Sweat dripped into Leon's left eye, stinging like a needle. He blinked it away, refusing to lower his stance. Heavy, wet soil clung to his boots, a testament to the hours spent tracking this beast through the overgrown thickets of the outer Whispering Woods. Air hissed through his teeth as he shifted his grip on the leather-wrapped hilt of Hearth-Ender. This greatsword was absurdly massive, easily measuring six feet of dark, heavy steel. Most grown mercenaries struggled to lift it, let alone swing it with any semblance of control. Sixteen years old, and he carried the monstrous slab of iron like a natural extension of his own limbs. His shoulders, broad and corded with lean muscle, ached from the sheer weight. Yet, a bright, stupid grin stretched across his dirt-smudged face anyway. "Come on, you overgrown pork chop," Leon whispered, his voice cracking slightly with youth. His blue eyes scanned the dense foliage ahead. Birds had long since stopped singing, leaving a suffocating silence in their wake. Deep in his chest, a nagging emptiness clawed at his focus. His mana pool was bone-dry. A glowing, semi-translucent system screen hovered in his peripheral vision, flashing a dull red warning. *Mana: 3/120 (Depleted)* *Warning: Low mana may cause physical fatigue and limit skill activation.* He dismissed the screen with a quick mental flick, ignoring the persistent throb in his temples. Relying on magic had never been his strong suit anyway. He preferred the solid, honest weight of steel in his hands. Besides, the academy entrance exams were only a few weeks away, and he needed to prove he could handle himself without relying on cheap parlor tricks. He had spent his entire life preparing for this moment, and he wasn't about to let a little fatigue stand in his way. Twigs snapped with the force of a small explosion. A massive shape burst through the wall of briars, kicking up a storm of dark earth and shattered branches. It was a Dire Boar, easily twice the size of a carriage, its hide caked in dried mud and old scars. Red eyes, burning with an unnatural, frenzied light, locked onto Leon immediately. Two curved tusks, each as long as a man's leg and jagged at the tips, gleamed wickedly under the filtered canopy. The beast snorted, venting a cloud of thick, foul-smelling steam from its nostrils. "There you are," Leon laughed, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip. He didn't take a step back. Instead, he lowered his center of gravity, planting his back foot deep into the loam. Earth trembled as the boar charged. The sheer momentum of the creature tore up the forest floor, turning grass and roots into a muddy slurry. It was a living battering ram, carrying enough kinetic force to shatter a stone wall. Leon waited, counting the heartbeats in the rhythm of the pounding hooves. Ten yards. Five yards. Suddenly, he swung Hearth-Ender upward in a sweeping, violent arc. The heavy blade cut through the air with a low, threatening whistle. He didn't try to dodge; he met the charge head-on, aiming the thickest part of his flat blade directly against the oncoming tusks. Metal collided with bone with a deafening crack that echoed through the trees. A shockwave of pure physical force traveled up the length of Hearth-Ender, slamming into Leon's arms. The impact jarred his teeth, rattling his skull so hard his vision blurred for a terrifying second. Leon’s heels dug deep furrows into the ground as he was pushed back three feet. His muscles screamed in protest, his veins bulging against his skin. Despite the agonizing strain, a thrill of pure, unadulterated exhilaration surged through his chest. He grinned, a carefree and slightly reckless joy bubbling up inside him. This was what it meant to be alive. This was the thrill he had been craving. "My turn," he roared, channeling every ounce of his raw physical strength into his arms. With a mighty grunt, he twisted his hips and deflected the boar’s massive head to the side. The beast's own momentum carried it stumbling past him, its hooves flailing as it lost its footing. Pivoting on his heel, Leon didn't waste a single moment. He brought Hearth-Ender down in a brutal, diagonal slash, aiming for the beast’s exposed neck. The heavy steel bit deep into the tough hide, spraying dark blood onto the forest floor. Squealing in agony, the Dire Boar thrashed wildly, its massive head swinging back to gore its attacker. Leon leaped backward, his feet clearing a fallen log with bare inches to spare. He landed lightly, though his knees buckled slightly from the lingering exhaustion of his empty mana reserves. His lungs burned, desperate for oxygen. Every breath felt like inhaling hot ash, a direct consequence of pushing his physical limits without any magical reinforcement. In Kalith, adventurers usually coated their muscles in a thin layer of mana to prevent strain, but Leon had none left to spare. "Just a little more," he muttered to himself, shaking his arms to restore circulation. The boar turned to face him again, its breath coming in ragged, bloody gasps. Its red eyes seemed even wilder now, practically glowing with a strange, dark intensity that didn't look natural. Normally, wild beasts fled when they were seriously injured. This one, however, seemed entirely consumed by a mindless, violent rage. It didn't care about its own survival; it only wanted to tear Leon apart. Watching the beast, Leon felt a brief flicker of unease. Whispers had been circulating through his home village about the Shadow Blight, a strange corruption creeping through the deeper parts of the forest. He had dismissed those rumors as simple campfire ghost stories told by old veterans to scare greenhorns like him. Now, staring into those crazed, bloodshot eyes, he wasn't so sure. But there was no time to ponder the mysteries of the world. The beast was already lowering its head for another charge. "Alright, let's finish this!" Leon shouted, his voice echoing off the ancient trees. He dragged Hearth-Ender behind him, the tip of the massive blade carving a shallow groove in the dirt. He began to run, building up his own momentum. Trees blurred on either side of him as he accelerated. