Rolsten took the boy to a small wooden hut beside the training hall — quiet, dimly lit, with the faint smell of oil and steel.
He handed the boy a clean cloth and set down a bowl of water.
"Change out of those," Rolsten said gently.
"You'll feel better once you're clean."
The boy obeyed silently, his movements slow but careful.
When he finished, Rolsten handed him a simple tunic and trousers, old but neat.
As the boy sat there, staring at the flickering lamplight, Rolsten studied him — the hollow eyes, the scars that ran faintly down his arms, the silence that weighed on every breath.
He sighed quietly.
He's just a child… What could have happened to him? I hope it's not something too cruel.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"Well, we can't keep calling you 'boy' forever," Rolsten said with a faint smile.
"You should have a name. What would you like me to call you?"
The boy hesitated, eyes lowering to the floor. Then, softly, he said,
"I like… Captain."
Rolsten blinked.
"Captain? As a name?"
The boy replied.
"Yes."
"Why?" Rolsten asked, curious.
The boy's gaze didn't waver.
"I don't know. But I think… I want to be called Captain."
For a moment, Rolsten just looked at him — and then he nodded.
"Alright then. From now on, I'll call you Captain."
The boy gave the slightest nod in return.
But no smile came.
Months passed.
The boy trained day after day under Rolsten's watch.
Steel clashed against steel in the training yard, the sound echoing through the wooden beams.
Rolsten stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the boy — no longer frail, his movements sharper with each passing week.
Sweat ran down the boy's face.
Rolsten sighed under his breath.
Even now… he hasn't smiled once. He doesn't remember his home, his family, anything. It's like he's chasing something he doesn't even understand.
The boy, mid-swing, looked up suddenly.
"Why not teach me more?" he asked.
"I've already learned this."
Rolsten frowned slightly.
"No," he said.
"Learning isn't the hard part — mastering it is. You have to repeat it until it becomes part of you. That's how real strength is built."
The boy looked at his sword, then at Rolsten.
"…Then I'll master it."
He turned back and resumed swinging — over and over, the same motion, the same determination, the same silence.
Rolsten watched him quietly, a small trace of pride hidden behind his serious gaze.
He's stubborn… but there's fire in him. Maybe that name suits him more than I thought.
As Rolsten was thinking, there was a knock at the door.
Rolsten said, "Enter."
It was one of the master's disciples.
"Senior, it's about that boy. Someone claims to know him… and says he is his brother."
Rolsten frowned.
A brother? But can I really trust him?
"Call him in," Rolsten said cautiously.
The man entered—a young man with a composed demeanor.
"I am Wilson, one of the king's advisers," he said.
Rolsten's brow furrowed.
"If you are from the kingdom, why didn't you introduce yourself at the start? We could have allowed you to enter."
Wilson shook his head.
"No. I am here not as an adviser, but as a brother. I came to bring back my brother… and I am glad he is safe."
Rolsten's jaw tightened.
"He has lost his memory and was injured when we found him. How can I trust you that he is truly your brother?"
"Don't worry," Wilson said calmly.
"I can help him remember."
Rolsten called out, "Captain."
Wilson smiled.
"Captain? That's what you call him?"
Rolsten nodded.
"Yes. He wanted to be called Captain."
"Oh… okay," Wilson said softly.
"Then he still remembers what he liked… it will be easier to remind him."
Captain stepped forward, eyes wary.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
Rolsten said, "He is your brother."
Wilson moved closer and whispered something into Captain's ear.
Captain's eyes flickered with recognition, and he said, "Brother…"
But his face showed nothing.
No change, no emotion betrayed him. He remained calm, almost unreadable.
Wilson's brow furrowed.
"What is the matter? Why does he show no reaction? What have you done to him?" he asked Rolsten.
"He has been like this for months," Rolsten replied quietly.
"He hasn't smiled for the last few months."
Wilson's expression hardened.
"I wouldn't let those traitors live."
