The Shift

The ruins stretch out before me, vast and lifeless. My footsteps echo against the broken stone as I walk forward, my mind still tangled in the Hero's words.

Then, the air shifts.

A low hum, almost too quiet to notice. The wind dies. The ground feels heavier beneath my feet.

I stop.

Something's coming.

Before I can react, a blur of motion explodes from the shadows. A blade whistles through the air, aimed straight for my throat.

I barely dodge in time.

The wind howls past my ear as I twist away, stumbling back, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. Dust swirls around me, and from within it, a figure emerges.

Not human.

Towering, armored in jagged black plates, its eyes burn with a deep, unnatural crimson. A war construct—ancient, built for battle, and still running after all these years.

I exhale sharply, steadying myself.

This is it.

This is what I wanted.

A fight.

A chance to prove myself.

The construct lunges again, its blade-arm carving through the air. This time, I don't run.

I step forward.

And I fight.I summon my sword, pushing forward as i swing it the sword towards the war construct. An ancient fighter. Our blades clash in the air, blowing away the air and dust out the surrounding area. The impact rattles up my arm, a shock of force that nearly makes me lose my grip. I grit my teeth, digging my heels into the cracked stone beneath me. The construct doesn't budge.

Its glowing eyes flare, and with a sudden surge of strength, it shoves me back. My feet skid across the ground, dust kicking up around me.

I barely have time to react before it presses forward, moving faster than something that massive should. Its blade comes down in a brutal arc.

I throw my sword up to block. The impact sends a sharp pain through my arms, my knees nearly buckling under the force. I can feel the weight of it bearing down on me, the sheer power behind its strikes.

This thing isn't just fighting.

It's testing me.

I clench my jaw, pushing back with all my strength. "You think I'll break?" My voice is strained but defiant. "Not happening."*

I twist my blade, angling it just enough to deflect the construct's strike to the side. It stumbles slightly, the opening small—but enough.

I move.

Ducking low, I drive forward, blade flashing as I carve an upward strike across its torso. Sparks fly as my sword scrapes against the ancient armor, leaving a shallow gash.

The construct barely reacts.

Instead, it grabs me.

A cold, metal hand clamps around my arm, lifting me clean off the ground. My chest tightens as I struggle, my feet kicking against the air.

Then, without hesitation—

It hurls me.

The world tilts violently as I slam into a broken pillar, pain exploding through my back. I hit the ground hard, coughing as dust fills my lungs. My vision swims, but I force myself to focus.

I can't stop now.

I push myself up, blade trembling in my grip.

The construct is already moving toward me, relentless, unshaken.

I exhale sharply, steadying my stance. "Fine then."

"Let's see who breaks first."

I look up at the approaching figure. I grit my teeth, getting angrier. I plant one foot on the ground as I burst forward, swinging my blade that's aimed at the same spot I hit before. This construct obviously sees this. I quickly spin, dispersing the force as I jump upside down to meet the construct eye to eye, I swing my blade across his exposed red eyes. Leaving a large deep gash on his helmet. The construct jerks back, its head snapping to the side from the force of my strike. A deep gash splits across its visor, the once-blazing crimson glow flickering erratically.

I land smoothly, skidding back as I regain my stance. My breaths are heavy, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.

For the first time, the construct hesitates.

It tilts its head slightly, as if registering the damage. The flickering glow in its eyes stabilizes, burning brighter, sharper—angrier.

Then, it roars.

The sound isn't natural—it's a metallic, grinding screech that shakes the ruins around us. The force of it rattles in my skull, but I plant my feet firmly against the ground.

"So you can feel something," I mutter, gripping my sword tighter. "Good."

The construct lunges.

This time, I don't meet it head-on.

I pivot to the side, dodging its downward slash just in time. The blade crashes into the stone where I stood moments before, shattering the ground beneath it.

Dust and debris explode into the air, obscuring my vision—but I don't need to see.

I move.

I twist around, using the momentum to drive my sword into the crack I left in its visor.

Sparks fly. The construct shudders.

For a split second, everything stops.

Then—

A surge of energy erupts from the wound, a shockwave blasting outward.

I barely have time to react before I'm sent flying backward.

My body crashes into the ground, tumbling across jagged stone before I finally roll to a stop. A sharp pain shoots through my ribs, but I force myself to look up.

The construct is staggering.

Its body twitches unnaturally, the wound in its visor crackling with unstable energy.

I exhale sharply, wiping the blood from my lip.

