Aron looked into the man's eyes the moment he arrived to take the order. Something about him felt familiar. Aron leaned forward slightly and asked, "Are you Mr. Wood?"
The man's expression shifted—eyes narrowing, a slight curl on his lips—as if caught off guard.
"Hey, kid," the man replied, his tone casual yet distant. "Maybe you've mistaken me for someone you know."
Aron shook his head, apologetic. "I'm sorry. Actually… I'm looking for someone. His name is Wood."
The man looked away for a second, then returned his gaze to Aron. "He's my dad. But you won't find him here."
"Oh," Aron said, eyes widening. "Really? Where can I find him?"
The man smiled faintly. "Name's Chaki. And yours?"
"Aron. Aron Norm."
Chaki studied him for a second. Then, leaning in a bit closer, he spoke softly, "Well, don't go telling anyone I said this. Get out of the restaurant, head straight ahead until you see a small door. It'll lead you out of the city. Past that, there's a path down the mountains. Keep walking. You'll come across farming fields. He'll be there."
Aron stood, grateful. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate your time."
Chaki chuckled and handed Aron a wrapped bundle—several items inside, including some bread. "Take this. Give it to the old man. Have some for yourself too. It's a long walk."
Aron smiled. "I won't forget your kindness."
He stepped out of the restaurant and followed the path Chaki had described. The city slowly faded behind him, replaced by silence and wind. Eventually, he reached the end of the city: an abandoned area where life had long retreated. The door stood there—hidden and nearly swallowed by vines and time.
Aron opened it. A new world stretched before him. Far in the distance, majestic mountains loomed like ancient guardians. The journey was long and brutal. Rocks, narrow paths, steep slopes—it tested his will. His legs ached. He paused midway, settled by a rock, and pulled out the bread Chaki had given him.
"Thanks, Chaki," he muttered, biting into it.
After the short break, he pressed forward again.
Hours passed.
Finally, in the fading twilight, he saw them—vast farming fields glowing under the soft shimmer of the stars. The sky was clear. The stars? Breathtaking. Aron slowed down, his tired legs forgotten for a moment. He stood there, mesmerized. "Wow," he whispered. "This view…"
Then, he walked again.
The area was strangely quiet. No sounds, no wind—only his footsteps. He saw a house at the edge of the fields, and on the porch, an old man sat on a chair, staring out into the dark.
Aron approached, his heart racing.
"Sir," Aron said carefully. "Are you Mr. Wood?"
The man didn't look at him immediately. His eyes remained on the fields. "Huh? Who are you? And how did you get here?"
The man was bulky. His body scarred, possibly from years of farming, maybe more. His presence alone was enough to command silence.
"My name is Aron Norm," he replied. "Son of Agarth. Master sent me. I met him in Wingman City."
Wood's head turned sharply. "Norm, you say?" He stood slowly and faced Aron fully. His eyes studied him from top to bottom. "Hmm… indeed, you are a Norm. Look at you. You've had a tough time, haven't you?"
Aron laughed, slightly embarrassed. "Indeed."
Wood's mind raced. Why did White send this kid to me? he wondered. Then he asked aloud, "What did the old man say to you?"
"He told me to first learn blacksmithing. Then swordsmanship."
Wood paused, then smiled with a heaviness in his eyes. "Of course, he did… Now it makes sense."
He laughed—a deep, hearty laugh.
"He always was energetic. A big man with an even bigger heart."
Then his tone shifted. "But before you learn anything, you must prepare your body. Build it. Toughen it. And that's where I come in. From tomorrow, you'll help me in everything. We'll revive this dead place. These fields… they'll live again."
Aron blinked, unsure. "A big place," he repeated.
"Very big," Wood said with pride in his voice. "But we'll do it."
Aron pulled out the package. "Your son gave me this. Told me to hand it to you."
Wood accepted it, grinning. "Haha, that fool. Yes, that's my son."
He placed a firm hand on Aron's shoulder. "Now rest, kid. This is your home now. I'll teach you. Build you. A Norm… Haha! A Norm." He whispered the name again, as if it brought him peace.
Aron chuckled nervously. This guy gives me creepy vibes, he thought. But here I am.
He walked inside. A small, warm house. One room had been prepared for him. He dropped his bag to the floor, placed the wrapped blade beside it—but didn't uncover it.
"Huh… man, I'm tired." And with that, he drifted into sleep.
Elsewhere
A bird soared across the sky—its wings slicing through clouds—before finally descending. It landed atop the towering spire of Wingman City's heart: Zack Castle.
A figure sat there, cloaked in shadow, staring out across the vast kingdom. The wind tugged at his coat. His hand extended, and the bird landed gently upon it.
Only his glowing eyes could be seen beneath the veil of darkness.
"A message," the figure whispered. "Summon Luxorious."
He stood. The wind howled. Then—he vanished.
The castle windows were open. Thunder rumbled. Heavy raindrops whispered through the cracks. Inside the dim-lit room, a woman—Celitha—sat on a stool, mixing colored liquids carefully in small glass vials. The candle flickered violently, almost dying, then roared back to life.
She paused. She felt something.
Then she saw him.
Seated calmly in the corner was a man—one leg over the other, both hands joined, eyes cold.
"Luxorious," she whispered in disbelief. "Did you… finally complete your mission?"
He said nothing.
Luxorious—the Deathly Weapon. Across the entire nation, only Norm rivaled his might. His bloodline shared the same ancient origin. His eyes was Piercing blue. His aura Spine-chilling. Two deadly daggers sat at his side—radiating energy, humming with restrained violence. He had jet-black hair, a muscular yet lean physique, and a silence more dangerous than any words.
"Why do you summon me?" His voice was low, cold, commanding.
Celitha gulped. "Not me. Trail. He wishes to speak to you… about the Flames of Hope. The successor of the Death Blade."
Luxorious stood up. His presence shifted the air around him. Silent storms in human form. He walked to the door, opened it slowly, and stepped out.
Inside another room, Trail waited with his three commanders. Their expressions were grim—they had sensed Luxorious long before he arrived.
Then the door creaked open.
He entered like death itself.
Their eyes met. Trail and Luxorious stared at one another—no words. Only tension. Power clashed silently in the air between them.
The successor had awakened.