One Step Behind.

The wolf's eyes gleamed with a chilling sharpness, the instinct of a predator locked onto its target, unwilling to look away even for a heartbeat. 

In those blood-red pupils, the figure standing motionless on the plains appeared to be nothing more than easy prey. 

Not a hint of wariness. No turning back. No sword drawn. 

And then, it lunged. 

From within the dense underbrush where it had been lurking for half the day, the silver-gray beast shot out like a whirlwind. 

Thick claws dug into the ground, jaws wide open, revealing a set of scythe-like fangs worn down by countless kills. 

A hoarse snarl ripped through the wind, carrying the stench of blood and hatred, as it launched itself mercilessly at the slender back ahead. 

But the strike never landed. 

In the instant when victory seemed certain, the figure dissolved into the wind, leaving behind only fading afterimages that skimmed past the edge of the wolf's vision. 

Then came the sound of the wind being torn apart. 

A sword, like a flash of silver light, sliced through from the side. 

One clean cut tore into the wolf's flank, biting deep to the bone. 

A second strike followed, slashing diagonally from the corner of its mouth down toward its lower body, leaving behind a spiral of red pixelated blood twisting in the air. 

The beast howled in pain, its steps staggering from the sudden loss of balance. 

It tried to stay up, but its body betrayed it. All four legs trembled, then buckled beneath its weight, crashing down onto the grass flattened by countless past encounters. 

In its final moments, it thrashed about as if unwilling to accept its fate, and then its body dissolved, breaking into hundreds of glowing red pixels that drifted through the late afternoon breeze like ashes from a dying flame. 

[You have defeated Dire Wolf Lv.3] 

[Exp: +3] 

[Cor: +4] 

Ren exhaled. 

It was hard to tell whether the breath came from exhaustion, frustration, or simply habit after every battle. 

"That was the last one for the quest," he said, voice low and steady, more like a reminder to himself than anyone else. 

He sheathed his sword. The motion was smooth and instinctual, not a second of hesitation, as if he'd done it hundreds, even thousands of times. 

His gaze swept over the spot where the wolf had fallen. Only scorched earth remained, a few crushed blades of grass, and a lonely patch of emptiness. 

Nothing to loot. Nothing to worry about. And nothing that made him feel... different. 

[Lv.6 (433/950)] 

A small number floated before his eyes, cold and detached, like an old signboard on a stone wall. 

Nearly an hour of hunting had earned him only a handful of experience points and a few Cor, not enough to repair his sword and gear, and if he got injured, not even enough for a hot meal at a roadside shop. 

These low-level monsters were no longer a challenge. 

They brought no thrill, no rush of adrenaline. 

Just moving targets, dull, lifeless, like shadows cast by trees in the sun. And worse… they no longer brought growth. 

Not strong enough to push him to his limits, yet draining time as if wringing out the very last drops of his patience. 

A breeze drifted through the fields, carrying the dry scent of withered grass and a faint trace of lingering blood. 

Ren shivered slightly, not from the cold, but from the feeling of being stuck. 

No matter how sharp his blade, how fast his hands, the sensation of treading the same invisible circle wouldn't fade. 

He glanced at the sun, now dipping toward the west, its light being swallowed by the distant line of forest. 

Another day was ending. 

And like every other day, he found himself wondering, was he truly moving forward, or simply slashing endlessly at shadows? 

"A failed battle is worth more than a hundred easy wins." 

"Swordsmanship is battle, repetition, and technique." 

"They were made to kill." 

The words of Klein and Gareth, part advice, part warning, still echoed in Ren's mind, each syllable lingering along his spine every time he tightened his grip on the sword. 

Then reality returned, dry and cold. He was still stuck at the first level of Weapon Mastery. 

Countless hours of training, the tiny cuts on his hands, the endless clashes with monsters, all for a number that barely moved. 

Still Lv.1. 

Still that feeling of stepping into the same sunken spot in the earth, where every step forward was met with a pull backward. 

It wasn't that he hadn't tried. 

He'd tried everything, fought non-stop all day, drilled the same slashes and counters over and over again. 

Sometimes, he felt like he was about to break through, the sword in his hand breathing with him, becoming an extension of his body. 

But then… the feeling would slip away, vanishing like a dream. 

And the system screen would judge him, cold and indifferent: no change, no breakthrough. 

Ren began to wonder, had he done something wrong? 

Or was he simply… not good enough? 