"Looks like I finally got your attention."*

The construct steadies itself, locking its glowing gaze onto me.

And then, something changes.

The red glow in its visor shifts—deepens—turns into something more.

Not just rage.

Something aware.

A warning.

The real fight is only just beginning.

The air around us shifts.

The glow in the construct's visor stabilizes into something focused, something calculated. It doesn't move immediately. Instead, it stands tall, shoulders squared, blade lowered at its side.

It's analyzing me.

My breathing is ragged, my body aching from the blows I've taken, but I tighten my grip on my sword. I force a grin, ignoring the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. "What? You finally taking me seriously now?"

A low hum vibrates through the ruins. Then—

The construct vanishes.

My eyes widen. No, not vanished—moved.

Before I can even process it, pain explodes through my side as something slams into me with impossible force.

My body twists violently through the air before crashing into a broken wall, stone crumbling around me. My vision spins, a sharp ringing in my ears.

I can't keep up.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself up, but the construct is already there—waiting.

The moment I move, its blade slashes across my chest.

White-hot pain burns through me. My feet skid back, my breath catching as I barely manage to stay standing.

It's faster. Stronger.

And I'm losing.

The realization slams into me harder than the construct's blows.

All my life, I thought that fighting—pushing forward with sheer determination—was enough. That if I just kept moving, fighting, struggling, I'd eventually reach my freedom.

But right now—

I can't move fast enough.

I can't hit hard enough.

I can't win like this.

And the construct knows it.

It steps forward, blade humming with energy, ready to strike the finishing blow.

My hands tremble as I raise my sword. My mind screams at me to move, to fight—

But for the first time in my life, a cold, sharp thought cuts through my rage and determination.

This isn't a fight I can win through force alone.

I exhale, steadying myself.

Fine.

Then I'll stop fighting like a fool.

I'll stop forcing my way through.

And I'll start thinking.

The construct lunges.

This time, instead of blocking—

I step into the attack.

At the last second, I twist my body, letting the blade skim past me, missing by inches. The construct's momentum carries it forward—

Right into my trap.

I pivot, slamming my foot down, and drive my sword straight into the weakened crack in its visor.

This time, I don't hold back.

The construct convulses, the energy in its core destabilizing. Sparks fly, its movements turning jerky, uncoordinated.

I wrench my sword free and leap back just as the construct stumbles forward, struggling to stay upright.

It tries to lift its blade, but its limbs lock, its body shaking violently.

It's done.

I watch as the glow in its visor flickers—once, twice—then finally dims.

With one final, shuddering movement, the construct collapses to its knees. The weight of it sends a dull tremor through the ground.

I exhale, gripping my sword tightly, my body screaming in protest.

I won.

But not because I was stronger. Because I adapted. Because I changed.

I let out a quiet, breathless laugh. "So that's what you meant," I murmur, remembering the Hero's words.

"Freedom isn't just about what you take—it's about what you build."

I lower my sword, staring at the fallen construct.

Maybe I've been looking at this wrong the entire time.

Maybe freedom isn't just about fighting for it.

Maybe it's about understanding what it truly means.

And for the first time—

I want to find out.The construct's body slumps forward, the last flickers of energy in its core fading into silence. The battlefield is still now, save for the distant howl of the wind and the slow, steady rise and fall of my breathing.

I won.

But my victory feels hollow.

I press a hand to my chest where the construct's blade had torn through my clothes, grazing deep into my skin. The pain is sharp, throbbing beneath my fingertips.

One wrong move.

One mistake.

And I would've been dead.

The truth settles over me like a weight. I'm not strong enough.

Not yet.

If I keep fighting like this—relying only on raw willpower, stubbornness, and instinct—I won't last.

And if I die, then what was the point of all this?

I clench my fist, frustration curling inside me. Freedom means nothing if I don't live to claim it.

I need to be stronger. Faster. Smarter. Unstoppable.

I push myself to my feet, ignoring the pain that wracks my body. My vision blurs for a moment, but I force myself to stay steady.

The Hero's voice echoes in my mind.

"You'll end up just like me."

I grit my teeth. No. I won't.

I refuse to be trapped in regret like he was.

I look down at the fallen construct, its broken body still humming with residual energy. If something like this exists out here, then what else is waiting for me?

What other forces stand in my way?

I exhale sharply.

It doesn't matter.

Whatever stands between me and my freedom, I'll trample it.

I'll train. I'll learn. I'll become something stronger than anyone expects.

