Chapter 4: The Sword and The Snack

  Age: 3 Years Old (Night).

  The world is unfair. Some people are born with silver spoons in their mouths. Others are born with unparalleled magical talent. And then there’s my sister.

  I lay in my crib, staring through the wooden bars at the crib next to mine. Elena was sleeping soundly. She looked like a typical, drooling one-year-old, except for one glaring detail. She was acting as a human night-light.

  A rhythmic, pulsating waves of Golden Light washed over the room. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. It was annoying. It was like trying to sleep inside a lighthouse.

  ‘Turn it off,’ I mentally commanded her. ‘You are wasting energy. Do you know how much Qi you are leaking? If I could harvest that, I would be flying by now.’

  She didn't hear me, of course. She just rolled over, mumbled "Nii-ni," and flared brighter. I sighed. At least I didn't need a candle to navigate the room.

  I sat up. The air in the room was heavy. At night, the atmospheric mana density increased. For a normal mage, this was the "Golden Time" for meditation. For me, a "Mana Void," it felt like gravity had just increased by 50%.

  My shoulders sagged under the weight. My heart beat faster to pump blood through compressed veins. Most toddlers would be crying. I cracked my neck. Pop. Pop.

  ‘Excellent condition,’ I assessed. ‘The resistance training is automatic. I am getting stronger just by sitting here.’

  I turned my attention to the crib lock. It was a simple iron latch. Three days ago, I had pilfered a chicken bone from lunch, sharpened it against the stone wall, and used it to dismantle the locking mechanism. I pushed the gate. Click. It swung open silently.

  I dropped to the floor. Thump. I absorbed the impact by circulating Qi into my knees. Silent landing. Perfect execution.

  I looked at the window. Outside, the wind was howling. The temperature dropped to near freezing at night in this border region. Most people would stay in the warm room.

  But I had a mission. Earlier today, my father had thrown away a Rank 1 Horned Wasp. To him, it was a dangerous pest. To me, it was a protein bar wrapped in a Mana Core.

  ‘Objective: Search and Devour.’

  I crawled toward the window, moving with the fluidity of a centipede. I unlatched the window and slipped out into the garden.

  The cold hit me instantly. It bit into my thin pajamas, seeking the warmth of my skin. I didn't shiver. Shivering is a waste of calories. instead, I tightened my pores and circulated my blood flow to my core.

  ‘Comfort is for the dead,’ I thought, my breath forming a white cloud in the dark. ‘The living must struggle.’

  I navigated the garden. The rose bushes were shadows in the moonlight. The spot where I had orchestrated the "Ant War" was now a muddy puddle. I crept toward the fence line, where the forest began. That was where Father had thrown the bug.

  I was about ten meters from the fence when I stopped.

  ...Silence.

  The wind had stopped. The crickets had stopped. Even the rustling of the leaves had ceased.

  An unnatural stillness had descended upon the backyard. I knew this feeling. In the Murim, we called this "The Breath of the Dragon." It happens when a predator so dangerous enters the area that nature itself holds its breath out of fear.

  ‘An assassin?’ I pressed myself flat against the wet grass, my heart rate slowing to a crawl. ‘Did the Church find Elena? Did a High-Rank Beast cross the barrier?’

  I peeked through the gaps in the rose bush.

  There, in the center of the training ground, stood a man. It wasn't an assassin. It was my father, Baron Arthur.

  He wasn't wearing his armor. He stood in a thin, sweat-drenched linen shirt and loose trousers. His feet were bare against the freezing mud. In his hand was his sword a heavy, chipped slab of iron that looked like it had seen better days.

  He looked pathetic. His shoulders were slumped. His breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps. He looked like a tired, middle-aged man who was worried about taxes.

  ‘What is he doing?’ I frowned. ‘Go to bed, old man. You’ll catch a cold.’

  But then, his breathing changed.

  Inhale.

  The air around him seemed to vanish. His slumped shoulders straightened. The fatigue, the worry, the weakness... it all evaporated. For a split second, the "Baron" disappeared. Something else took his place. A sharp, cold, and absolute presence.

  He raised the sword. No Mana gathered. There was no blue glow, no magical sparks. According to the laws of this world, a sword without Mana is just a metal stick. It can't cut armor. It can't kill monsters.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Arthur didn't care about the laws of this world.

  He stepped forward. The mud didn't splash.

  Slash.

  He swung the sword vertically. It was a simple movement. Up to down. But my eyes eyes that had watched the greatest masters of the Murim duel for supremacy widened in genuine shock.

  The sword didn't "cut" the air. It erased the space in front of it.

  There was no sound. The sound came a full second later.

  VWWOOM.

  A vacuum wave tore through the garden. Ten meters away, a thick oak branch as wide as a man's thigh silently separated from the tree. It didn't splinter. It didn't crack. It just slid off, the cut surface as smooth as a mirror.

  Thud.

  The branch hit the ground.

  I forgot to breathe. I stared at the back of the man I had dismissed as a "weak father."

  ‘That wasn't Mana,’ I realized, my mind racing. ‘That was Sword Intent.’

  In the Murim, there are levels to swordsmanship. Level 1: Cut with Strength. Level 2: Cut with Qi. Level 3: Cut with Mind.

  To reach Level 3, you have to be insane. You have to believe in your blade so deeply that reality bends to match your imagination. I had a subordinate like that once. The Sword Demon. A lunatic who trimmed his fingernails with a greatsword because "scissors lack intent."

  My father... he had that same aura. A Grandmaster. A Sword Saint hidden in the skin of a country bumpkin.

  "Gah...!"

  The aura shattered. Arthur dropped to one knee, clutching his chest.

  "Cough! Cough! Haa...!"

