attitude and mentally double-check my stuff. Overly dramatic long cloak? Check. Oni mask? Safely tucked in my inventory, check. Toothpick? Always, check.

  Satisfied, I step toward the wagon without glancing back at Seria. For some reason, I don’t feel the need to. Our training was over—whatever happens next, I’ll handle it myself.

  I climb onto the wagon, leaning back against the side as Veyrin snaps the reins, setting us in motion. The cold mountain air brushes against my skin, but I barely feel it. My mind is already on the tournament—and the opponents waiting for me.

  The wagon trembled slightly before lifting off the ground, floating smoothly through the sky. I sighed, leaning back against the wooden frame. "I'll never get used to this," I muttered, watching the snowy peaks shrink beneath us.

  I glanced at Veyrin, who held the reins like he’d done this a thousand times. "Don’t tell me you’re gonna kick me off again," I said, narrowing my eyes.

  He chuckled, his sharp teeth flashing in a grin. "Don’t worry, I won’t. The place we’re heading to is a bit too fancy for that. This isn’t just any regular tournament," he replied, his voice laced with something that felt too casual.

  I raised an eyebrow. "What exactly is this tournament?"

  "The tournament?" He stretched out, like he was preparing for a nap. "Well, it’s called X-Day. A grand little spectacle where all the academy-selected elites are invited to beat the crap out of each other. It’s a chance for the emperor to see if the next generation has what it takes to carry the empire forward." He paused, the usual sarcasm creeping into his tone. "And definitely not a convenient way to pick future soldiers for when the barrier finally comes crashing down."

  I frowned. The barrier—always with the barrier. It was the invisible wall separating the kingdom from whatever lay beyond, including the demonic forces everyone tried to pretend weren’t a looming threat. If they were preparing for it to fall… well, that didn’t exactly scream confidence.

  "And I’m supposed to just… fight in this?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

  "You’ll do more than fight." Veyrin’s grin widened. "You’ll make an impression—or die trying. Either way, I get to watch, so it’s a win-win for me."

  I rolled my eyes, turning my gaze back to the sky. Great. Another stage, another battle. Just what I needed.

  And with that, we flew… to X-Day.

  Heh, that actually sounded kinda cool.

  The wind whipped past as the wagon glided effortlessly through the sky. Beneath us, the mountains faded into rolling plains, and distant city walls shimmered under the rising sun. For a moment, I let myself relax, the weight of weeks of brutal training sinking into my bones.

  Still, my fingers twitched. My bloodlust—it was quieter now, more controlled, but it never really left. And something about this tournament… it stirred it again.

  I smirked to myself. X-Day, huh? Whatever it was, I’d make sure they remembered my name.