I roll my shoulders, testing the pain in my limbs. Every inch of me aches, but beneath that pain, something else stirs—

Determination.

I will become stronger.

Because if I don't—

I'll never be free.

I walk over to the defeated construct, bending down to touch it. I can feel the residual soul energy flowing within him.

I squeeze the helmet, absorbing the left over power to heal my wounds and get even a little stronger. I need strength, he overpowered me, and I only survived due to being more skillful, but I won't always be so lucky. Speed and strength can close that gap in an instant if I'm not careful.

But how can I get stronger quickly?

I stand up, looking around for an exit or a hallway to go through. These ancient ruins are massive. The energy from the construct seeps into my body, a cold, crackling sensation running through my veins. My wounds knit together slowly, but the exhaustion still lingers. This wasn't enough.

I release the broken helmet, letting it clatter onto the stone floor.

Why was the construct here?

I take a slow step back, scanning the ruins. The walls are worn, cracked with age, yet intricate carvings still remain—stories of warriors, battles, and… something else.

I trace my fingers along the symbols, eyes narrowing.

A ritual? A forging process?

No—a trial.

The construct wasn't a random opponent. It was a test.

And I barely passed.

I exhale sharply. So, that means there's more. Stronger foes. Greater obstacles.

Good.

I need to face them.

If this place was designed to test warriors, then somewhere in these ruins, there has to be something that will make me stronger.

A weapon. A technique. A source of power.

I roll my shoulders, stretching out my limbs. My body is still aching, but the fire inside me is burning stronger than ever.

I step forward.

There's only one way to find out.

press forward, stepping over the remains of the war construct. The ruins stretch out before me, dimly lit by cracks in the ceiling where slivers of light filter in. Dust dances in the air, disturbed only by my footsteps.

This place… it was built to test warriors.

That means there must be more.

I tighten my grip on my sword as I walk deeper, my eyes scanning every detail—cracked pillars, faded murals, ancient symbols etched into the stone. They all tell a story.

The story of those who came before me.

Some fought. Some failed.

But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that these ruins aren't here to hand out power freely. They demand strength in return.

I stop in front of a massive door. Its surface is covered in markings—no, warnings.

"Beyond this point lies the weight of battle."

I exhale, setting my stance.

Good.

I push the doors open.The room beyond is vast. The ceiling stretches high above, lost in darkness. The floor is smooth, polished obsidian reflecting the dim glow of blue flames that line the walls.

And then—

A shimmer.

At first, it's barely visible, like a heatwave in the air. Then it takes shape—figures, warriors of the past, flickering like ghosts. Each one armed, each one watching me.

I tighten my grip on my sword.

The moment my foot steps forward—

They attack.

Blades slice through the air, impossibly fast. I barely manage to parry the first strike before another slashes toward my side. I twist, ducking low, but they don't stop.

These aren't simple enemies.

They're phantoms of warriors who've fought before me.

Their movements are precise. Calculated. Perfect.

And right now, I'm too slow.

A blade grazes my shoulder. I grit my teeth, pushing forward, but they shift—always one step ahead, always faster.

My strikes don't land. My defenses barely hold.

I'm being overwhelmed.

Then, realization strikes me like a blow to the chest.

This trial isn't about fighting harder.

It's about learning.

If I try to overpower them, I'll lose.

But if I study them, adapt to them—

Then I can become them.

I take a slow breath, steadying my stance. I stop forcing my attacks and start mirroring theirs.

One of them lunges—I sidestep, twisting my wrist at the last second to match their motion.

Another swings high—I shift just before impact, letting the strike glide past my blade.

My movements become sharper. My reflexes, faster.

And for the first time—

I'm not just fighting.

I'm evolving.

The phantoms flicker, their attacks faltering. They recognize it too.

I let out a slow, confident breath.

"This time, I'll surpass you."

I launch forward—

And the real battle begins.

The phantoms flicker, their attacks relentless—but this time, I move with them.

My blade intercepts theirs, not with brute force, but with precision. I meet their strikes at the perfect angle, redirecting the force instead of clashing head-on. My feet shift instinctively, mirroring their footwork, reading the flow of battle as if I've fought like this my entire life.

They aren't slowing down.

But neither am I.

For the first time, I'm not behind.

I'm keeping up.

No—I'm surpassing them.

One of the phantoms lunges—I don't just dodge, I counter. My sword moves like theirs, faster, sharper. It cuts through the flickering figure, and in an instant, they dissolve into shards of light.

The others hesitate for just a moment.

I take advantage of it.

