When I asked Rathen to teach me Death Glare, he didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he sat down.
"If you're going to inherit this technique," he said, "you need to understand what it cost."
His gaze drifted far beyond the training grounds.
"Thirty years ago…"
Back then, he and his closest friend, Will, had just become mercenaries.
They climbed to one Silver Star faster than anyone expected.
Will used to joke about it.
"Let's reach three stars before thirty," he'd laugh. "Then we'll open a tavern near the coast and lie about how heroic we were."
Rathen allowed himself a faint smile.
"He wanted to hear the sea every morning."
Will was a Fire swordsman — explosive, aggressive, overwhelming.
Rathen was Earth — defensive, steady, draining enemies slowly while protecting his partner.
They were perfectly balanced.
And completely arrogant.
"We stopped gathering information," Rathen admitted. "We thought strength alone was enough."
That mistake nearly killed them.
A village requested help with a "small goblin colony."
They refused at first.
But the guild promised a recommendation to two Silver Stars.
Greed answered for them.
They attacked without scouting.
At first, it was easy.
Then the forest went silent.
And it stepped forward.
The Goblin General.
Massive. Twisted muscles. One eye milky and unfocused, the other sharp with cruel intelligence. It carried an axe thick as a tree trunk.
By then, Rathen and Will had already spent much of their aura clearing the colony.
The General charged.
The first strike hit like a falling boulder.
Rathen blocked.
Earth aura reinforced his blade.
Blood filled his mouth instantly.
The second strike split the ground beneath his feet.
Will countered with a flaming arc, burning across the General's chest — but it barely staggered.
The battle dragged.
They were tiring.
The General wasn't.
Then it happened.
The General raised its axe overhead and brought it down with monstrous force.
Rathen gathered every last fragment of Earth aura into his sword and blocked.
The blade shattered.
Steel fragments scattered through the air.
The axe buried itself into the ground inches from his face. The edge missed his skull by a hair, slicing across his nose instead.
Before he could react—
The Goblin General's foot slammed into his stomach.
He flew backward and crashed into a tree.
The air left his lungs.
His aura was gone.
His body wouldn't move.
Through fading vision, he saw Will still fighting.
But now Will was struggling.
His flames were weaker.
His breathing ragged.
The General adapted to his rhythm, parrying and countering with brutal precision.
Will stumbled.
The axe cut across his shoulder.
Blood sprayed.
He dropped to one knee.
The Goblin General lifted its axe high.
It was going to end him.
In that moment, Rathen felt something tear inside him.
Not fear for himself.
Fear of watching his friend die.
They once joked:
"If one of us falls, the other drags him back."
Now Will was about to fall.
Rathen tried to stand.
His body refused.
His vision darkened.
Death felt close.
But he refused to close his eyes.
He forced them open.
And stared.
The Goblin General turned toward him.
Their eyes met.
There was no aura left.
No strength.
Only a man who refused to let death take someone precious.
For a single second—
The General froze.
It saw something in Rathen's gaze.
Not power.
Certainty.
The certainty that death had already claimed it.
That hesitation was enough.
Will roared, forcing himself up despite shaking limbs.
With the last of his Fire aura, he unleashed one full-bodied slash.
The General's head separated cleanly.
Its body collapsed.
Rathen finally allowed darkness to take him.
He woke in a temple days later.
Will had dragged him back alone.
Both survived.
But something broke in Will.
His wounds healed.
But when he tried to lift a sword, his hands trembled uncontrollably.
Rathen visited him weeks later.
Will laughed, but it was hollow.
"No more near-death glory," he said. "I'm done."
He never opened that tavern by the sea.
He avoided the coast entirely.
"I blamed myself," Rathen said quietly.
"If I had investigated… if I hadn't chased promotion… he wouldn't have broken."
For years, Rathen replayed that moment.
Why did the General freeze?
Eventually, he understood.
It felt death.
Not aura.
Not power.
Fear.
Raw and unavoidable.
"No living thing escapes the fear of death," Rathen said.
"So I refined it."
He shaped that feeling.
Condensed it.
Turned it into a weapon.
Death Glare.
He looked at me directly.
"This technique was born from failure."
"When you find someone worthy, pass it on."
"And if you can improve it…"
He paused.
"…make it stronger than regret."