Days blurred into weeks. Weeks stretched into months. And in those months, the boy known as Blaze trained without pause.
From the crack of dawn to the dimming dusk, sweat and pain became his closest companions. Each aching breath, each trembling muscle, marked the forging of a body that refused to break.
"A proper slash starts from the legs."
The old man's voice rang out. It came out like the strike of a bell and cut clean through the morning silence.
"Shift your weight forward. Engage your core. Let the motion flow from the earth, through your body, and into the blade. No hesitation. No wasted movement. Again."
Blaze responded with a nod, his breath steady. The sword in his grip swung through the air—sharp, fluid, alive. His feet anchored him to the ground, his spine aligned like a drawn bow, and with each slash, he carved away weakness and hesitation.
What once felt like a lifeless hunk of metal now moved like part of his body. A limb he had to earn. A language his soul slowly learned to speak.
One overcast afternoon, his master approached him in silence and extended a blade.
It was plain, unadorned, and nameless. It wasn't as significant as Ichikaji Monja.
The old man pointed toward the massive boulder that had towered in their training field since Blaze's arrival.
"Cut it."
Blaze tightened his grip on the sword and stepped forward, determination coiling within him like a taut spring.
This is it...
He raised the weapon high, channeled all his strength, and brought it down in one swift arc.
CLANG.
The blade broke. Pain exploded through his hands. A dull, numbing shock.
The sword had barely nicked the surface.
What...?
"Now, be careful. This will happen to your sword if you get careless and laze around while training."
Disappointment coiled in his gut.
But before doubt could take root, the old man's voice rang out again:
"Again. Now, use your sword."
Blaze obeyed. He struck carefully with his sword.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Bruises bloomed across his fingers. Blood welled at his knuckles. The blade trembled in his hands as he struck. Over and over. Against that unyielding stone.
This isn't just simple training... It's a war. A war against me and none other than myself.
Time marched on. Seasons shifted. The sky grew colder.
By now, Blaze had delivered over five thousand strikes to that cursed rock.
The boulder bore the scars of his defiance—grooves and chips scattered across its surface—but it still stood firm. As unmoved as the day he arrived.
"Again!" the old man barked. His voice cracked the silence like a whip.
Blaze's arms screamed in protest. Every muscle was taut with exhaustion. Sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes. His tunic clung to his skin like a second layer. It was drenched in grit and effort.
Faster... Stronger... Smoother...
The chant echoed in his mind like a sacred prayer. A rhythm that numbed the pain.
His sword rose.
His body moved.
The blade fell.
The earth absorbed his struggle in silence.
Then, one morning, the world shimmered in gold.
The sun reached its zenith, casting light over the battered field. Blaze stood taller now—broader, sharper in posture, eyes burning with quiet resolve.
Seventeen years old today...
The old man stepped beside him. His hands were folded behind his back.
"Today is the last day."
Blaze's heart skipped a bit. The weight of those words settled over him like a cloak.
"Wield your sword with everything you've learned. Cut the boulder."
Blaze exhaled slowly, reaching for the blade that had been by his side through every trial. The familiar sound of steel clearing its sheath sang in his ears.
He approached the boulder.
No longer an obstacle.
But a symbol.
He raised the sword—his sword—above his head.
The wind quieted. The world held its breath.
This is the culmination of everything. My blood. My sweat. My will.
He swung.
SHHHLLKKK.
The blade hummed as it cleaved through stone.
A clean, perfect cut.
The boulder split in two.
Blaze stood motionless. His breath was shallow. The fragments of rock tumbled softly to the ground. His hands trembled—not from weakness, but from awe.
He had done it.
The sword no longer felt heavy.
It felt right.
The old man's lips curled and turned into a rare smile. Proud. Warm.
"Good job, Blaze. You've done remarkably well. I have done everything I could do for your beginner training. Now, you must go forth and carve your own path in the world. You will face many obstacles and learn many things you don't know. Face them with all you've got."
Blaze swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes, sir."
I'm ready. I... I really did it.
"Happy birthday," the old man added. His tone was softer now.