I shift forward, my body flowing through the battlefield like a storm. Every swing is sharper, every step calculated. The remaining phantoms fall one by one, until—

Silence.

I stand alone, my breathing heavy, sweat trickling down my forehead. The blue flames lining the room flicker brighter, as if acknowledging my victory.

I've done it.

I've surpassed them.

But before I can catch my breath—

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The sound echoes through the chamber. Slow, deliberate.

I turn sharply, my grip on my sword tightening.

And there, standing in the doorway, is him.

The Hero.

Watching me.

Judging me.

Waiting.

His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes—something I can't quite place. Approval? Amusement? Pity?

He steps forward, his voice calm yet firm.

"So you learned."

I don't respond immediately. My body still hums with the energy of the fight, my mind replaying every movement. I know what I just accomplished. And yet, hearing it from him… it makes me uneasy.

I exhale slowly, lowering my sword just slightly.

"You knew this would happen." I narrow my eyes. "You knew I'd have to fight them."

The Hero tilts his head slightly. "Of course. That's what this place is for. You wanted strength, didn't you? Strength isn't given—it's earned."

I clench my jaw. He's right, but…

"Then why are you here?" I finally ask. "You already left your place at the top. You've already won your battles. So why are you still in these ruins?"

A shadow crosses his expression for the briefest moment before he speaks.

"Because I know what comes after."

His voice is quieter now, almost… tired.

"You're rushing forward, desperate to get stronger, to claim your freedom. But have you ever stopped to ask yourself…" His eyes lock onto mine, sharp, unwavering.

"What happens when you finally reach the top?"

The air grows heavy between us.

I don't answer.

Because for the first time—

I don't know.The Hero's words linger in the air, sinking into my mind like a blade.

"What happens when you finally reach the top?"

I grip my sword tighter. I don't have an answer—not yet. But I don't look away. I refuse to back down.

The Hero sighs, shaking his head. "You remind me of myself." He lifts his hand, and in an instant—

A blade materializes in his grasp.

Not just any blade—his blade.

It's unlike anything I've ever seen. A blackened steel, humming with power, wrapped in golden engravings that pulse faintly. This is the sword that ended the war, that cut down armies, that sealed his fate.

He steps forward, resting the flat of the blade against his shoulder.

"You've proven yourself against ghosts of the past." His gaze sharpens. "Now let's see if you can stand against the present."

I barely have time to react.

In the blink of an eye, he disappears.

A shockwave erupts from where he stood, stone cracking beneath his vanished presence. My instincts scream at me to move, and I do—just in time.

A blur of steel slices past me.

I twist, throwing my blade up in defense, but he's already repositioned. His sword hums through the air, each strike effortless, precise, unstoppable.

I can't keep up.

Not yet.

But I refuse to lose.

I block a downward slash, my arms shaking from the force. He's testing me—pushing me to my limit.

No—beyond it.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" His voice is calm, unfazed. "The path to strength is paved with battle. If you want to break free, if you want to carve your own fate, then show me—"

He swings again, and this time, I don't just block.

I counter.

A spark of energy rushes through me as our blades clash. The impact shatters the ground beneath us.

And for the first time—

The Hero smiles.

I can't win.

Not as I am.

The difference between us is like a river separating two worlds—impossible to cross.

I then grit even teeth, a surge of anger and energy flowing through me. "No. I refuse to end up like you! I will not live ruled by this world!! I will fight for my freedom, no matter what it may be. I will not regret, I will not surrender. I will not fail!!" I yell as I start fighting harder, fighting for more than just survival. Fighting to win. To win my freedom from this rotten world. And to do that, I must not lose to someone who through all of that away just fromsome pesky fleeting emotion like loneliness!The moment the words leave my mouth, something inside me snaps.

Not in anger—in clarity.

I refuse to be bound by this world's rules. By his regrets. By the weight of the past.

I am not him.

And I will never be him.

I push forward, my sword blazing with intent.

He meets my strike effortlessly, our blades crashing together like thunder. The force of it shatters the stone beneath us, cracks spreading through the ruins like veins of fire.

But this time, I don't just react—I press harder.

My movements shift. My instincts sharpen. I adapt.

Every attack that he throws, I counter faster.

Every opening I see, I exploit without hesitation.

I can feel it—the limit that chained me down is breaking.

For the first time, he frowns.

"You're changing." His voice is unreadable, but his stance shifts slightly. "Good."

He steps back, and in that instant—

I see it.

An opening.

