The Night of the Breakthrough

  The forest was silent, save for the rhythmic chirping of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. Under the pale, silver gaze of the full moon, a small figure sat cross-legged on a bed of moss.

  Ragna was cultivating.

  But this wasn't the struggling, sweating cultivation of his early years. This was fluid. Powerful. The Qi around him didn't just drift; it swirled, drawn into his body like water into a whirlpool. His skin glowed with an ethereal luminescence, and his hair, now long and wild, waved in a wind that didn't exist.

  Then, gravity seemed to lose its hold.

  Slowly, inch by inch, Ragna’s body lifted into the mid-air, suspended by the sheer density of the energy he was channeling. He hovered there for a moment—a deity in miniature—before the glow subsided and he gently drifted back to the ground.

  He opened his eyes. In the darkness, they didn't just reflect the moonlight; they glowed with it, piercing the night with a perfect, crystalline blue.

  "Stage 2 achieved," he whispered to the empty forest.

  And then, with the grace of a sack of potatoes, he flopped backward and immediately fell asleep.

  (Look, being cool takes a lot of energy. Don't judge.)

  The Birthday Gift

  "Good morning," I groaned, peeling my face off the moss.

  I stretched, hearing my spine crack in three different places. Last night was huge. I finally reached Qi Refinement Stage 2.

  I know, I know. “Only Stage 2, Ragna? It’s been years!”

  Shut up. Do you know how hard it is to cultivate when your neighbors are giant spiders? I’m 10 years old now. Double digits. A decade of survival.

  And that reminded me of something.

  I dug into my spatial bag, pushing aside dried meat and monster cores, until my fingers brushed against old, high-quality paper. My father’s second letter. The one marked: "Open when you are 10."

  "Well, old man," I muttered, breaking the wax seal. "Let's see what you have to say."

  I unfolded the letter. The handwriting was rushed, as if he wrote it in a hurry.

  Dear Ragna,

  I hope you are alive. And if you are, I want you to have this—another gift from me.

  I hope it will help you to become stronger. I am giving this to you only now because you were not able to bear it until you turned 10.

  But now, you are ready.

  Just say your full name aloud, and it shall be yours.

  Hope you will become stronger.

  Yours lovingly,

  Akira Crimson

  I stared at the paper. "That’s it? No riddles? No treasure map? Just... say my name?"

  It sounded too simple. It sounded like a trap. But then again, this was Akira Crimson we were talking about. The man didn't do pranks.

  I stood up, cleared my throat, and struck a pose that I thought looked heroic (but probably looked ridiculous).

  "So, I just have to say... Ragna Crimson!"

  For a second, nothing happened.

  Then, the air in front of me shattered.

  A blinding light glowed, tearing a hole in space. From the rift, a weapon slowly materialized, floating down to hover before me.

  It was a sword. But not just any sword. It was sleek, predatory, and radiated a darkness that made the morning sun look dim. The blade was a deep, abyssal black, etched with veins of blood-red that pulsed like a heartbeat.

  "Whoa..." I breathed, reaching out to grab the hilt.

  Meanwhile, at the Crimson Estate

  Miles away, at the Southern Gate, Akira Crimson was preparing for morning drills.

  He walked into his private armoury, a room filled with weapons that cost more than most cities. He reached for his standard greatsword, his mind occupied with reports of monster movements.

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  Suddenly, he froze.

  His eyes locked onto a display stand in the corner. The velvet cushion was empty.

  The Black and Red Sword was gone.

  He blinked, rubbing his eyes. It wasn't stolen. The magical seals on the room were untouched. There was only one way that sword could leave this room.

  "It... it summoned itself?" he whispered.

  A shockwave of realization hit him. The binding spell on that blade was specific. It would only answer to the voice of the one it was gifted to.

  "He called it," Akira gasped, his stoic face breaking into a look of disbelief and overwhelming relief. "He called his name."

  Ragna is alive.

  The sword had simply... gone to its master.

  He didn't walk out of the armoury; he ran. The stoic, feared Commander of the South Gate sprinted through the hallways of his own mansion like a madman, his heavy boots thundering against the marble.

  He burst into the morning parlor where his family was having breakfast.

  "Akira?" His wife, Lady Elara, looked up, a porcelain teacup halfway to her lips. She saw his wild eyes, his flushed face. "What happened? Is it an attack?"

  His son, Kael, and his step-daughter, Leonica, jumped to their feet, reaching for weapons that weren't there.

  "No," Akira gasped, bracing himself against the doorframe to catch his breath. A wild, desperate grin broke across his face—a look none of them had seen in four years. "The Black-Red Blade... it’s gone."

  Elara frowned, confused. "Gone? Stolen?"

  "Summoned!" Akira roared, laughter bubbling up in his throat. "It was summoned! Do you understand? The binding spell! It only answers to him!"

  The room went dead silent. The teacup slipped from Elara’s fingers.

  Crash.

  The sound of shattering china echoed like a gunshot, but no one moved. Elara’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening until they were vast, watery pools.