"Thank you, Master," Blaze said. He deeply bowed. His voice was thick with gratitude.
Then came the words. The words that he had dreaded all along.
"You must leave now. Your training with me is complete. Remember—it's time for you to forge your destiny."
"I understand." Blaze hesitated and then turned toward him with a curious look. "...Umm, Master?"
"Yes?"
"You never told me your name."
The old man let out a deep and amused chuckle.
"Oh-ho-ho... You're right. I've never mentioned it, have I? My name is Shirokami Hitotsu."
"Thank you, Master Shikaromi. For everything."
"Shirokami."
"Ohh, sorry. Master Shi-shirokami."
The old man turned away. His silhouette bathed in golden light. Then, he paused.
"One last thing, Blaze."
The air grew still.
"Always remember your origin."
Then he walked into the distance. The dust rose behind his steps.
Blaze stared after him. The words he heard were echoing in his heart.
My origin...?
He clenched his fists. Looked toward the horizon.
A new journey awaited.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm home," Blaze announced with his soft yet firm voice. Saying that, he stepped through the door.
He was going in. Then suddenly, Lili and Mili came running out of the living room and jumped over Blaze.
"Onii-chan, happy birthday!"
Lili and Mili beamed up at him in perfect unison. Their eyes were sparkling with joy.
Blaze let out a breathless laugh as he steadied himself. "Thanks, Lili and Mili."
"Welcome back, Blaze. And happy birthday, dear," Luna said with her gentle voice. She was standing by the dining table.
Ignis stepped up beside her, arms crossed and a faint grin curling his lips. "You've grown well, son. Happy seventeenth."
"Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad," Blaze replied. His heart was swelling with a quiet warmth.
"Come now," Luna said. Her tone was light as a breeze. "Lunch is ready."
Blaze was just about to take his seat when Ignis halted him with a small motion. With a sleek in his hand. An obsidian-black card, which was engraved with delicate silver glyphs.
"Before lunch, this is for you," Ignis said. He handed that sleek to him.
Blaze's breath caught in his throat, and his face filled with joy. "Is this... my MID?"
He turned the card over reverently. The surface shimmered faintly, reacting to his mana signature as he read:
Name: Blaze Lumnell
Highest Mage Rank: None
Highest Sword Order: None
Home-world: Juris (Sub World) Current-world: Juris (Sub World)
Age: 17
MID No: 202526031416 Status: Unregistered Combatant
"Now, absorb your MID," Ignis instructed.
"Absorb?" Blaze blinked in confusion. "How?"
"Just press it against your left wrist."
Following the instructions, Blaze held the card to his wrist. A soft glow enveloped the card. The card started to dissolve into his skin. A faint and barely visible insignia etched itself onto his wrist.
"Wow." Lili and Mili were watching as if something miraculous was happening.
Then Ignis nodded and said, "It's done. Now, double-tap the mark."
Blaze tapped two times on the insignia on his wrist with two fingers. Immediately, a translucent screen projected into the air before him. A magical interface was floating in the air like a hologram.
[MID System Activated]
Name: Blaze Lumnell
Highest Mage Rank: None
Highest Sword Order: None
Home-world: Juris (Sub World) Current-world: Juris (Sub World)
Age: 17
MID No: 202526031416 Status: Unregistered Combatant
"Whoa..." Blaze's jaw dropped. "This is amazing!"
Ignis chuckled. "That's just the start. Your MID tracks your growth, achievements, and skills. There is another page."
"Another page? Where? I can't see that page."
"You can see that page once you gain some experience and skills."
Blaze clenched his fist. His eyes were gleaming. "So it's like a living record."
"Exactly. And now's the perfect time to explain the Mage and Sword Orders," Ignis said, pulling out a nearby chair and sitting down.
Blaze followed, intrigued.
"Mage ranks are based on which level of magic you can cast. Of course, there are magics that someone can do without casting spells, just by focusing with their mind and mana. But some spell magics are specialized for ranks. There are nine ranks in total: Novice, Junior, Secondary, Intermediate, Advanced, Superior, Saint, Ancient, and finally... God."
Blaze blinked. "Wait... God-level magic exists?"
