The guild doors swung open with a heavy thud, and Kano stepped inside. His posture was firm, but his clothes were torn and scorched by acid. In places, the fabric clung to his skin, leaving red burns visible across his body. Some of the adventurers lounging near the hearth turned to look, crooked grins spreading across their faces.
"Well, look who's back," one of them muttered, tossing his playing cards onto the table. "How were those famous slimes? Didn't get eaten alive, did ya?"
Kano didn't stop. He didn't even spare them a glance. He moved straight through the crowd toward the counter, where Naira was standing, reviewing some documents.
"You look like you wrestled a dragon, not a bunch of slime," she remarked dryly, not even bothering to look up. "Something happen?"
Kano pulled three small crystals from his pocket—the remains of the defeated slimes—and dropped them onto the counter. They landed with a muffled clatter against the wood.
"Mission accomplished."
Naira finally glanced up at him. A flicker of surprise crossed her eyes, but she quickly masked it with her usual indifference.
"Alright. Accepted." She tossed him a small pouch of silver coins. "But you know, kid..."
She leaned in slightly, studying him.
"Why do you look like you've lost everything you had?"
Kano clenched the coins tightly in his hand. He could feel the lingering stares of the adventurers behind him, waiting, expecting something.
"Because I realized," he said quietly, "that it's not enough."
Naira paused for a moment. Then a faint smile tugged at her lips.
"So you're finally starting to understand."
Kano nodded silently. But instead of leaving, he hesitated.
"Can I use the guild library?" he asked, his voice calm.
Naira raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised, though she quickly smoothed her expression back into that familiar mask of apathy.
"Sure you can. But books won't give you muscles or strength."
Kano allowed himself the smallest of smiles.
"They'll give me something far greater."
Naira gestured toward a door at the far end of the guild hall.
"Through there."
Kano gave a short nod and walked away without looking back, his determined steps echoing against the stone floor.
Naira watched him go, frowning slightly.
"Why the library? Why not the training grounds?" the thought brushed through her mind, heavy with doubt.
"This world belongs to the strong," she reminded herself grimly.
Her gaze darkened.
"There's only one other person who ever bothers with the library..."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the papers she held.
"Lenor."
Mornings began the same way for Kano. As soon as the first light pierced through the canopy of trees, he was already out in the clearing, battling slimes over and over again. Their numbers seemed endless, but it didn't matter. Every strike he made was calculated; every movement was deliberate. He forced himself to move faster, strike harder, evade with more precision. His hands were scraped raw, his legs ached from constant dashing and dodging, and his clothes steadily disintegrated into rags.
"I'm still not fast enough. My control over my body is too poor. If I can't dodge, I'll die. If my blows aren't strong enough, I'll be crushed. This world doesn't spare the weak."
When the slimes were finally vanquished, he would collapse onto a rock, breathing heavily. Then he would close his eyes and begin practicing magic.
He could feel the mana inside him—like a warm current flowing through his veins—but it was wild, stubborn. Whenever he tried to draw it out, to focus it into his hands, the results were erratic: either pathetically weak or violently unstable.
"What am I missing? How do I control it?"
Hours slipped away in brutal repetition. Sometimes it felt like he was on the verge of grasping it—only for everything to collapse back into chaos, forcing him to start over. Frustration weighed on him, dragging him down like chains.
"I need more knowledge."
Every night, Kano returned to the guild, sold his crystals, and headed straight for the library. It had become his refuge.
He devoured everything he could find: treatises on mana structures, chronicles of ancient wars, analyses of combat techniques, old journals detailing how warriors mastered the sword.
Reading was not an escape for him. It was survival.
"All legendary warriors started with the basics. But they had teachers. And me?"
Kano flipped through the pages, carefully marking the parts he needed to remember. He was beginning to understand that brute strength alone would lead him nowhere. He had to know how to move, how to read his opponent, how to seize the perfect moment to strike.
And so the weeks passed.
Each night, while the rest of the city slept, Kano sat alone in the dark hall of the library, lit only by the dim flicker of candlelight. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but he never stopped reading.
"What I don't know can kill me."
Over time, he realized something else—books could not teach him how to truly wield a sword.
He needed practice.
But with whom?
He had no desire to ask anyone at the guild.
"Too many arrogant fools who think they're masters. They'd rather laugh at me than help."
Then, one day, while wandering the streets of the city, he stumbled upon a group of craftsmen's children mock-fighting with sticks. To his surprise, their movements were quick, almost instinctively sharp. Their strikes were fast, their reactions crisp.
Kano stopped and watched.
