The Path

Dawn arrived, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold. Unlike the usual grogginess that accompanied mornings, Zephyr awoke with an electric buzz coursing through him. Today was different. Today, he held the future in his hand, the weight of the sword a constant reminder.

He doubled his usual routine, his movements fueled by a newfound purpose. Reaching for the sword, he drew it from its scabbard. Sunlight glinted off the black steel of the blade, its silver edges catching the light like a mischievous grin. It wasn't the familiar weight of a hunting knife or the clumsy heft of a boar spear. This was a weapon of a warrior, balanced and deadly in its elegance.

A surge of excitement coursed through him. He closed his eyes, focusing on the faint thrumming within – his aura. As he channeled his energy, the blade shimmered faintly, echoing the ethereal blue that pulsed within him. This wasn't just a sword; it was an extension of himself.

With a newfound lightness in his step, Zephyr launched into a series of movements. It wasn't just repetitive swings; it was a dance, a conversation between him and the blade. He sliced, he parried, he thrust, each motion flowing seamlessly into the next. His strikes grew more precise, his footwork lighter with each passing moment.

A dazzling display of swordsmanship unfolded beneath the rising sun. He twirled, he leaped, his movements a blur of focused energy. He felt free, unbound by the limitations of his past. 'Is this what the path of the sword feels like?' he thought, a thrill coursing through him.

Finally, with a flourish, he delivered a final horizontal slash. But this was no ordinary swing. As the blade met the air, a wave of blue aura erupted from it, a tangible extension of his will. The energy ripped through the air, cleaving a path through the nearby trees as effortlessly as if they were mere paper.

Zephyr stood there, chest heaving, a wide grin splitting his face. He just did that, his small form packed quite a punch.

A surge of pride swelled in Zephyr's chest as he surveyed the devastation his final attack had wrought. He wasn't just a scrawny farm boy anymore; he was a warrior, wielding power he barely understood. Suddenly, a clapping sound echoed through the clearing, followed by a low whistle.

"Damn brat. You grow stronger again," Zen's voice rumbled, tinged with a hint of amusement. "You haven't even received falna yet..." The last part trailed off, barely a murmur on the wind.

Zephyr whirled around, startled. Zen's presence was always uncanny, appearing and disappearing like a wisp of smoke. "Oh, it was just you, Old Man," he sighed, relief washing over him. "Almost scared me to death."

Zen chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Scared, or surprised? You wield that blade as if you've been training for years. Not bad for a boy who forgets his own birthday."

Zephyr winced, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Hey, birthdays weren't a big deal before Bell." He sheathed the sword, the weight of it still strangely comforting in his hand. "But what was that about falna? What is it?"

Zen's smile vanished, replaced by a fleeting look of seriousness. "Falna," he said, his voice grave, "is a blessing, a gift bestowed by the gods. It grants strength, magic, the very essence of an adventurer. But you, Zephyr… your power seems different. It comes from within, not from a deity."

Intrigue flickered in Zephyr's eyes. Different? What did that mean? He looked at Zen, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. "Different how?" he pressed.

Zen hesitated, a flicker of something akin to worry crossing his face. "That, Zephyr," he said finally, "is a story for another day. For now, enjoy this newfound strength. But remember, power comes with responsibility. Use your abilities wisely, young one. There will be those who seek to control you, to exploit your power for their own gain. Be wary, and be strong."

Zephyr nodded solemnly, the weight of Zen's words settling on him. And with that realization came a chilling understanding – the path ahead wouldn't be easy. But he wouldn't face it alone. He had the mysterious power that pulsed within him. And his journey, filled with wonder and danger, had just taken its first step on the path, as The Blade-Bound.

Sunlight, harsh and unforgiving, beat down on Zephyr as he stood before the gaping maw of the cave. A grim determination etched lines on his face, a stark contrast to the playful joy of the previous morning. This was no triumphant hero's return. He had come to finish what he started.

With measured steps, he entered the cavern, the air thick with the stench of decay and damp earth. He stopped short at the edge of the massive pile of debris – a testament to his desperate escape. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, a flicker of movement caught his attention.

From beneath the rubble, a monstrous groan echoed. The wyvern, its once-proud scales torn and bloodied, struggled to rise. It looked like a grotesque parody of its former self, a predator reduced to a whimpering prey.

A cold spark ignited in Zephyr's eyes. Naive hope, that he might reason with the beast, had died with the fading light of yesterday. Gone was the boy who'd faced the wyvern with fear, replaced by a young man hardened by the ordeal.

He unsheathed his sword, the black metal humming with a faint blue light. The wyvern lifted its head, a pathetic attempt at a roar escaping its mangled throat. With a primal fear in its remaining eye, it lurched towards him, its body a twisted mockery of its former power.

"Rest in peace," Zephyr muttered, his voice devoid of emotion. It wasn't a boast, not a victory cry. It was a cold acceptance of the harsh reality he now faced.

A wave of energy erupted from the blade, its ethereal blue light momentarily blinding in the darkness. The wyvern, already on the brink of death, barely flinched as the energy sliced through its neck. A crimson spray erupted, showering Zephyr with a macabre baptism. The beast shuddered, its body convulsing before finally going limp.

He stood there for a long moment, the silence broken only by the dripping of blood and his steady breaths. He felt no elation, no sense of victory. Only a chilling emptiness that echoed the hollowness in the cave.

A sigh escaped his lips, a sound heavy with weariness. "Now I need another bath," he muttered, the words tinged with a dark humor.

As the remaining light faded from the cavern, a single object caught his eye. Nestled amongst the ash where the wyvern's body had dissolved lay a magic stone.

It was massive, easily three times the size of his fist, pulsing with a strange, malevolent energy. This wasn't a trophy, not a symbol of victory. This was a chilling reminder of the darkness he'd faced, and the power it held. And of course... Money.

This stone, this cave, this encounter – they were just the beginning. Zephyr turned away, his silhouette receding into the darkness. His journey wasn't about glory or slaying monsters. It was about uncovering the truth, about his past, about the strange abilities that pulsed within him. The path ahead stretched before him, a winding road shrouded in shadows.

But Zephyr Bladehart, the boy who had stared death in the face and emerged a survivor, wouldn't turn back. He would walk this path, whatever dangers it held, for answers, for his brother, and for himself. His journey had begun.

———[Chapter End]———

A/N: This is where the story truly starts. The past 5 chapters was just the refresher, I plan to make the story more cruel after the village arc. Of course there will still be comedy, and fun moments. The cruel part is only when it comes to the Dungeon and organizations like Evilus. Also the MC's personality will not be changed, he will just be more hardened.

Also I said the last chapter I said that this chapter would be a time skip... Well i couldn't just let the opportunity to write this go. So the Timeskip will truly begin next chapter. Ciao