The first thing Cane felt was grass.
Cold, dewy blades brushing his cheek.
Then came the ache. A heavy throb in every limb, like his bones had been pulled apart and stitched back together by hand. He groaned, eyelids twitching as the morning light filtered in through the canopy above.
Birdsong. A soft breeze. Distant voices.
He blinked slowly. His vision adjusted, revealing a familiar sky soft blue, streaked with sleepy clouds. Cane turned his head, still sluggish, and saw a winding dirt path cutting through the woods. It led back toward the outskirts of Kaelmoor.
Behind him stood the ruin. The same moss-covered ruin he had entered what felt like a lifetime ago.
He stared at it, expression unreadable. How the hell…?
A pair of adventurers walked by on the trail. One of them an older man in patchwork armor paused, looking Cane's way with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. He nudged his companion, who shook his head and whispered something before pulling the man along.
They left him alone.
Still seated in the grass, Cane exhaled slowly. The sun hadn't fully risen yet it hovered low behind the tree line, casting long golden rays that split the mist crawling over the forest floor.
He pushed himself upright, wincing as he stretched his back. Every joint popped. His body was sore, but...
Stronger.
He could feel it.
A deeper breath. A firmer grip on his katana. Muscles that didn't tremble quite so easily.
"Huh…"
He rolled his shoulders and tilted his neck until it cracked. Then, as if struck by an idea, he muttered, "System. Show me my status."
There was a short pause before a screen shimmered into view before his eyes.
[Status Panel: Cane Eltis]
Age: 16
Elemental Affinity: Wind, Lightning
Stats:
Strength: E
Endurance: C
Durability: E
Agility: E
Mana: E-
Intelligence: E
Mental: C
Charm: A
Proficiency:
Katana Mastery: Level 3
Talents:
I'm Crazy – The more unhinged your behavior, the greater your temporary stat boost. Warning: side effects include terrified allies, broken dignity, and long-term emotional damage. Blade Snuggle Syndrome - Holding a katana for extended periods dramatically accelerates your proficiency gain. Recommended: eat, sleep, and bathe with it. Probably.
Cane stared, then squinted, and then stared even harder. "…Are you kidding me?" he growled.
He stood up fully, arms outstretched like pleading to the sky. "All that!? days of bleeding, sweating, crying, and hallucinating—for this?!"
[You expected Z-rank stats from mental shadowboxing?]
"Don't mock me! And what do you mean by mental shadow boxing?! I put everything on the line—even my life—and this is all I get?! AHHHHH I'm seriously going insane!"
[Let me put it this way, drama queen,] the system chimed. [What you experienced wasn't just a dream or hallucination. It was a phenomenon we call Record of the Past.]
Cane blinked. "...Record of the what now?"
[A rare cross-dimensional reaction. Occurs when the remnants of a powerful soul—usually from ancient times—or to be exact the past, interact with a series of environmental triggers: residual energy from Aethralis, fragments of memories imprinted on ancient artifacts, and traces of spirit-bound mana from Mytheria. Combine that with a bit of soul resonance from this world—Elarion—and bam. You get a 'recording'. A piece of someone's life, thoughts, even skills, projected into you.]
"Wait, so that old guy—Shiyo Yashira—he wasn't alive? I mean I know he's not alive but I think he still alive but not alive uhmmm you know what I mean"
[…..Idiot. Just his echo. His soul was lingering, incomplete, but still sharp enough to teach—and mean enough to put you through hell.]
Cane stared upward, still processing.
[Sometimes the phenomenon only brings a voice, or a single skill. Other times it pulls in whole fragments—memories, people, dungeons that form from their emotions. It's not a spell. It's not divine. It's just... a scar left behind by great souls or…. a pitiful souls.]
"So it's random?"
[More or less. Some dungeons, or ruins were shaped by it. Some artifacts trigger it. In your case, your own emotional volatility and exposure to Yashira's created the link, and ultimately, your soul was forcibly pulled away.]
"And all I trained… was in my head?"
[Your body never moved. Only your soul went. So all that training? Only your mind remembers it. Your muscles? Still noodle tier. That's why we call it mental shadowboxing. You should also be grateful that he saved your life when you fell into the abyss.]
"...Yeah, I guess you're right. Thank you, Master." Cane made a gesture of thanks.
