"Jangre?" Guan Yu's smile broadened. "A peculiar name, wouldn't you say?" He strolled towards his companion, and together they closed in on me. With a pat on my shoulder, he asked, "Do you know of the Abraham clan?"
I maintained a calm façade. "I know little of them, save for Aaron Abraham."
Guan Yu's eyes sparkled with interest. "How do you know him?"
"We were classmates," I replied.
"Eden Academy, I presume?" Guan Yu's smile never wipped.
"I was a student there, but I've since left."
"Why?" he probed.
"Theories only took me so far. I craved practical experience."
Guan Yu chuckled. "A wise choice. It might serve you well in the future."
His tone turned serious. "We hail from Elder Primordium, investigating the Abraham clan's pill operations. We're gathering evidence to bring them to justice – annihilation and punishment await them."
The other man glared at me. "Keep this encounter under wraps, young man. Continue your journey. Let us handle ours."
I parted ways with Guan Yu, his enigmatic smile lingering in my mind. No surprise at his attire – this world's cultures echoed those of my past world. I hunted till dawn, returned to our farm, and immersed myself in swordsmanship till midnight. Exhaustion claimed me, and I slept.
Five years unfurled. I rose from meditation, approached a photo of Nolan, garlanded with flowers. A displeased expression shadowed my face as I stood before it, memories of a life unaltered stirring unease. Nolan, died from someone's heavenly tribulation in a Level 1 ascension, his fate unchanged.
Leo, in contrast, thrived. He'd reached Level 12 echelon, his mana cultivation remarkable. Even beasts transformed after Level 7; Leo's power now surpassed mine.
We hunted together, I with sword, he with claws, amidst lurking Nimrods. After, I tended my flock, fed Leo, and practiced till midnight.
Fifty years drifted by. I arose from lotus position, mana surging through me. A young man stood before me – well-built, white shirt, brown pants, with faint canine hair on arms and chest, brown eyes regarding me calmly. I smiled, unsheathed my sword, and performed Broken Blade Perseverance's first form.
"I've reached Level 12 echelon, Leo," I said, swinging my blade.
"Yes, Master, I see it," Leo replied, tranquil.
I sighed. "I told you not to call me that."
"My heart insists," he said. "It tells me to follow you, alongside your life."
I shrugged. "Yeah, whatever."
Five decades had passed, yet the Abraham clan remained untouched, their crimes unpunished. Elder Primordium's inaction puzzled me. Rumors whispered that Micajah and Aaron had ascended to Level 3 echelon, poised to breach Level 2. Vale, too, had risen to Level 3, his team – Ran and John – renowned in Hera Kingdom.
I ventured into town, procuring groceries before visiting the Anti-Nimrod Centre, where hunters earned their keep by vanquishing monsters. Upon returning to my farm, I immersed myself in swordsmanship practice. Leo approached, curiosity etched on his face.
"Master, why adhere to this swordsmanship? Why not adopt a more refined technique?" he asked.
I sheathed my sword. "Leo, swordsmanship isn't strong or weak – swordsmen are. A technique's potency lies in its creator, not the technique itself. True mastery arises when a swordsman forges his own path."
I swung my sword, inviting Leo to train. He declined with a gentle smile, opting instead to hunt solo in the forest, his Level 6 echelon prowess now granting him independence.
"Leo, why follow a master as feeble as I?" I asked, a hint of jest in my tone. "I couldn't scratch you, even with all my might."
Leo's voice waded through the silence like a gentle stream, carrying words that anchored themselves in my soul. "Master, it's not about you – my heart has chosen this path. In the secret lexicon of my soul, your name is etched as the north star. Even those sheep, with their woolly innocence, would attest: they'd follow you, if they could speak, drawn by the quiet magnetism of a heart that knows its course."
His gaze locked onto mine, burning with a quiet fervor. "A true king remains a king, not because of crowns or thrones, but because his reign extends beyond the tangible – to the hearts of those who trust him, be they wild or tame. You, Master, are that king, your dominion woven into the fabric of loyalty itself."
"Me, a king?" I echoed, incredulous. "What are you talking about?"
Leo's smile hinted at secrets yet untold. "You'll grasp it eventually, Master. Now, I'm off."
I swung my sword, delving into Broken Blade Perseverance's first form. A pang of oversight struck – I'd neglected to name it. Names held weight in this world; I'd assign one later. My blade danced till sunset, when Leo returned, his attire splattered with Nimrod gore. He watched, silent, as I practiced till midnight.
As Leo's voice echoed across the desolate expanse of our farm, his words hung like a challenge in the air. "Why such unyielding fervor, Master?" he asked, his eyes narrowing with concern.
I stood tall, my frame etched against the dying light, and my voice emerged as a low, resolute growl. "Leo, six decades have unfurled like autumn leaves, and I remain anchored at Level 12 echelon. The stagnation gnaws at me – I've not trained enough. The fire within demands more; my destiny beckons."
Leo's incredulity lashed out like a whip. "Master, you've trained with a madman's zeal for 50 years! How can you deem it insufficient?"
My gaze turned inward, and my voice dropped to a whisper, laced with an unspoken vow. "If I've failed to breach the threshold, it's not my method that's flawed – it's my soul. I haven't trained enough to satisfy the unseen architects of this world's power."
Leo's plea fluttered like a dying ember, extinguished by my resolve. "Master, please stop; you're consuming yourself."
Unheeding, I unsheathed my sword, and the steel sang as I swung it with a ferocity that defied exhaustion. Hours blurred; my consciousness waned, yet my body instinctively continued the dance, a macabre waltz of blood and steel. Leo watched, a silent sentinel, as I trained till my hands were crimson spectacles of my unyielding will.
A week passed in a haze of crimson and sweat. My gaze, like a dying star, turned skyward, and tears mingled with the blood and dirt corking my face. The reflection in those tears showed a stranger – gray-haired, bearded, a 76-year-old man in this cycle. Yet, memories of my son, wife, and family in my past world pierced my resolve like shards of glass, fueling a fire that threatened to consume me whole.
"I'll see them again," I vowed, my voice a primal growl, raw with longing. "I'll fight any foe, shatter any shackle, to reclaim my world. To achieve that, I must transcend this frail flesh. My lack of talent – my albatross, my crucible – I'll shatter it beneath my heel."
A pause, and my gaze turned inward, like a lantern cutting through shadows. "My talent lies dormant, not abandoned – a locked gate, not barren soil. If I can't breach its threshold, it's not the world's decree, but my own unyielding limit. The truth tolls like a struck bell: I'm not strong enough to shatter this ceiling... yet."
My eyes hardened, two flims piercing the gloom. "The path unwinds before me, a relentless march – I need to train till my spirit outgrows this shell, till breakthrough becomes my only truth."
The next day, Leo and I stalked the forest, our blades claiming Nimrods with a ruthlessness that bordered on madness. I trained in every fight, pushing myself to the precipice of collapse. Leo's protests were futile; I hunted through midnight, and the next day, unrelenting.
A week passed, and I stood, a bloodied, battered icon of defiance, gazing skyward. "One above the sky," I declared, my voice a solemn, unbreakable oath, "I'll reach my destiny."
Turning to Leo, I smiled – a calm, terrifying resolve etched on my face. "Leo, I've named my first form."
Raising my sword, a crimson arc against the sky, I proclaimed, "Krudha Kaal."