It's small, barely there, but it's enough.

I move.

A single slash—faster than I've ever moved before.

My blade cuts through air—

And strikes him.

A sharp line of crimson appears across his arm.

I did it.

I drew blood.

Silence.

The ruins seem to hold their breath.

Then—

The Hero laughs.

Not mocking. Not bitter.

A real, genuine laugh.

"So you really are different." He wipes the blood from his arm with a smirk, his eyes burning with something new. "Good. That means you might actually make it."

I keep my blade raised, breathing heavy, my body burning.

"Make it where?" I demand.

His smile fades slightly, and his grip tightens around his sword.

"Beyond this world's chains." His voice is quieter now. "Beyond the cycle that binds warriors like us."

I don't understand yet.

But I will.

Because if I want to be free—

I have to keep fighting.

And I will never stop.

The Hero's words echo in my mind.

"Beyond this world's chains. Beyond the cycle that binds warriors like us."

I grip my sword tighter, my body still burning from the fight. "What do you mean?" I demand.

The Hero exhales, lowering his blade. "You've felt it, haven't you? The way this world resists you, tries to keep you bound to its rules." His gaze sharpens. "The way strength is never enough."

I don't answer.

Because I have felt it.

No matter how hard I fight, how much I push forward—something always stands in my way. The world itself. The weight of its history, its rules, its expectations. Like invisible hands, holding me back.

"What are you saying?" I ask, stepping forward.

"That the true battle isn't against me." He gestures around us, at the crumbling ruins, the echoes of past battles still lingering in the air. "It's against everything that keeps us bound."

"The world itself."

The realization hits me like a storm.

That's why he left the top. Not because he was weak. Not because he lost hope.

Because he realized this world will never let us be free.

I clench my fists. "Then tell me—how do I break free?"

His expression darkens. "You're already on the path. But if you keep going…"

The air around him shifts.

His presence grows heavier, darker—

"You will have to shatter the very foundation of this world."cold wind rushes through the ruins.

"This fight was just the beginning," the Hero continues. "You're strong, but you're still bound. If you want to break free, you need to reach the next threshold."

I exhale sharply, my body aching, but I refuse to stop now. "Then show me."

"I already have." He steps back, pointing toward the edge of the ruins.

I turn.

And there—a doorway.

A massive archway carved into the stone, lined with glowing ancient symbols. The air around it warps, distorts, like reality itself is shifting.

"Beyond this gate lies the truth," he says. "It will strip you down to your core. If you survive, you will understand what true power is."

My heart pounds.

This is it.

The next step.

No turning back now.

I take a deep breath, then step toward the gate—

And the moment I cross the threshold—

Everything shatters.

feel like I'm falling.

The ruins, the Hero, the world itself—all of it breaks apart as I'm pulled into something else.

Darkness surrounds me. A void with no form, no time.

Then—

A voice.

Not the Hero's. Not mine. Something older.

"You wish to be free?"

The voice booms through my soul, shaking me to my core.

"Then prove it."

Suddenly—I'm not alone.

Figures materialize around me, shifting in and out of focus. They feel… familiar.

My past enemies. My past failures. My past self.

They charge at me.

And I realize—

This isn't just a battle.

This is my judgment.

slowly stand, my breaths ragged but steady.

The void is gone, the battlefield silent. But inside me, a storm rages.

This world is cruel.

I clench my fists, feeling the raw power coursing through me—the proof that I've shattered my chains.

"I will not let this world shackle me, or anyone else, any longer." My voice is low but unwavering.

The Hero watches me, unreadable.

"I will not let my fate be decided at the whims of fate."

For a moment, neither of us speak.

Then—he smirks.

"So, you understand now."

He steps forward, stopping just an arm's length away. His presence still immense, but no longer suffocating.

"You've felt it, haven't you? The way this world tries to keep us bound. The way fate moves, deciding who rises, who falls, who is meant to be free and who is meant to be caged."

I nod.

"Then what will you do?" His voice is steady, but there's something else beneath it.

Expectation.

Challenge.

I tighten my grip on my sword. I know exactly what I'll do.

"I will destroy the chains that bind this world. I will tear down whatever force decides who suffers and who is free."

I meet his gaze.

"I will create a world where no one is shackled by fate."

The Hero exhales, shaking his head.

"Then you are truly lost."

The words should have felt like an insult. A warning.

But they don't.

Because there is no anger in them. No mockery.

Just… understanding.

"I once thought as you do," he admits, turning his back to me. "That freedom meant breaking the rules of this world. That I could unshackle everyone."

