Wren Kain IV

|Arthur|

"We have arrived," Windsom's voice broke through my concentration, pulling me back to the present. I had been engrossed in my mental simulations, meticulously analyzing the intricacies of my battle with Kordri and seeking ways to enhance my mastery of force-type mana.

It came as no surprise that my encounter with Kordri had ended in a devastating defeat, even though he had deliberately restrained his true power. His command over mana techniques far surpassed mine, despite my possession of Realmheart and my knowledge of ki. It was a humbling realization, but one I needed to acknowledge in order to grow stronger.

Fortunately, Windsom remained oblivious to my experimentation with force-type mana. Kordri, too, had kept our shared secret intact, respecting the arduous training he had put me through.

The bitter taste of defeat lingered, but it only fueled my determination to further develop my skills and unlock the hidden potential within me. With each setback, I would find new ways to improve, refine my techniques, and bridge the gap between my current abilities and those of the formidable Asuras.

"Your instructor awaits," Windsom's voice echoed through the air, drawing my attention to a figure perched atop the rim of the crater. Silhouetted against the sun's rays, the figure seemed minuscule at first, but with each passing moment, it grew larger, hurtling toward us like a celestial projectile.

With a resounding impact, the figure landed, causing a swirling tempest of sand and debris to engulf us. Seeking shelter from the gusting winds, both Windsom and I shielded ourselves, patiently awaiting the settling of the dust cloud. Slowly, the haze began to dissipate, revealing the towering presence that had arrived before us.

From within the remnants of the tempest, a massive hand emerged, extending toward me. Despite my best efforts to resist using my mana, the colossal grip tightened around my waist, lifting me effortlessly into the air. Helpless against the overwhelming strength, I found myself being drawn deeper into the shrouded veil of debris.

Within the obscured surroundings, a commanding and resonant voice reverberated, sending tremors through my being. "Greetings, young one."

Determined not to be ensnared by the overwhelming power of the colossal hand, I channeled Sylvia's beast will, causing Realmheart to ignite with a brilliant blaze. The world around me erupted in a vibrant display of swirling colors, representing the elemental forces of mana and the ethereal essence of aether.

With focused intent, I directed my attention towards the intricate network of mana particles that composed the hand's form. I could discern the pulsating energy within each individual bond, the very foundation that held the massive appendage together.

Intriguingly, aether played its part in this intricate dance of power. While my understanding of the relationship between aether and mana remained incomplete, I knew that their harmonious interplay held great potential, especially when given the time to unravel complex spells.

The creature that had seized me defied any description I had encountered in either of my lives. Its entire form consisted of meticulously polished stone, devoid of conventional eyes and instead possessing hollowed-out cavities that emanated an eerie yet intelligent glow. Protruding mandibles reminiscent of an ape's framed its face, releasing a deep rumble that resonated through the core of my being.

The sheer scale of the creature became apparent as I dangled helplessly, my feet far from the ground. Towering at least five meters tall, its presence exuded an indomitable terror. Yet, despite the fear that gripped me, I couldn't help but marvel at the awe-inspiring sight before me.

The stone hide of the beast bore no imperfection, as if the earth itself had meticulously sculpted this monstrous creation over countless millennia, eradicating any traces of flaw. Bathed in the afternoon sun, its glossy surface shimmered like the ocean, casting a peculiar aura that defied its grotesque form.

Abruptly, hairline cracks began to traverse the beast's body, branching out like a sprawling network of pale light, mirroring the radiance of its eyes. The giant hand that ensnared me gradually loosened its grip, crumbling into a cascade of fine sand, much like the disintegration of the creature's stony form.

From the remnants of the intricately crafted golem emerged a figure that defied expectations—a slender, frail-looking man adorned in a shabby white coat. With a voice tinged with both admiration and intrigue, he muttered, "Impressive, to dismantle my spell even with the power of Realmheart." A faint click of his tongue accentuated his curiosity.

"Wren, allow me to introduce Arthur," Windsom announced, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes. "He will be under your guidance for an extended duration. I trust you two will become well-acquainted."