  He hacked violently, his body convulsing. A spray of dark blood splattered onto the pristine white snowdrops.

  The Mana Clog. I saw it with my spirit eyes. A dense knot of hardened mana arteries right next to his heart. Every time he exerted himself, every time he channeled that "Intent," the backlash slammed into his heart like a hammer.

  He was a dragon chained by his own biology. If he fought for more than three minutes, his heart would burst.

  "Damn it..." Arthur whispered, wiping the blood from his lips with a trembling hand. "Still not enough. Not enough to protect them."

  He looked at the fallen branch, his eyes filled with self-loathing. He didn't see the miracle he had just performed. He only saw that he had coughed blood again.

  "If the Capital comes..." he muttered, standing up unsteadily. "I need to be stronger."

  He sheathed the sword. He didn't look like a master anymore. He just looked like a sick, tired father. He walked back toward the house, dragging his feet.

  I remained in the bushes, the cold mud soaking into my knees.

  ‘Respect,’ I thought. It was a rare emotion for me. I usually only felt contempt or indifference.

  ‘I thought you were just a wallet. A source of food and shelter. But I was wrong.’

  I looked at the perfectly cut branch. ‘You are a warrior, Arthur. You reached the pinnacle of skill without the blessing of Mana. You are walking a path of thorns barefoot.’

  I nodded to myself. ‘I acknowledge you. You are worthy of being the father of the Heavenly Demon.’

  I looked down at the dark blood staining the white snowdrops. I knew exactly what was wrong with him. The doctors of this world called it a "Mana Clog" and said it was incurable. ‘Amateurs,’ I scoffed internally.

  In the Murim, we would call this a "Heart Meridian Deviation." It was a messy knot of energy, true. But it wasn't a death sentence. A few acupuncture needles in the Baihui and Tanzhong points, combined with a surge of pure Heavenly Demon Qi to flush the blockage, and he would be better than new. He wouldn't just be healed; he would likely break through to the next realm.

  I looked at my tiny, chubby hands. ‘But not today.’

  I clenched my fist. ‘Right now, my Qi is too weak. If I tried to unclog his heart with this pathetic trickle of energy, the pressure would kill him instantly. I need to be at least Stage 3 to perform the surgery safely.’

  I watched his retreating figure disappear into the house, a silent vow forming in my mind.

  ‘Don't die yet, old man. You are destroying your body to protect this family. To repay that debt... I will fix you. One day, I will take that broken body of yours and forge it into perfection. That is the Heavenly Demon's promise.’

  Silence returned to the garden.

  Silence returned to the garden.

  Grumble.

  My stomach roared. A deep, guttural sound that vibrated my ribs. Right. The touching moment was over. Respect is great, but respect doesn't fill the Dantian.

  ‘Mission resume.’

  I crawled through the fence, my sentimentality vanishing instantly. I scanned the undergrowth. Where is it? Where is my prize?

  I pushed aside a fern. There.

  The Horned Wasp. It was lying in a puddle of mud. Its wings were crumpled. It was dead, cold, and wet. To a normal person, it was a piece of garbage. To me, it was a 5-star meal.

  I picked it up. It was heavy. The exoskeleton was hard, like plastic. I wiped the mud off on my sleeve. (Sorry, Mother. Laundry day will be tough).

  I inspected the stinger. ‘Venom sac is intact. Good. Poison is spicy. I like spice.’

  I opened my mouth. I didn't hesitate. Hesitation is for people who aren't starving for power.

  Crunch.

  I bit the head off first. The sound was loud in the quiet night. Like stepping on a dry leaf.

  Then came the taste.

  "Ugh..."

  It was vile. Imagine drinking battery acid mixed with rotten lemons and old pennies. The texture was worse. The legs tickled my throat as they went down. The slime from the abdomen coated my tongue in a bitter film.

  ‘Flavor Profile: Absolute Garbage,’ I critiqued internally, chewing grimly. ‘Chef’s recommendation: Do not eat.’

  But then... Heat.

  As the carcass hit my stomach, the tiny Mana Core dissolved. It wasn't much. Maybe 0.001% of what I used to have. But to my empty, starving body, it felt like a bonfire.

  The Primordial Physique woke up. It didn't just absorb the energy; it ripped it apart. The venom? Converted to heat. The mana? Converted to Qi. The protein? Sent to the muscles.

  Thump-thump.

  My heart beat stronger. The red glow in my eyes intensified, illuminating the dark bushes like two burning coals. I felt the Qi trickle into my meridians. It was a dirty, wild energy, but my body purified it instantly.

  I finished the tail. I licked my fingers.

  ‘More,’ the demon inside me whispered. ‘That was just an appetizer. I need a main course.’

  I looked at the dark forest beyond the fence. The "Zone 1" woods. I could hear wolves howling. I could smell the musk of Goblins.

  For a second, I considered crawling in there and hunting a wolf. Then I looked at my chubby, toddler legs. ‘...Not yet,’ I decided with cold logic. ‘I have the spirit of a tiger, but the body of a hamster. If I go in there now, I am simply Uber Eats for a coyote.’

  I turned back toward the house. I had gained a sliver of power. I had gained respect for my father. And I had the lingering taste of bug guts in my mouth.

  ‘A productive night,’ I concluded.

  I crawled back toward the window, my red eyes fading as I suppressed my Qi. Tomorrow, I would start training with a weapon. If my father could cut space without Mana, then I who had both Qi and his bloodline had no excuse to be weak.

  I slipped back into the room. Elena was still glowing.

  ‘Goodnight, flashlight,’ I thought, climbing into my crib. I closed my eyes, the taste of the wasp still lingering. It tasted like... potential.