His hands clench at his sides.

"And yet, the more I fought, the more I realized—"

He turns back to me, eyes sharp.

"Freedom cannot be given."

Silence stretches between us.

"You cannot break the chains of others, only your own. That is the truth I learned too late."

His words weigh on me.

But I refuse to accept them.

"Then I will prove you wrong."

A flicker of something—approval? Sadness?—crosses his face.

"Then fight, warrior. If you truly believe in your freedom, in your cause—fight. Prove to this world that fate has no hold over you."

His blade rises.

"Prove it to me."I clench my sword, forcing every ounce of energy within me to condense into the blade.

The air around me warps.

The ground beneath me cracks.

Then—I move.

Faster than ever before.

The dust erupts behind me as I launch forward, the sheer force of my step shattering the earth beneath my feet.

The Hero doesn't move—not yet. He watches, waiting, reading my attack.

But I don't hesitate.

I swing.

My blade meets his.

A shockwave rips through the battlefield.

The air booms. The ground beneath us fractures. The force of the impact disperses every last grain of dust around us, leaving only two warriors locked in combat.

His strength is monstrous—but so is mine.

For the first time, I see his expression shift.

He's no longer looking at me as someone beneath him.

He's looking at me as an equal.

A grin tugs at my lips.

"I told you." My voice is low, burning with fire. "I won't lose."

The Hero's eyes gleam.

"Then prove it."

He presses forward—and the real battle begins.Our swords clash again—but this time, I feel it.

The weight. The sheer force behind his strike.

I dig my heels into the ground, trying to hold my stance, but the impact sends a shockwave through my body. My arms scream in protest, the bones vibrating like they might snap at any moment.

I grit my teeth. I refuse to falter.

He presses forward, overwhelming me. His movements are precise, effortless—a warrior who has long since surpassed human limits.

I barely manage to parry the next blow, but it's not enough.

A knee to my stomach.

The breath rips from my lungs.

A blade swing—I duck.

A strike aimed for my head—I block.

But his strength is monstrous. The force alone sends me skidding backward, my feet digging trenches into the cracked earth.

He's faster. Stronger. Smarter.

I can't win.

No.

I won't accept that.

"You're falling apart," he says, watching me with sharp eyes. "You're pushing beyond your limits, but you haven't broken through them yet."

I breathe heavily, my vision flickering. He's right.

If I keep fighting like this, I will lose.

I can't just fight harder. I need to fight differently.

He stands tall, sword still raised, not a single sign of exhaustion on his face.

"You think you can change the world just by getting stronger?" he asks. "You think power alone is enough to shatter fate?"

His words stab deeper than his blade ever could.

"You've mistaken freedom for power."

My eyes widen.

"What do you think happens when you reach the top?" he continues. "What happens when there's no one left to challenge you? No one left to stand beside you?"

He grips his sword tighter, his gaze filled with something I don't expect—regret.

"I thought like you once. I fought, I conquered, I reached the peak—" His voice lowers. "And at the end of it all… I stood alone."

The wind howls between us, carrying his words deeper into my chest than I'd like.

"You think you're fighting for freedom, but you're still bound by your own chains. Until you realize what freedom truly is—" He raises his sword again. "You will never defeat me."

Something inside me snaps.

Not in rage. Not in desperation.

In understanding.

I've been chasing power to escape my chains.

But what if power itself has been my cage?

No. Not anymore.

I close my eyes for just a second, feeling the energy within me.

I don't need to overpower him. I need to surpass him.

I let go of my desperation. My rage.

And suddenly—I feel it.

Something inside me shifts. My energy no longer resists the world.

It flows with it.

My body feels lighter. My mind sharper. My sword steadier.

When I open my eyes, the Hero sees it.

A flicker of something new.

Something beyond just power.

"Good," he mutters, his grip on his sword tightening. "Now show me."

I raise my blade.

"With pleasure."

I exhale, gripping my sword as something within me changes.

The weight in my chest—gone.

The chains in my mind—broken.

For the first time, I stop fighting just to win.

I fight to become something greater.

The Hero watches carefully. He senses it—the shift.

"You're finally starting to see it, aren't you?" he mutters.

I don't answer.

Instead—I move.My feet push off the ground.

But this time—I don't just move forward.

I disappear.

The moment my body reacts, it moves faster than my mind can comprehend. A split second passes before I reappear, sword already swinging toward the Hero's side.

He barely manages to block.