Of all the asuras I had encountered thus far, Wren stood out as remarkably unremarkable. He possessed a body frame reminiscent of someone who had spent years in seclusion, with an oversized coat draped over his figure. His intense gaze fixed upon me, his posture heavy with a pronounced hunch. Half-closed, tired eyes were shadowed by deep bags that rivaled the darkness of his unkempt, greasy black hair, which cascaded over his face like damp seaweed, evidently neglected and unwashed for days. To complete the ensemble, his chin and cheeks were adorned with uneven stubble, presenting a man who would easily be dismissed even by the most destitute of vagrants.

However, I knew better than to judge a man, especially an asura, solely by his outward appearance.

Lowering my head respectfully, I extended my formal introduction to my newfound instructor. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Wren. I am Arthur Leywin, and I humbly place myself under your guidance."

"Very well, I shall craft you a weapon to your liking," Wren replied, scratching the back of his head in contemplation.

Windsom's approval was evident in the nod he gave, indicating his agreement with Wren's offer.

"Anyway, let me examine the primary weapon you wield in battle," Wren requested as he reached out to receive Dawn's Ballad from me.

Handing over the sword, still sheathed in its scabbard, I couldn't anticipate the reaction Wren would have. However, I certainly didn't expect him to burst into laughter upon laying eyes on my weapon.

The enigmatic blade that had come into my possession appeared as nothing more than an ordinary black stick when concealed within its sheath. Perhaps Wren mistook it for a trivial plaything. "Here, let me show—"

"I know what it is, boy! Windsom, were you aware of this when you tasked me with his training?" Wren turned his gaze towards the white-haired asura standing behind me.

"I had a suspicion," Windsom admitted with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Wren grasped Dawn's Ballad firmly with both hands, attempting to draw it from its sheath.

The sword was designed to open only upon my command. Even I, with the aid of Sylvia's Dragon Will, had initially struggled to unsheathe it. It didn't take long for me to notice the initials elegantly inscribed on Dawn's Ballad: WK IV.

WK IV stood for Wren K___.

He was the very creator of Dawn's Ballad.

Confirming my suspicions, the asura inspected the blade's translucent teal surface with a keen eye. "It's because I crafted this sword," Wren affirmed.

"Alright, so what was the sword doing in Dicathen then?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

Up until now, I had assumed that my sword originated from the skilled hands of dwarven craftsmen, given their renowned expertise in such creations. In my mind, the image of a dark, robust figure with a thick beard, bulging muscles, and calloused hands had always represented the typical stereotype associated with smiths and metalworkers. However, the lanky figure before me, looking like he might grow weary from holding a pen for too long, claimed to be the forger of Dawn's Ballad.

"Dawn's Ballad was one of my experimental weapons, more or less a failure," Wren explained. "During one of my visits to gather minerals, I discarded it in the Beast Glades of your continent, assuming no one would ever recognize it as anything more than a black stick, let alone unlock its true nature. The fact that it ended up in your possession... Well, the odds are certainly remarkable." Wren began calculating the probability of such an occurrence, but I interjected to redirect the conversation.

"A failure? I have never encountered a sword of superior quality and craftsmanship in my entire life. What makes it a failure?" I pressed for an explanation.

"Although your words may serve as a compliment, comparing my weapons—no matter how subpar their quality—to the primitive tools wielded by your lesser races is an insult," Wren replied, clicking his tongue in disdain. "I had forged this sword as a one-size-fits-all weapon, a concept that I now realize was misguided. It turned out to be nothing more than a sharp tool, lacking any distinct features." Wren finally tore his gaze away from the sword and exchanged glances with Windsom. "But this situation does present an interesting opportunity."

"Arthur, I brought you here to Wren for two reasons," Windsom interjected, eager to explain. "Firstly, despite his unorthodox methods, Wren possesses an exceptional understanding of practical combat theory. Secondly, I hoped that Wren would craft a sword specifically tailored to your unique style of combat."

"Is that true?" I turned my attention to Wren. "Will you truly forge a sword for me?"

"I don't forge swords, brat. I create them. And I agreed to train you only because I owed a favor to Lord Indrath. However, that favor didn't extend to wasting my time on fashioning a sword for a lesser being," Wren replied bluntly, sliding Dawn's Ballad back into its scabbard. "Regardless, I will hold onto this sword for the time being."

"For now? So you will return it to me eventually?" I sought confirmation, still unsure of his intentions.