[You also gained something better, idiot. You learned a style that should've been lost forever. Yashira Style. And your soul's tougher for it.]
He tapped through the mission interface, still fuming. At least the quest marker had cleared. "Yashira Style" was now officially logged under his learned combat disciplines. And beneath it—
Three new skills.
Skills (Yashira Stage 1):
Whisper Fang (Wind Element Slash Technique) – A high-speed slashing technique imbued with wind elemental energy. For a brief two-second window after activation, each swing of the blade releases a pair of invisible air slashes alongside the physical strike. These wind cuts travel slightly ahead of the swing, capable of striking at short to medium range with surprising speed and precision.
Vein Pulse (Lightning Surge Booster) – When activated, this technique channels lightning-element mana through the user's circulatory system, temporarily accelerating muscle reflexes and movement. Grants a one-tier temporary boost to Agility for five seconds. High energy cost. Best used in bursts.
Still Flow (Passive Stamina Efficiency Boost) – A passive skill derived from the Yashira training style. Reduces stamina consumption the longer the user continues a series of strikes. The more consecutive swings performed, the more efficient each one becomes.
Not bad. And then… something else caught his eye.
A soft glint at his side new.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, obsidian-black earring shaped like a rectangular hanafuda card. Ancient lettering shimmered faintly along the edge.
He recognized the symbol: Resolve—written in the old Ravarynic script.
A system prompt appeared.
[Artifact Acquired: Hanafuda of Solemn Resolve - Legendary]
Type: Accessory – Left Ear
Description: A legacy relic from the Yashira lineage. Each consecutive attack you deliver to an enemy grants additional damage per stack accumulated. In addition, the wearer gains resistance against mental-based effects such as fear, pressure, and illusion.
"Each cut deepens not the wound alone—but the will to endure."
Cane stood still for a long moment.
Then, carefully, he clipped the earring on.
"Oh right, I forgot!!" Cane looked panicked. "What about the artifact's rules? What if this artifact doesn't suit me and I drop dead instantly?"
[Don't overthink it. Only a few artifacts are lethal upon use. Besides, this artifact given to you by your master of course, it means the artifact has already accepted you, idiot.]
Cane fell silent, absorbing the system's explanation. "…Thanks, master," he whispered, voice low. "I'll use it well."
With a few more swipes, he checked his mission log.
And blinked again.
[Entrance Exam Preparation - Complete]
Raise at least one stat from F to C within 30 days.
Failure Condition: Death.
Time Remaining: 5 days.
"…Five days left?"
[Correct.]
"But the mission's cleared."
[Also correct.]
"Wait. Wait. I was in there for twenty-three days?!"
[Mentally, yes.]
"…Holy crap."
Cane's heart dropped—not out of fear, but urgency. Not because he almost died—but because he had so little time left.
The academy exam. The same entrance exam the original Cane had poured everything into, the one he failed, the one that broke him. Cane took a deep breath, but he wasn't panicking because of the looming threat of death.
He was panicking because he knew what lay ahead. Knew how ruthless the Arkanis Academy was. Knew how many geniuses were bred for it from birth—geniuses with family names, tutors, inherited weapons and elite mana cores.
He had none of that. All he had was a stolen body, a head full of sarcasm, and a fighting style the world had long forgotten. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his katana, his resolve hardening. No more ghosts. No more illusions.
Cane rolled his shoulders once, cracked his neck twice, and muttered with a dry smile, "...First thing's first."
He turned toward the rising light over Kaelmoor.
Time for a bath. Then back to training.
The adventure guild in kaelmoor is in chaos.
People packed the main room shouting, pacing, demanding answers. Panic and frustration filled the air.
"I haven't seen my son in three days!" a woman cried, gripping the edge of the reception desk with trembling hands. "He just went to pick berries near the southern ridge!"
"My husband went out hunting yesterday morning," shouted an older lady, "and his group hasn't returned. You people are supposed to protect us!"
"Where are the adventurers?! Send them out, damn it!"
The young receptionist, Marla, stood behind the counter doing her best to maintain calm. Her voice was even, but her eyes betrayed the exhaustion hiding just beneath the surface.
"Please," she said, hands raised. "We're trying to locate everyone. The guild is working with local scouting teams and—"
"Try harder!" a woman sobbed, clutching a scarf in her hands. "My daughter's missing, too!"