"They've been learning to fight since they were small. It's in their blood."
Without hesitation, he stepped closer and asked,
"Will you teach me?"
The children burst out laughing; no adult had ever asked them for such a thing.
"You're as big as an ox! Why would you need to play kids' games?" one of them giggled.
"I'll buy you each a sweet roll if you help," Kano replied seriously.
The offer changed everything. Their eyes lit up, and within moments, they were training together right there in the city square. Kano carefully mirrored their movements, studying the way they struck, how they dodged.
The children fought with the wild energy of youth, but there was a natural grace to their play.
"This is ridiculous... but it's working."
He recalled everything he'd read and began comparing it to what he now saw firsthand.
As he gripped the wooden stick tightly, he could feel his muscles adjusting to these new motions. For the first time in what felt like forever, he found himself enjoying the learning process.
"I won't walk their path.
I'll carve my own."
Lenor Vilerian, the guildmaster, stood by the window of his office, arms folded across his chest, his sharp eyes—half-shaded by strands of silver hair—watching the boy below.
Kano was relentless.
His strikes grew sharper, his stance more stable. Far from perfect, but the improvement was undeniable. He didn't stop, even when his legs trembled from exhaustion.
The children laughed and shouted, occasionally correcting him, and Kano accepted every correction with the focus of a sponge soaking up water.
"Persistent kid," Lenor murmured under his breath.
At that moment, the door creaked open and a mountain of a man entered—Ragnar Claymore, the city's ruler. His massive frame seemed almost too large for the room, his heavy cloak brushing the furniture.
Lenor turned, arms still crossed.
"Ragnar. An honor to see you."
"Skip the niceties, Lenor," Ragnar grunted, dropping heavily into a chair. "We've got a problem."
Lenor nodded once, his gaze drifting back toward the window.
"Goblins?"
"Exactly," Ragnar said grimly. "There's too many of them now. They're not just raiding caravans anymore—they're hitting settlements. People are scared. And your guild rats won't take the jobs. The pay's too low, and the risk's too high."
Lenor frowned.
"We don't have seasoned teams—only loners. If we send them out together, they'll kill each other before they even meet the goblins."
Ragnar slammed a fist onto the table, rattling it.
"I don't care. Fix it. I want them gone by the end of the month. I don't care how you do it—go out there yourself if you have to."
Lenor was silent for a moment. Then a small, knowing smile touched his lips.
"Understood, old friend. I'll handle it."
Ragnar heaved himself to his feet, then paused by the window, his gaze falling on Kano, who was still down in the square, soaked in sweat, refusing to quit.
"You know," Ragnar said unexpectedly, "that boy might be something for this city one day."
Lenor glanced down as well, a faint smile curling his lips.
"Maybe."
Ragnar snorted and left the room, leaving Lenor alone with his thoughts.
Elgot...
Lenor's fingers unconsciously tightened against the windowsill.
You left him to me. And I'll help him however I can.
I owe you that much, old friend.
You saved me more times than I can count.
And I haven't forgotten.
He stepped away from the window, his mind already working, piece by piece, fitting together a new plan.
If Kano had this much drive...
Maybe what he needed was a mentor.
The idea took root quickly.
At night, when no one else would see, Lenor would train the boy in secret.
In the library's shadows, where knowledge met willpower.
He cast one last glance into the night beyond the window, then turned back to his desk, drowning himself once more in the endless work of running a city on the edge.
Meanwhile, down in the square, Kano trained until his body gave out and the world blurred.
Night finally descended on the city.
The library was steeped in an almost tangible silence.
Towering shelves heavy with books hid away the wisdom of the world.
The soft, wavering glow of oil lamps threw long, haunting shadows across the floor.
The scent of old parchment thickened the air, giving the room a timeless weight.
Kano sat at a table, poring over another ancient tome, when he sensed a presence behind him.
Tall, imposing—Lenor.
The guildmaster watched him in silence for a moment before finally speaking.
"Where's Elgot?" he asked, his voice quiet but cutting.
Kano looked up, something tightening painfully in his chest.
"I don't know," he answered, masking the bitterness in his voice. "But when he comes back, I'll be the strongest adventurer this city has ever seen."
Lenor chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"You have grand ambitions, kid. But tell me—do you understand the mountain you're about to climb? Are you ready for the hell that's coming your way?"
Kano met his gaze without flinching.
"I'm ready for whatever fate throws at me."
Lenor tilted his head slightly, studying the boy's expression with careful, almost surgical precision.
"If you can keep your mouth shut," Lenor said slowly, "I'll train you personally. But if even a single soul finds out..."