Rolsten asked cautiously, "What happened? Can you tell me?"
Wilson shook his head.
"No. I cannot disclose it to you."
"I understand," Rolsten said.
After a pause, Wilson turned to Captain.
"My dear brother… let us remind you of your true name. Our parents gave you the name… *****."
After some time.
Wilson said, "Let's go, *****."
But Captain stopped and said firmly,
"No. I want to train here."
Wilson nodded, understanding, and said, "Okay. You can come here anytime you want, but for now… let's go home."
Captain shook his head again.
"No. I want to stay here with Rolsten and Master."
Wilson smiled, understanding his brother's determination.
"Alright… you can stay. I'll come to see you whenever I want."
He then moved toward Rolsten.
"I am leaving him in your care. Protect him whenever he's in danger."
Rolsten bowed slightly.
"You don't need to worry."
Wilson nodded and departed.
A few years later, Captain sat before the Master once more, while Rolsten and the Master stood nearby.
The Master said, pride evident in his voice, "You have completed your training… and not only that, you have become a Captain.
I am proud of you, Captain. You and Rolsten both are integral to our kingdom, and you know your duty to protect it."
Captain replied humbly, "It is all thanks to your guidance, Master."
The atmosphere was calm, almost peaceful… but Rolsten's mind snapped back to the present.
He saw Uzair barely holding his ground against Yoki, sweat and blood mixing on his brow.
As Uzair struggled to hold his ground, Yoki suddenly shifted his stance—an abrupt, brutal motion.
Without warning, the armored giant dropped his axe to one side and drove his fist forward, straight into Uzair's face.
The impact landed like a thunderclap.
Uzair's head snapped back as his body lifted off the ground and crashed hard into the stone wall behind him.
The wall cracked on impact, dust and fragments raining down.
Blood burst from Uzair's nose and mouth, streaking across his face as he slumped to his knees.
Deep cuts opened where shards of rock had torn into his skin.
Yoki tilted his head slightly, the faint sound of metal shifting beneath his armor.
A low, amused chuckle rumbled from within his helm.
"So… it seems this is the end for both of you," he said, his tone dripping with mockery.
A faint smile crept onto his face — not one of joy, but of sheer amusement at their struggle.
Rolsten gritted his teeth and thought, I need to do something…
On the other side of the city.
Hinata stood calmly amid the sea of bodies — smoke curling in the wind, blood soaking the stones beneath his boots.
His blade dripped crimson as he tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing at the three before him.
The purple-haired girl spun her scythe once, its curved edge gleaming darkly under the burning light.
Beside her, the black-haired man planted his spear into the ground, his expression cool and sharp.
The gray-haired man rested his greatsword across his shoulder, his tone relaxed but his eyes deadly serious.
"Oh, let us introduce ourselves," the gray-haired man said with a confident grin.
"I am Lister."
The spear-wielder followed.
"John."
Then the girl gave a small smirk.
"Amaya."
Lister raised his sword slightly, pointing it toward Hinata.
"We are the Captains of Black Lotus."
Hinata's eyes flicked from one to another — steady, unreadable.
"So… you're all ganging up on me?" he said, his tone almost casual, though his hand tightened slightly on his blade.
"Don't you have any pride?"
Amaya chuckled lightly, her voice smooth but sharp.
"We do. But we're not fools either." She twirled her scythe, its edge humming in the air.
"Who would be stupid enough to fight the man known as the world's third strongest alone?"
Hinata's expression shifted — the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
His black hair fluttered as a hot wind swept through the street.
"So you're not fools," he said softly.
"I'll give you that."
Then, lifting his blade, his eyes sharpened, voice dropping to a cold whisper that carried through the tension.
"But tell me… do you really think the three of you can still defeat me?"
The air grew heavier. Even the wind seemed to stop moving.
Amaya's smirk faltered slightly. John's grip on his spear tightened.
Lister simply grinned, raising his sword high.
"Let's find out."