"A sword that has never tasted battle is nothing more than polished steel." Four years passed. Rama was now twenty-two years old. The boy who had once struggled to lift a wooden sword had become a warrior whose very presence commanded silence. His face remained calm. His movements were effortless. His eyes carried neither pride nor fear. Only focus. Every morning, before the first rays of sunlight touched the earth, Rama was already meditating. Nothing in his routine had changed. Only he had. On the morning of his twenty-second birthday... Roza stood outside their home, staring at the mountains. She knew the day she had feared for years had finally arrived. Rama stepped outside, carrying the two swords he had trained with since childhood. He quietly stood beside her. Neither of them spoke. The wind said enough. After a long silence, Roza finally broke it. "...It's time." Rama nodded. "I know." She turned toward him. "Today, your training ends." Rama looked at her. "...And my journey begins." Roza smiled proudly. "Exactly." She led him to the backyard. Buried beneath an old cherry tree was a wooden chest. Rama had never seen it before. Roza knelt and slowly opened it. Inside... Lay two beautiful swords. Unlike his old training blades, these were masterpieces. The steel shimmered beneath the morning light. Rama stared silently. "...These are..." Roza gently picked one up. "They belonged to your father." Rama's eyes widened slightly. "He never deserved to carry them until the end..." She placed the first sword into Rama's right hand. "But perhaps..." She placed the second into his left. "...they were always waiting for you." For several seconds... Rama simply looked at the swords. He could almost feel the weight of his father's unfinished dream resting in his hands. Roza stepped back. "Show me." Without saying a word... Rama closed his eyes. His breathing slowed. The wind circled around him. Then— SHING! Both swords left their sheaths in the same instant. His body disappeared. The sound of steel echoed through the valley. One strike. Ten strikes. A hundred. The air itself seemed to split apart. Leaves floated silently before being cut into perfect halves. When everything became still again... Both swords were already back inside their sheaths. Roza smiled. "...Beautiful." Rama looked at his mother. "Am I ready?" Roza remained silent for a moment. Then she walked toward him. She gently placed her only hand on his face. "No warrior is ever truly ready." She smiled softly. "They simply choose to walk forward." She reached into her robe and handed him a small cloth pouch. "What is this?" "Open it." Inside... Was a tiny wooden charm. It was old. Simple. Worn by time. Rama looked confused. Roza laughed quietly. "You made that for me when you were six." "I... kept it?" "I kept everything." Rama stared at the charm without speaking. Roza gently closed his fingers around it. "You don't have to carry it." "But whenever you begin to forget who you are..." "...remember where you came from." Rama carefully placed it inside his bag. "I will." As the sun climbed higher... The moment neither of them wanted finally arrived. Rama bowed deeply. "Mother." Roza nodded. "Go." He turned around. One step. Then another. Without looking back. Roza watched him disappear down the mountain path. Only after he was completely gone... Did the tears finally fall. She whispered into the wind. "Joro..." "Our son has surpassed us both." Hours later... Rama reached the edge of civilization. For the first time in his life... He saw crowded streets. Merchants shouting. Children laughing. Blacksmiths forging weapons. Travelers from distant kingdoms. Everything felt unfamiliar. Yet his expression never changed. People couldn't help but stare. A young man carrying two swords... Walking with complete silence. One merchant whispered, "Is he a mercenary?" Another replied, "No..." "He walks like someone who's never lost." As evening approached... A loud cry shattered the peace. "Help!" "Bandits!" "They're attacking the village!" People immediately ran away in panic. Some hid inside their homes. Others abandoned their carts. Only one man... Walked toward the danger. Rama. Without rushing. Without fear. Without hesitation. From the top of a hill, he looked down. Nearly twenty armed bandits surrounded a small village. Their leader laughed as houses burned behind him. "Take everything!" "Leave no witnesses!" Rama slowly placed one hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes remained calm. For the first time... His training was about to face reality. The leader noticed him. He burst into laughter. "Look!" "A single swordsman!" The other bandits laughed as well. "Kid!" "Do you really think you can stop all of us?" Rama looked at them quietly. Then he answered with a calm voice. "I didn't come here because I think I can." A brief silence fell. "I came here..." "...because you're hurting people who cannot defend themselves." The bandits laughed even louder. Their leader drew his axe. "Kill him." Twenty armed men charged toward a single warrior. Rama slowly closed his eyes... And rested his hand upon the hilt of his sword. End of Chapter 4 "In the next chapter... the sword will leave its sheath for the first time." ⚔️🔥

Chapter 4: The First Step Into War