Everyone he met seemed to carry something special. 

Kirito had decisiveness. 

Klein had skill and unshakable conviction. 

Mito had deadly scythe technique and flawless footwork. 

Asuna's strikes were lightning-fast, never missing. 

Argo moved with ghost-like unpredictability and near-invisibility.

Yuna… with just her voice, had changed the entire village.

Nautilus, steady and determined, was progressing so fast—it was as if a beast had finally cast off its chains.

And what about he?

A dull sword in its sheath. A player with no outstanding strengths, no innate talents, not even… luck.

He looked down at his hands.

Hands that had become calloused, bloodied countless times from relentless training.Still the same hands, but somehow, they felt like they belonged to someone else.

A soft breeze swept across the grasslands, carrying the faint scent of brush and damp earth after a sun-scorched afternoon.

Ren gently closed his eyes, letting the wind pass through him. For a moment, the world seemed to fall silent, leaving only the echoes of those three thoughts... and a nameless restlessness.

He knew he couldn't stop.

But he also didn't know how much farther he had to go before reaching the place others had already arrived at.

Ren stood still, watching his two friends, Yuna and Nautilus, defeat the last of the monsters before he could even lift his sword.

It wasn't that he was too slow. They were simply too fast. Too precise.

In just a few short days, they had changed dramatically.

Once, they were the ones he had to protect, guiding them step by step through tall grass and the roars of monsters.

But now… they were catching up. Maybe even on the verge of surpassing him.

Ren watched Nautilus lower his sword after a clean finishing blow.

There was no longer any sign of the hesitation that once froze him in the heat of battle.

His movements were quick, certain, not a gesture wasted.

If it were a duel, Ren wasn't sure he could win easily, if not for his better stats and equipment.

As for skill, reflexes, and boldness… Nautilus was starting to have them all.

Then there was Yuna, like a gust of wind.

Her steps were swift but graceful, gliding without sound, circling behind enemies as if she were dancing across the ground.

Every time she touched the neck of her lute, Ren felt she wasn't just holding an instrument, it was a weapon.

If he left even the smallest opening, she would see it. And move in.

"Monsters."

The word flashed through Ren's mind, not with resentment, but with recognition.With admiration, and a quiet, bitter awe.

He had once thought himself the leader, the one who had to walk ahead to carve out the path.But each day, that distance grew smaller.

Ren tightened his grip on his sword hilt. Not out of jealousy, but because something inside him… felt strangely alone.

As if the road ahead no longer belonged to him alone.

"That's not right." He shook his head, gripping the hilt tighter, as if to hold on to something slipping away.

"It's not that I've gotten weaker… It's that they've gotten stronger."

And yet, because of that, a quiet loneliness crept into his chest. He was no longer the only one who knew how to move in a fight.

No longer the only one who could recognize the distant sounds of monsters.

No longer the sole pillar they leaned on.

Ren wasn't envious.

He was proud of their growth.

But somewhere in those quiet thoughts, he realized something: If he wasn't careful… one day, he might find himself watching from behind.

And that was something Ren couldn't let happen. Not out of pride.

But because… if he wasn't the one leading, he wasn't sure he'd have any reason left to keep moving forward.

The soft light of dusk gently washed over their faces, golden and thin like a veil of dust settling on hair, on clothes, on the lingering traces of battle.

In the quiet tenderness of evening, the three of them walked slowly along the dirt path back to the safe zone of Medai village, where lanterns had begun to flicker to life and the sounds of laughter and chatter rose gently from familiar shops.

A long day came to a close, marked by scratches, sweat, and gasps for air after moments when hearts beat too fast.

But in each step, there was no fatigue, no weight.

Only a strange calm, like the three of them, despite their different reasons for being here, had slowly found a shared rhythm.

As they turned into the square, Ren gave a small nod in farewell to his two friends.Each of them had their own tasks, reporting quests, checking gear, or simply finding a quiet corner to rest.

"See you later at the inn," Yuna said, raising a hand in a gentle wave, her smile flickering like the last ray of sunlight.

Nautilus just nodded slightly too, but his eyes were brighter than usual, as if the thrill of the earlier battle still lingered.

Ren watched as they walked off in different directions… and then turned away himself.

A new evening was beginning, not with blood and combat, but with music, lantern light, and stories shared over hot tea in a corner of the inn.

He kept walking, his heart drifting along with that faint feeling… of peace.