Our blades clash—but something's different.

The weight behind my attack—it's heavier. Stronger.

Not from rage. Not from desperation.

But from clarity.

The Hero's eyes widen. He's been forced to step back.

The first time since this battle began.

"So you've finally realized it," the Hero says, his stance shifting into something even more serious.

"True freedom isn't just strength. It isn't just power. It's not about breaking the world or controlling it."

His eyes lock onto mine, piercing through me.

"It's about breaking the limits you've placed on yourself."

And I understand.

All this time, I've been chasing power, thinking it was the key to freedom.

But I had shackled myself with that belief.

Freedom isn't something you take.

It's something you create.

And I am creating mine—right here, right now.

I grip my sword tighter.

"I see it now." My voice is firm, unwavering.

"Then prove it," the Hero answers.

We charge at each other—one final clash to decide everything.I swing my sword—but this time, it's different.

Both hands grip the hilt, knuckles white. My entire being focuses on this one strike.

The dark red aura erupts from my blade, crackling with raw energy.

The Hero meets my strike—his sword bracing against mine.

BOOM.

The impact shatters the air around us, sending a shockwave that rips apart the battlefield. The ground beneath our feet fractures, splits, crumbles. The force of our clash throws debris into the sky like a meteor storm.

For the first time—his stance falters.

His blade trembles against mine.

His eyes widen. He feels it.

This isn't just power. This is the culmination of everything I am.

"You've forced me back." His voice is calm, but I hear it—the weight behind his words.

Recognition.

Respect.

"So this is your answer?" he asks.

I don't hesitate.

"No." I push forward, my energy surging. "This is only the beginning."

I press harder, my blade inching closer. For the first time, he's the one being overpowered.

I let out a roar, my aura flaring even stronger. The red glow engulfs us both, swallowing the battlefield in light.

The Hero grits his teeth, trying to hold me back.

But I don't stop.

I won't stop.

With one final burst of strength—

I break through.

His blade cracks.

His stance collapses.

And for the first time in this entire battle—

The Hero is the one sent flying.He crashes into the ruins behind him, debris collapsing around his form. Dust fills the air, obscuring everything.

I breathe heavily, my chest rising and falling, my hands still trembling from the impact.

Then—silence.

The wind howls through the ruins, the only sound left in this broken battlefield.

I stand there, sword still in hand, my aura slowly fading.

And then—

The Hero starts laughing.

A low chuckle at first, then a full, genuine laugh.

He pushes himself up, blood trailing from a cut on his cheek.

His sword—the legendary blade that once seemed untouchable—now bears a crack.

He looks at it, then back at me, and nods.

"You've done it," he says. "You've surpassed what I thought was possible."

The Hero stands, brushing off the dust, his laughter fading into something quieter—something almost relieved.

He examines his cracked blade, running a thumb over the fracture.

"You've done it," he repeats. "You've surpassed what I thought was possible."

I grip my sword tighter, still breathing hard, my body aching from the battle. But I don't let myself relax yet. Not until I hear what comes next.

"You fought with everything you had," he continues. "And you finally saw it, didn't you? The truth beyond strength. The meaning of your own freedom."

I don't answer immediately. I don't need to.

Because I have seen it.

Freedom isn't given. It's not something you steal or take.

It's something you carve out for yourself, with your own hands, your own strength, your own choices.

I exhale, lowering my blade slightly. "So what happens now?"

The Hero smirks, rolling his shoulders. "Now?" He exhales, looking up at the sky. "Now, you decide what comes next."

He meets my gaze, and for the first time, there's no condescension. No judgment. Only mutual understanding.

"I spent my entire life fighting, thinking strength would give me control over my fate. Over this world." He shakes his head. "But in the end, I was just a slave to the idea of power."

I narrow my eyes. "So that's why you abandoned everything? Why you left the top?"

He nods.

"I stood alone for too long. By the time I realized that true freedom wasn't about power, it was too late. Everyone was gone. My past, my name, my reason for fighting—it all became meaningless."

He grips his cracked sword one last time before driving it into the ground.

"So I walked away."Silence settles between us. The battlefield is still.

Then, the Hero speaks again, his voice calm. "But you? You're different."

I raise an eyebrow.

"You still have something to fight for. You still have people who can stand beside you. You don't have to make the same mistakes I did."

His words sink in. Deep.

I spent so long chasing power, thinking it was the only way to break free. But now—I have the chance to make a different choice.

Do I continue down my path alone, carving my freedom no matter the cost?