  "You mean..." Leonica whispered, her voice barely audible. "Ragna?"

  "He’s alive!" Akira shouted, striding into the room and pulling them all into a crushing embrace. "My son is alive! Ragna Crimson is alive!"

  "Oh, thank the gods!" Elara collapsed into her husband’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. The grief she had held back for four years—the image of that small, white-haired boy vanishing into green light—broke the dam. "My baby! My poor baby is alive!"

  Kael, usually the composed genius, was wiping his eyes furiously with his sleeve, grinning like a fool. Leonica buried her face in Akira’s shoulder, shaking. "I knew it," she choked out. "I knew that idiot wouldn't die that easily. I knew it!"

  For the first time in four years, the shadow over the Crimson house lifted. The boy they had mourned, the "failure" who was banished to die, was out there. And he was strong enough to call for a sword.

  The Academy Invitation

  Meanwhile, in the depths of the Forest of No Return, I was busy admiring my new toy.

  The sword was a work of art. It hummed in my hand, a dark, vibrating resonance that felt like a purr. But there was something else in the bag. A second page to the letter.

  "Let's see what else the old man has to say," I muttered, flipping the parchment.

  P.S. — If you are reading this, it means you have survived the impossible. I am proud of you.

  But surviving the forest is not enough. You need to learn to control your power. You need to understand the world.

  There is only one place for that. The Imperial Academy of Razia, located in the capital. It is the gathering place for the greatest talents of our generation.

  The minimum age for entry is 12. The maximum is 14. If you can escape the forest alive, register there. I, your brother Kael, and Leonica will find you there.

  We will be waiting.

  I lowered the letter. "The Imperial Academy, huh?"

  My mind raced. An Academy Arc? It’s the bread and butter of every fantasy story. It’s where you meet the rivals, the love interests, and the arrogant nobles you get to beat up.

  But more importantly, it was a way out. A goal.

  "I’m ten now," I mused, tapping the letter against my chin. "That gives me two years to grind. Two years to turn myself from a survivor into a monster that the capital won't know how to handle."

  Snap.

  A twig broke behind me.

  I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. My Spirit Sense—honed by paranoia and sleeping with one eye open—picked up the disturbance instantly. Not one presence. Three. No... five.

  "You know," I sighed, folding the letter and tucking it safely into my spatial bag. "I was having a nice, emotional moment here. Reading mail from home. Planning my future."

  I turned slowly.

  Emerging from the shadows were five Elemental Howlers. These weren't the F-Rank trash I fought years ago. These were E-Rank Alphas, their fur matted with frost and earth, their eyes burning with hunger.

  "And you guys just had to ruin the vibe," I said, gripping the hilt of my new sword.

  The lead wolf snarled, crouching low.

  "Alright," I grinned, and for the first time, I felt the sword respond to my mood. The red veins on the black blade flared to life. "Let's see if this sword is as sharp as it looks. Showdown time."

  The pack lunged as one.

  I didn't dodge. I didn't roll in the mud. I jumped.

  "Wind Walking!"

  My foot stepped on thin air, and a ripple of green Qi solidified beneath my boot. One step. Two steps. Three steps. I ran straight up into the sky, defying gravity.

  The wolves crashed into the empty space where I had just been, snapping their jaws at nothing. They looked up, confused.

  "Down here, idiots!"

  I plummeted from the air, spinning my body like a drill. I channeled my Qi—not the explosive Phoenix fire, but the dense, heavy pressure of the Dragon.

  "Fiery Wrath!"

  I slammed the blade into the earth in the center of the pack.

  BOOM.

  A shockwave of fire and force exploded outward. It wasn't just heat; it was a physical wall of pressure. The ground cracked, molten fissures spreading like a spiderweb.

  Three of the wolves were blasted backward, their fur singed, yelping as they slammed into trees.

  But two were still standing. Tough bastards. They shook off the ash and charged through the smoke, claws glowing with frost magic.

  "Fast," I analyzed, my eyes tracking their movements in slow motion. "But I'm faster."

  I side-stepped the first frost-claw, letting the ice graze my shirt. With a flick of my wrist, I brought the black blade up.

  Schlick.

  There was no resistance. The sword didn't just cut; it erased. The wolf’s head separated from its body so cleanly that for a second, it didn't even bleed.

  The last wolf faltered. It saw its packmate decapitated in a single motion. It saw the white-haired boy standing in a ring of fire, holding a sword that seemed to drink the light around it.

  It tried to run.

  "Oh no you don't," I whispered. "I need the XP."

  I kicked off the ground—Wind Step again—closing the distance in a blink. I appeared in front of the fleeing beast.

  "Goodnight."

  A horizontal slash. A flash of red light. Silence.

  I stood there for a moment, the forest quiet again. The fire from my attack was slowly dying out. I looked at the sword. There wasn't a drop of blood on it. It had absorbed it all.

  "I really have gotten stronger," I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face.

  I looked up at the patch of sky visible through the canopy.

  "Two years," I promised the wind. "Just wait for me, Academy. I’m going to rock your world.”