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, a wild, rhythmic drumming. He loved this feeling—the absolute clarity of a fight where nothing else mattered. No thoughts of the future, no worries about his empty pockets, and no quiet, aching fear of being left behind. Out here, in the dirt and the blood, he was completely present. He was connected to the world in the most violent, honest way possible. --- Oakhaven had always felt too small for a boy with dreams as vast as the sky. Nestled in a quiet valley, the village was known for its apple orchards and sleepy afternoons. Most of the boys Leon's age were content to inherit their fathers' farms or take up carpentry. Leon, however, spent his days swinging a wooden replica of Hearth-Ender until his palms were raw and blistered. His mother, a gentle woman named Clara, often watched him from the porch with a mixture of pride and profound sadness. She knew, as well as he did, that the valley could never hold him. "You have your father's spirit," she had whispered one evening, bandaging his torn knuckles. "He couldn't stay still either. Just promise me you'll find people who will stand by your side. A hero shouldn't walk alone." Those words had dug deep into Leon's heart, planting a seed of fear that he rarely acknowledged. He was terrified of being left behind, of finding himself in a vast, empty world with no one to share his victories or comfort him in his defeats. It was this very fear that drove him to be so gregarious, so eager to make friends with every traveler, merchant, and mercenary who passed through Oakhaven. His outgoing nature was a shield, a way to keep the darkness of isolation at bay. He genuinely loved people, finding endless fascination in their stories and ambitions. If he could build a legendary party, a group of loyal companions, he would never have to face the silence of loneliness again. But his journey hadn't even begun, and already he was testing his limits. --- Years of hard labor had given him a body that was far more robust than that of an average sixteen-year-old. He didn't just look strong; there was an innate, heavy density to his muscles and bones. The village elder had once remarked that Leon possessed the physical foundation of an ancient dragon, though everyone had laughed it off as a joke. Even his recuperative powers were abnormal. Minor cuts healed overnight, and sprains vanished after a good night's sleep. Leon simply assumed he was incredibly lucky, possessing a stubborn constitution that refused to break. Unbeknownst to him, this physical quirk ran far deeper than mere muscle density. It was a unique, ancient physiological trait—a latent power of boundless vitality that made him biologically compatible with almost any species. His bloodline carried a raw, primal spark of creation, a fertile legacy capable of taking root in any soil. For now, however, he only cared about how many times he could swing Hearth-Ender before his arms gave out. --- Blood spluttered from the wound on the beast’s neck, painting the nearby ferns a dark, glistening crimson. The Dire Boar screamed, a horrific, high-pitched sound that vibrated right through the soles of Leon’s boots. It spun around with terrifying speed, its massive flank slamming into Leon’s side before he could fully recover his balance. Thrown off-balance, Leon flew sideways, crashing through a thick patch of brambles. Sharp thorns tore at his simple linen shirt and scratched his cheeks, but he barely felt the pain. He rolled with the impact, keeping a tight grip on Hearth-Ender’s hilt, and scrambled back to his feet in one fluid motion. "Oof, okay, that one had some kick to it," Leon muttered, spitting out a mouthful of dirt and leaves. He wiped his bloody cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving the thrashing monster. Angry red veins pulsed along the boar's snout, spreading outward like a web of dark lightning. The corruption was visibly taking over, overriding the beast's natural instincts and pushing it past the point of physical exhaustion. It was literally burning its own life force to keep fighting. Leon recognized the danger immediately. A corrupted beast didn't feel pain, and it wouldn't stop until its heart was physically destroyed or its head was severed. He needed a clean, decisive blow, but his empty mana pool meant he couldn't use his Heavy Impact skill to shatter its skull. "Just raw strength then," Leon whispered, a wild, confident grin returning to his face. "Suits me just fine." He raised Hearth-Ender, holding the massive blade horizontally across his chest. He could feel the vibrations of the forest, the cool wind brushing against his damp skin, the smell of ozone and rot hanging heavy in the air. This was the moment. With a thunderous squeal, the boar charged again, its hooves tearing up giant clumps of earth. It was faster this time, driven by the frantic energy of the dark corruption coursing through its veins. Leon didn't flinch. He ran straight toward the charging monster, his boots kicking up dust as he accelerated. The distance between them shrank in a matter of seconds. Right as the boar’s massive tusks were about to impale him, Leon threw himself slide-first onto the muddy ground. He slid directly underneath the beast's charging belly, using the wet grass to propel himself forward. As he slid, he held Hearth-Ender upward, letting the razor-sharp edge of the greatsword slice through the boar’s soft underbelly. Warm, dark blood poured over him, soaking his clothes, but Leon didn't care. He scrambled up from the mud behind the stumbling beast, his muscles screaming with a mixture of exhaustion and pure adrenaline. Screeching in pain, the boar stumbled forward until it crashed headfirst into a massive oak tree. The trunk groaned under the impact, leaves raining down like green confetti. Taking advantage of the beast's disorientation, Leon leaped onto the fallen trunk and launched himself high into the air. He gripped Hearth-Ender with both hands, raising the massive blade high above his head. "Down you go!" he roared, channeling every single ounce of his physical power into his descent. Greatsword descending like a guillotine, the heavy blade split the air with a terrible hiss. It cleaved straight through the back of the boar's neck, severing the spine cleanly. As the boar’s massive form finally slumped, a shimmering, obsidian shard, no bigger than his thumb, pulsed faintly in the fading light, embedded deep within its hide. What was that?

Chapter 1: A Greatsword's First Kiss