His eyes gleamed coldly in the half-light.
"You'll regret ever being born," Lenor said quietly.
Kano only smiled. Without breaking eye contact, he bowed low.
"I understand."
For a moment, Lenor watched him, satisfied, then gave a slow nod.
"Good. Let's start with what you already know about monsters."
Kano straightened immediately and answered without hesitation:
"I've read everything in the library about slimes, sabertooth rats, wildcats, and demonic jackals. But most importantly—I studied everything on goblins."
Lenor raised an eyebrow.
"And have you identified their weaknesses?"
Kano quickly rattled off the weak points for all the creatures—except goblins. Lenor caught the omission immediately.
"Why didn't you mention the goblins?" he asked.
Kano fell silent.
Lenor sighed and began explaining himself:
"Goblins are trickier than they look. Smarter than most monsters, they can learn, adapt, and act in packs. They have leaders—shamans, war chiefs, raiders. If you let them evolve, a goblin can become a Goblin Lord—and that means a kingdom born in blood and filth."
Kano listened intently, burning every word into his memory.
"And one more thing, kid. Their dens aren't just filled with stolen gold."
Lenor's voice dropped.
"They take women. From all races. They don't kill them—they keep them. And... they do things to them—things you wouldn't even want to imagine."
He stopped, gauging Kano's reaction.
The boy said nothing, but Lenor saw the fire ignite behind his eyes. His fists clenched until the knuckles whitened. Rage simmered, but Kano kept it caged. He understood: alone, he would stand no chance.
"I want to destroy them all," Kano said quietly. "But I lack the skills. I can't even control my magic properly yet."
Lenor crossed his arms.
"You will. Work hard, do exactly what I say, don't rush—and you'll be able to do whatever you set your mind to."
Kano nodded firmly.
"I'll accept any help."
Without a word, Lenor moved to a nearby cabinet, pulling out two chairs. He set them facing each other, stacked heavy tomes onto the seats, and turned to Kano.
"Push-ups. On the chairs."
Kano obeyed in silence, gripping the edges and lowering himself into position.
Lenor fetched even more books, piling them one by one onto Kano's back, steadily increasing the weight.
"And one more thing," the elf said, opening a thick volume and placing it on the floor in front of Kano, face up.
"Read while you train."
Kano glanced down at the title.
Mana Control.
He barely had time to read it before his arms gave out under the crushing weight, and he crashed to the floor with a loud thud.
Lenor simply smiled and left the library.
"When the burden no longer bothers you, I'll return. Then we'll move on."
Kano was left alone in the silent hall, muscles screaming in pain—but burning brighter inside was something far stronger.
This was only the beginning.
Every day followed the same brutal rhythm: dawn brought the slime hunts, midday was spent completing guild tasks.
He gathered herbs around the city, exterminated sabertooth rats plaguing the granaries.
And every evening he returned to the library, stacking books on his back, forcing his way through push-ups while devouring treatises on magic.
Day after day, he collapsed from exhaustion, only to rise again with the first light. The ache in his arms and spine became a familiar companion.
But the worst part wasn't the pain—it was the constant distraction it caused.
His mind wandered, unable to fully absorb the knowledge he was trying so hard to master.
Until one night, when he reached the chapter titled Transformation of Objects.
Something changed.
He became so absorbed in reading that, for the first time, he didn't even notice the weight on his back.
The treatise explained: if an item was crafted by mages specifically for one person, it could fuse with its owner, becoming part of them—called forth with just a thought.
But only a master mage—or a team of enchanters working with a legendary smith—could create such artifacts.
When done properly, the item didn't just belong to the bearer; it became them.
Kano reread those lines dozens of times.
His heart thundered in his chest.
Slowly, almost reverently, he pulled out his helmet, turning it over in his hands.
Looking at it as if truly seeing it for the first time.
"If this armor was made for me...
then maybe...
maybe I can do it too.
I can feel it—deep in my bones."
He placed the helmet on his head, closed his eyes, and began focusing his mana.
At first, nothing happened. But he didn't give up.
He imagined the helmet merging into him—becoming his skin, his hair, even his very bones.
It was like he could feel the metal becoming something alive.
He didn't know he was being watched.
Lenor, hidden between the shelves, observed in stunned silence.
His usually impassive face now betrayed a flicker of awe.
Then, it happened.
The edges of the helmet began to blur, dissolving into Kano's body.
The metal shimmered, vanished—until it seemed Kano himself had transformed, as if part of his soul had welcomed the armor home.
In his shock, Lenor accidentally bumped a book off a shelf.
The heavy volume crashed to the ground with a bang.