Several lower-ranked adventurers stood off to the side, unsure whether to step forward or fade into the walls. Most of them looked away, avoiding the eyes of the desperate crowd.
One of the older villagers stepped forward, voice rising above the rest. "What's the point of calling this a training town if your so-called adventurers can't even stop a few kidnappings?!"
Marla inhaled slowly, then responded with practiced control. "Please understand. While Kaelmoor is designated as a training ground, most registered adventurers here are still unranked or beginner-class. We've already sent out parties to investigate."
A scream was heard from the direction of the door a scream was heard from the direction of the door.
"They came back nearly dead." As if summoned by the words, the double doors at the rear of the guild creaked open.
A group stumbled inside bloodied, bruised, and broken.
Gasps erupted across the hall. Several adventurers hurried over to help, while the villagers instinctively made way, parting like water around a sinking ship.
The one leading the battered group a man with dark hair, missing his right shoulder plate and a deep gash over his brow—collapsed to one knee.
"They're alive," he croaked, voice hoarse. "The missing villagers. They're alive."
Marla rushed to his side. "Where? What happened?"
"We tracked the trail… east of the old ruin," the man panted. "It's not just goblins—it's a damned Goblin King. We didn't expect… We weren't ready."
He looked up with bloodshot eyes. "He's got them imprisoned. In cages. Like livestock."
Whispers swept the room like wildfire.
"A Goblin King? Here?"
"In Kaelmoor?! That's insane!"
"This place isn't supposed to have anything like that…"
The wounded adventurer forced a bitter laugh. "Well, guess the king didn't get the memo."
Marla's expression darkened. "How many?"
"At least a dozen villagers," the man replied, voice shaking. "Could be more. We only saw one holding chamber before we ran."
Marla looked to the crowd, lips pressed tightly. There was fear in the air now. Not just grief—dread.
She raised her voice. "Three days ago, i already contacted a higher branch of the Adventurers' Guild for reinforcements. Help is on the way."
As if on cue, the entrance opened once again.
A man stepped in, sunlight catching on the polished silver of his armor. His blonde hair fell just past his ears, slightly tousled but neat. His expression was calm, but sharp. Three others followed two women and another man, each dressed in gear that immediately set them apart from the novice adventurers lining the walls.
"Sorry we're late," the man said with a casual grin. "But you can relax now. We've got this."
There was a shift in the air. A few of the villagers straightened. Some even whispered hopefully.
"Are they…"
"...a ranked party?"
"They look… professional."
Marla stepped forward with visible relief. "You're the C-rank team from Argenvale?"
The man bowed slightly. "That's us. Name's Kael. We received your urgent request and cleared our schedule."
The woman beside him, wearing a crimson cloak and twin daggers, rolled her shoulders. "What's the situation?"
Marla quickly laid it out: the disappearances, the failed scouting attempts, and now confirmation of a Goblin King hiding deeper in the forest, beyond the ruin.
Kael listened closely, his jaw tightening. "A Goblin King in a place like this? That's not just strange it's unnatural."
The armored man exchanged a glance with his party, then nodded once.
"We move out in one hour. No delays."
Villagers murmured their gratitude as the team turned to make preparations. Hope had finally entered the room but it was still fragile, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in Kaelmoor—
Steam still clung to the walls of Cane's small room. A towel hung loosely around his neck as he sat on the edge of his bed, carefully drying off his katana with a clean cloth. The blade came first. Always.
Only after it gleamed to his liking did he bother running the towel through his dripping hair.
[You're unbelievable.]
Cane blinked. "What now?"
[You brought that thing into the bath again.]
He glanced at the katana beside him, freshly polished and resting gently against his thigh.
"Didn't want her to feel left out."
[You're treating your weapon like a romantic partner. You're a katana pervert.]
"Talent's still active, isn't it?"
[Blade Snuggle Syndrome: active.]
"Then I regret nothing."
[You should.]
Cane rolled his eyes and got to his feet. He ran the towel one last time over the sheath, then slung it over his shoulder.
"Call me crazy—"
[I already do.]
"—but every minute counts. I've got no time to waste."
[On what? Hygiene? Sanity? Dignity?]
He picked up his katana, sliding it smoothly into its place at his hip.
"On becoming strong."
And with that, still half-damp, he walked out the door.