Or do I take what I've learned and forge a new path—one that doesn't leave me standing at the top alone?

The weight of the decision lingers in my chest.

The Hero watches, waiting.

"So, what will you do?"

The Hero watches me, silent for a moment. Then, he smiles.

Not the smirk of a warrior testing his opponent. Not the weary grin of a man carrying the weight of his past.

A real smile.

"Then you've already surpassed me," he says, shaking his head. "Because I could never say those words back then."

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the battle settle into my bones. My body is aching, burning, exhausted—but I feel lighter than ever.

Because now, I know.

Freedom isn't just about breaking the chains.

It's about choosing how to move forward once they're broken.

I turn my gaze toward the horizon, where the ruins fade into the endless unknown.

"You carry my will, huh?" The Hero chuckles. "Then let's see if you can carry it all the way."

I glance back at him. "What do you mean?"

His cracked sword still stands, embedded in the ground between us.

His eyes flick to it, then back to me.

"You may have beaten me in battle," he says, "but strength isn't just about swinging a sword harder."

The wind shifts. A strange energy pulses through the ruins.

Something is happening.

The Hero's aura flickers, then erupts—not as an attack, but as a presence. A force.

The ruins around us begin to shift, move, awaken.

"Power alone won't lead you to freedom," he says, stepping back. "So let's see if you can truly stand at the top—without losing yourself to it."

The ground beneath us trembles. Shadows stretch and shift.

A new challenge has begun.

And this time—it's not just about strength.The ground rumbles violently, cracks splintering outward from where the Hero's sword stands embedded in the earth.

I instinctively step back, gripping my weapon. Something is coming.

The Hero's smirk fades. His expression shifts to something sharper, more alert.

"This… wasn't supposed to happen."

A deep, guttural sound echoes through the ruins—like the very world itself is exhaling. The air turns heavy, thick, charged with a force far beyond anything we've felt before.

Then, it rises.

A presence.

Ancient. Overwhelming. Watching.

The shadows stretch unnaturally, twisting and writhing like living things. From the cracks in the earth, a dark mist seeps out, pooling together into a towering, formless mass.

Eyes—not one, not two, but dozens—snap open across its body, glowing with an eerie, molten light. A pressure unlike anything I've ever felt presses down on me, crushing, suffocating, wrong.

"What the hell is that?" I mutter, struggling to keep my footing.

The Hero's grip tightens around his broken sword. For the first time since we met—he looks uncertain.

"The remnants of something that should have never woken up." His voice is grim, steady. "Something I thought I destroyed long ago."

The entity shifts, tendrils of darkness unraveling as it takes shape. The air crackles with raw energy.

And then—it speaks.

A voice that isn't a voice at all. A sound that echoes directly into my mind, bypassing words entirely.

"You seek freedom… and yet you walk the path of the chained."

The weight behind those words is unbearable. My chest tightens. My head pounds.

This thing—whatever it is—knows me.

Knows my doubts. My struggles. My fight.

And it is not impressed.

The real battle begins.

The entity's words claw at my mind, dragging something deep from within me—something I refuse to face.

"You seek freedom… and yet you walk the path of the chained."

I grit my teeth, my fists clenching around my sword. What the hell does that mean?

The Hero doesn't move. His gaze is locked onto the shifting, writhing mass before us, his expression unreadable.

"This isn't just some remnant of the past," he mutters, mostly to himself. "This thing… it was here before everything. Before the wars. Before even the gods."

The entity pulses, shifting again. The tendrils of darkness curl inward, and for a moment, I swear it smiles.

"You do not understand the chains that bind you," it whispers—except it's not just whispering to me.

It's showing me.

The world around me shatters.

I'm falling— not in body, but in mind. Images, sensations, and voices rush past me, overwhelming, suffocating.

And then I see it.

A towering throne in a place where no light reaches. Not a king, not a god, but something older. Something that has always been there.

I see the world as it was before—before people like me ever had the chance to fight for freedom.

A world that was never meant to belong to us.

I see chains.

Not physical. Not something you can cut with a blade. But real. Binding everything.

The rules of this world. The limits. The fate decided for every being that walks upon it.

And then I see what happens to those who break those rules.

Not death. Not exile. Something worse.

I see the Hero—long before he became the legend.

Alone. Fighting. Struggling. Losing.

Not to an enemy. Not to a force of nature.

But to the world itself.

I understand now.

This world does not belong to us.

It never did.

And the moment we get too close to true freedom, the world takes it back.