Kano's eyes snapped open.
He turned—and at that instant, the helmet reformed, materializing back onto his head.
Lenor stepped out from the shadows, arms folded.
"How did you do that, boy?" he asked, voice calm, though his eyes gleamed with intense curiosity.
"What do you mean?" Kano blinked, still not fully realizing what had just occurred.
"I just watched your helmet merge with your body—and then return," Lenor said. "That's something only the highest-grade magical artifacts can do."
Kano felt a tremor run through his hands.
He... he did it?
He really did it?
His heart pounded, overwhelming joy bursting inside him.
He wanted to try again—needed to!
But no matter how he focused, he couldn't recreate it.
His mind kept slipping, distracted by excitement, nerves, a thousand thoughts colliding all at once.
And Lenor noticed.
"You won't be able to repeat it now," Lenor said calmly. "Your mind is cluttered with emotion."
Kano clenched his fists and exhaled in frustration.
"What should I do?"
For the first time that evening, Lenor smiled.
"Keep reading. Keep training. Tomorrow, we start real sword practice."
Kano lifted his head, his eyes blazing even brighter.
"Finally."
Lenor turned toward the door, but before leaving, he cast one last look at the boy.
"And remember this, kid… you've just opened the door to something vast. Don't rush. You don't even realize yet what you've actually done."
Kano watched him go, still feeling a strange warmth lingering inside his mind.
This was only the beginning.
The next morning, the library was not filled with the rustle of pages—but the sharp clash of steel.
Lenor stood in the center of the spacious hall, a long, slender sword glinting in his hand under the lamps' soft light.
His movements were precise, refined by centuries of discipline.
He wielded the blade like a surgeon with a scalpel—no wasted motion, no hesitation, every stroke a pure expression of mastery.
His gaze was cold, his body loose, as if this wasn't training at all, but merely a warm-up before real battle.
Across from him, Kano gripped a wooden training sword, shoulders tense, sweat already beading along his spine.
He understood immediately—this was no casual sparring match.
Lenor wouldn't allow the slightest mistake.
"Ready?" the elf asked lightly, flicking his blade once.
"Ready," Kano replied, trying to keep the fear from his voice.
Lenor attacked instantly.
Kano barely managed to dodge as the silver blade whistled past.
His heart hammered in his chest, his lungs seized tight with the shock of how fast Lenor moved—how smooth, how deadly, each strike blending into the next like a seamless dance of death.
Every thrust targeted a critical point: the throat, the wrist, under the ribs.
Kano struggled to parry, but every time he caught a blow, the shock traveled through his arms, rattling the wooden sword in his hands.
"You're too predictable," Lenor said, slicing sideways again.
Kano dodged, but he couldn't block the follow-up strike.
The blade grazed his cheek, leaving a thin, stinging cut.
Before he could even register the pain, another blow smashed into his shoulder, sending a jolt of agony through him.
But he didn't stop.
Lenor drove him back relentlessly, giving him no room to breathe, no space to regroup.
Kano knew—if he didn't change his approach, he would lose.
Gathering his strength, he tried to counterattack.
The wooden sword cut through the air, but Lenor sidestepped effortlessly, moving as though he'd anticipated Kano's move before it was even decided.
"Not fast enough," Lenor said, and in a blur, launched his next assault.
Kano couldn't react in time.
A feint to the side, then a lightning-fast pivot—the silver blade shot straight toward Kano's forehead.
The boy squeezed his eyes shut instinctively—and then came the metallic explosion of a violent impact.
When Kano opened his eyes, he saw Lenor flying backward, crashing through a row of bookcases.
The elf landed hard on his back, his sword clattering away across the floor.
A cloud of dust rose, several heavy tomes thudding to the ground.
Kano stood there, panting heavily, bewildered.
The helmet...
The helmet was back on his head.
Lenor slowly lifted his head, wiped his face with his hand, and let out a low, disbelieving chuckle.
"Son of a bitch..." he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his shoulder.
"You actually did it, kid."
His eyes sparkled with a mixture of shock, fascination—and irritation.
Shaking his head, a bitter thought crossed his mind:
You lying old bastard... What have you handed me, Elgot?
Lenor sighed, pushed himself to his feet, brushed the dust off his cloak, and fixed Kano with a cold stare.
"Kano," he said, his voice calm but iron-hard, "master this. Master it completely. Understood?"
Still stunned, Kano slowly nodded.
Without another word, Lenor turned and left the library, leaving the boy alone with his racing thoughts.
Kano sank heavily onto the floor, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
The helmet...
Had it really fused with him?
He had done it. Again.