"Boy, Dawn's Ballad may be nothing more than a sharp tool, but it chose you. I may not take pride in this particular creation, but I won't take it away from you either," Wren affirmed. With a swift motion, he extended his arm, causing a sword to materialize from the ground. Tossing it to me by the hilt, he continued, "For now, use this sword during your training. I fashioned it to measure the user's movements and the force of impact it receives."

|Wren|

To my surprise, the so-called lesser brat, Arthur Leywin, exceeded all my initial expectations. I had regarded him merely as a vessel for Realmheart, with nothing exceptional about him beyond that, but I was mistaken.

He had become a formidable killing machine.

Arthur displayed an uncanny ability to calculate the most efficient methods for dismantling his enemies, utilizing his strengths while minimizing damage and time. His progression was nothing short of remarkable. In a short span, he achieved exponential growth in power, swiftly reaching the pinnacle of the silver stage and then breaking through to the esteemed white stage. By combining the power of Realmheart with Lady Sylvia's third stage, he could dispatch the most formidable lesserurans in Alacarya with relative ease.

However, he eventually reached a formidable hurdle, a limit inherent to the lesser races. Arthur would not be able to advance further until he achieved the integration stage. The time for his return was fast approaching, coinciding with the impending commencement of the war that awaited him.

Recognizing his remarkable potential, I resolved to bestow upon him my final gift.

|Arthur|

"Finally, the time has come," Wren declared, stepping forward after witnessing the destruction I wrought upon the golems he had painstakingly crafted.

He reached into his pocket and motioned for me to extend my hand. "Give me your hand."

Drawing a small stone from his pocket, he presented it to me. Opening a compact, black case that he retrieved from his coat, he revealed a pyramid-shaped, opaque gem. "This is an acclorite, a rare and seemingly insignificant mineral on its own. However, with my refining and synthesizing techniques, which shall remain a closely guarded secret, this humble stone possesses extraordinary capabilities."

"Are you suggesting it can expedite the training process?" I inquired, intrigued by his proposition.

"Remember when I mentioned that I don't merely forge swords but create them?" the hunched asura asked, still holding the small gem before me.

I nodded, indicating my understanding.

"Using this diminutive gem, in conjunction with the appropriate tools, I can effectively nurture a weapon to fruition," Wren explained. "Ordinarily, I would rely on years, or even decades, of meticulous observation to glean the necessary insights into your fighting style, enabling me to craft a weapon tailor-made for you. However, given the unique circumstances surrounding your situation, I am taking a calculated risk."

"What do you mean?" I queried, my curiosity piqued.

The asura's actions abruptly interrupted my inquiry as he swiftly plunged the gem into the center of my palm, causing a sharp, piercing pain to surge through me. He then wiped the trace of my blood from his finger onto my shirt. "I synthesized the acclorite with a fragment of Lady Sylvia's feather and a scale from Lady Sylvie. These components are integral to your essence. By doing this, I hope to account for some of the unpredictable factors."

"What sort of unpredictabilities are we talking about?" I inquired, examining the small cavity in my palm where the gem now resided.

"Every movement, action, thought, and transformation within your being will influence the manifestation of your weapon," Wren disclosed. "Even I am uncertain of how the weapon will ultimately materialise—assuming it even takes the form of a weapon."

"It appears the war is on the horizon," I remarked calmly, observing the startled expression that crossed Wren's face.

Before he could voice his astonishment or question how I knew, I continued, "Given more time, you would have preferred me to achieve the integration stage before entrusting me with the acclorite. Doing so would have provided you with a wealth of additional data regarding my combat style. However, you chose to expedite the process. Your disposition as a natural perfectionist is the key to understanding this decision, but it only truly makes sense when we consider that the impending war is imminent."

Impressed, he let out a sigh and remarked, a tinge of wryness in his voice, "You truly are a prodigy. Fear not, we still have a few months left to refine your combat style before your departure to Dicathen alongside Lord Alistair and Lady Sylvie. Make every moment count."

I nodded resolutely, fully aware of the sacrifices that lay ahead. My strength had grown exponentially, and I was prepared to go to any lengths to ensure the survival of my family, even if it meant relinquishing my humanity and putting my own life on the line.