CHAPTER THREE

Chapter 3: Growth and Discovery

Seven years had passed since Kaïdën first began his secret training. He was now twelve years old, and his body had undergone significant changes. His muscles were lean yet strong, his reflexes sharp, and his mind more disciplined.

From a young age, he had been obsessed with martial arts. Every spare moment was spent training—practicing movements, refining his balance, and focusing on calisthenics rather than heavy muscle-building. He didn't want to be bulky; he wanted to be fast, precise, and deadly.

But no matter how hard he trained, he knew it wasn't enough.

Without proper instruction, without access to real martial techniques, he would never step onto the true martial path.

He learned about this world through school, overhearing conversations, and observing the people around him. He knew he lived in the city of Blessity, one of the many cities in the country of Tenria, located on the Loungey Continent. But that was all.

What he did know, however, was that this world revolved around martial arts.

Everyone trained.

From commoners to nobles, martial strength determined one's status and future. Yet despite his burning passion, Kaïdën had no clear path forward.

Until his twelfth birthday.

That evening, as he sat in their dimly lit home, his father, Thrain Blackwood, placed a single slip of paper in front of him.

Kaïdën picked it up, reading the words carefully. His breath caught in his throat.

Silver Fist Martial Studio – Membership Enrollment

His hands trembled. He knew this place.

An E-Grade martial studio. Respected. Competitive. Expensive.

He looked up, stunned. "H-How did you—?"

His parents exchanged glances. His mother, Lirien Starweaver, gave a soft smile, but Kaïdën could see the tiredness in her golden eyes.

"You've worked hard," she said gently. "You deserve this."

His father, always the quieter of the two, simply grunted. "Just don't waste it."

But Kaïdën wasn't convinced.

He knew their financial situation. His father was a hunter, but with nobles monopolizing the best hunting grounds, he barely made enough. His mother worked long hours as a seamstress, her hands rough from years of stitching.

How could they afford this?

That night, he found out.

Lying awake, he overheard their whispered conversation.

"You shouldn't have done that," his mother said, her voice tight with worry.

"I had no choice, Lirien," his father replied. "We don't have the gold, and I won't watch our son waste away in a city that offers him nothing."

Kaïdën's stomach twisted.

His father had done something dangerous.

"I went into the Graywoods," Thrain admitted.

Kaïdën's blood ran cold.

The Graywoods.

A forbidden forest beyond Blessity's walls. Only licensed martial hunters entered its depths, for it was home to beasts far deadlier than ordinary animals.

"You could have died," his mother whispered, anguish in her tone.

"I know," Thrain sighed. "But I didn't.Me and a couple of friends tracked a nightfang and took it down, though it seem injured."

Kaïdën's breath caught.

A nightfang?

A creature strong enough to rip through steel. Its hide was worth a fortune, its fangs used to craft deadly weapons. Even martial artists struggled to hunt them.

His father—**a common hunter with only a little bit of martial training—**had risked his life for that bounty.

"And the rest of the money?" his mother asked quietly.

A long silence.

"I sold the brooch," she finally admitted.

Kaïdën's eyes widened.

The brooch.

A family heirloom, passed down for generations. It was the only connection his mother had to her noble ancestry—her most cherished possession.

And she had sold it.

For him.

Kaïdën stared at the ceiling, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

His father had risked his life. His mother had given up her past.

All so he could train at Silver Fist Martial Studio.

He had no words.

Only a single thought burned in his mind:

I will not waste this chance.

The next morning, Kaïdën stood at the entrance of Silver Fist Martial Studio, his heart pounding.

Martial studios were ranked from F to A, with higher grades offering superior training and stronger instructors. Silver Fist was an E-grade studio—not prestigious, but respectable. It even had a Martial Adept as its protector, making it one of the best options for commoners like him.

As he stepped inside, he took a deep breath, his resolve hardening.

This was it.

The first step in his martial journey.

His parents had sacrificed too much for him to fail.

No—he would thrive.