Chapter 5: The Rain That Carried Steel

The forest had grown quiet. Too quiet.

Then—

BAM!

The sound tore through the trees like thunder. Birds scattered from the branches.

Vaelrik's body tensed. His hand fell to his sword.

"…What was that?"

He took off running toward the sound, leaping over roots and ducking low branches.

Then—movement behind him.

He spun, narrowly avoiding a heavy swing from the shadows. Wind scraped his cheek. His boots slid against the muddy ground.

From between the trees, massive shapes stepped forward— 

Trolls.

Big. Hulking. At least ten of them. Green-skinned and muscle-bound, their breath steamed in the cold air.

Vaelrik took a half-step back, sweat beginning to slide down the side of his face.

"…This is going to be tough."

He gripped his sword tightly, breathing slow and measured.

> First Form: Tempest Breaker — 3 uses left. 

> Second Form: Heavenrend Calamity — 1 use. 

> Third Form: Riftwalker Fang — 1 use, but… 12 hours of complete exhaustion. Not worth it unless I want to die. 

> Eyes of the Sword God — usable.

He clenched his jaw.

"This isn't the time to hold back."

Aura rose around him—pale, sharp, and vibrating in the air.

> Eye of the Sword God: Activated.

His pupils shifted, glowing faintly. In his vision, lines formed across the trolls' bodies—openings, movement patterns, the paths their muscles would follow.

His sword hummed.

> Sword God Style — First Form: Tempest Breaker.

He stepped forward and slashed.

A burst of wind surged from the blade, wide and cutting like a hurricane. Trees bent. Leaves were torn into shreds. The trolls were thrown back—seven of them fell instantly, crushed and broken.

But the remaining three roared in fury and charged, shaking the forest floor with each step.

Vaelrik forced his aching limbs to move. He wasn't done yet.

Another burst of aura. Another slash.

> First Form: Tempest Breaker!

The wind tore through again—this time less powerful, less focused. Two trolls were caught in it and collapsed, groaning in pain.

But the last one—wounded and wild—rushed in with a club the size of a tree.

Vaelrik couldn't dodge in time. The ground shook as the club smashed down beside him, sending chunks of stone flying.

He was thrown back, his sword flying from his grip.

He crashed against a tree, the air knocked from his lungs. His vision spun. Blood dripped from his nose.

He tried to stand. Nothing moved.

"Did I… faint?"

Rain began falling. Cold and slow.

He blinked, barely conscious, watching raindrops land on his cheek.

His eyes finally closed.

---

Morning.

"…Who is he?"

"I don't know. Found him lying there, surrounded by troll corpses."

"Did he kill them all?"

"Maybe. But for now, let's wait till he wakes."

Voices. Faint but near.

Vaelrik heard them but didn't react. His body ached. His mind was heavy.

> "I'm awake… Just don't feel like moving."

---

Hours later.

A voice snapped through the air.

"He's awake!"

Vaelrik sat up slowly. His head pounded, his muscles groaned.

"…Where am I?"

"You're safe," a girl's voice answered. "I'm Maira. We found you in the forest. You're in our tribe's land now. We're barbarians… sort of."

He blinked at her—dark skin, braided hair, warm smile.

Before he could respond, another voice cut in sharply.

"Maira. How many times have I told you not to call me 'Mom' when I'm working?"

A tall woman stepped out of a nearby hut.

Black hair. Crimson eyes. A gaze that cut like steel.

The aura she carried was unlike anyone Vaelrik had met before—calm, but suffocating. Like a predator that didn't need to bare its teeth to command fear.

"So," she said flatly, "this is the boy who killed ten trolls?"

"We're not sure yet," Maira said quickly.

The woman didn't reply.

She moved.

A sudden blur—she closed the distance in a second and struck with her palm.

Vaelrik raised his arms to block, but his aura hadn't recovered yet. The blow sent him flying into a tree.

He coughed blood and gritted his teeth.

*Thought:* 

> "I can't win like this… But maybe I can land one clean hit."

He stood on shaky legs.

> Sword God Style — First Form: Tempest Breaker!

His blade flashed as he unleashed a full-force slash—his final burst of strength.

But the woman stepped forward— 

Raised her hand— 

And caught the blow.

No technique. No aura burst.

Just strength.

The wind exploded outward, leaves spiraling around them. Her palm bled—but she didn't even flinch.

Vaelrik fell again.

Unconscious.

The woman looked at her hand, red dripping from her fingers.

"…Aggressive little one," she muttered. "His aura almost severed my skin."

She turned back toward the hut.

"I think I'll keep an eye on him."