Ignis shook his head slowly. "It exists, but no one has achieved it. Only three people in history ever managed to wield God-level spells—and that was long ago. In today's magic-verse, there are only four active Saint-level mages. Above them sit the five Magisters, the only living beings capable of casting Ancient-level magic."
"Whoa..." Blaze whispered, his mind reeling. "So mages climb with knowledge and mastery?"
"Exactly," Ignis nodded. "Now, swordsmen... we follow a different path."
Blaze perked up.
"Our ranks are called Sword Orders, and there are eight in total: Novice, Junior, Secondary, Intermediate, Advanced, Superior, Saint, and God. But unlike mages, our ranks aren't given—they're earned."
Ignis's tone sharpened. "To move up, you must win battle royales."
Blaze sat up straighter. "Seriously?"
Ignis smiled faintly. "The first is the Junior Order battle royale. Lose, and you stay a Novice. Win, and you ascend. These battles are held monthly in subworlds like Juris. Higher-order battles—Secondary through Advanced—are held only six times a year. Superior battles? Twice a year on the Greater Worlds."
Blaze swallowed hard. "And Saint?"
"Only one swordsman can ascend each year. The winner of the Superior Order Royale earns the right to challenge a current Sword Saint. But there can only be three Sword Saints at any given time. Defeat one, and you take their place. Lose... and you return to Superior."
"And the God Order?"
Ignis's voice lowered, almost reverent. "Every two years, the three Sword Saints battle. The victor challenges the reigning Sword God—the one who stands above all others. These battles are far too dangerous for public eyes. They're held in isolated locations, protected and monitored by the highest magical authorities."
Blaze rubbed his temples, eyes spinning. "Too much information... my brain's gonna explode."
Lili giggled from the side. "Onii-chan looks like a dizzy Doid!"
Mili mimicked a spinning motion with her hands, laughing. "Doid Doid!"
Ignis chuckled warmly. "Well, take some comfort in this—your timing is perfect. The next Junior Order battle royale is in just three days. Right here, at the Colosseum in Juris."
Blaze's eyes lit up like twin stars. "Three days?! That's perfect!"
Ignis grinned. "Hah. That's the spirit. Just remember to stay focused. This is your first real battle."
"I won't let it go to waste," Blaze declared. "This is it—my first step on the road to becoming the strongest swordsman in the entire magic-verse!"
His gaze burned with ambition, with purpose. Behind him, the faint shimmer of his MID flickered again, almost as if acknowledging the beginning of something vast.
A path carved not just in sword swings and mana... but in will.
________________________________________________________________________________
The Day of the Battle Royale...
The first light of dawn spilled across the rooftops of Juris, casting golden hues over cobbled streets and ivy-wrapped walls. A crisp breeze swept through the city. The breeze was carrying the scent of excitement.
Creak.
The door swung open.
"I'm off!" Blaze called. His voice was brimming with anticipation. He waved without looking back. The bright red hilt of his sword was gleaming at his hip. "Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad! Bye, Lili, Mili!"
"Good luck, Onii-chan!" Lili's soft voice called out. She was peeking from the doorway with a smile.
"Do your best, big bro!" Mili shouted. She bounded up beside her twin. She was nearly tripping on the step in her excitement.
Ignis stood at the entrance. His arms crossed. "Show them what the Lumnells are made of."
Luna's voice followed, calm and warm. "Stay safe... and stay true to yourself."
Blaze nodded deeply. "Yeah... Don't worry, I'll come back with a victory."
And with that promise, he took off into the awakening city. His heart was pounding like a war drum. Each step of his was igniting sparks in his blood.
Today... was the day.
The day of the Junior Order Battle Royale.
The day his dream would take its first true step toward the stars.
Juris was alive.
Merchants hollered from stalls overflowing with gleaming wares. Children darted past with mock swords in hand. Banners snapped in the wind, bearing the insignias of rising clans and noble Orders. Even the air itself shimmered, buzzing with raw energy and unspoken hopes.
Then—
"Oi. Kid."
The words cut through the morning like a dagger.
Blaze paused.
A shadow loomed ahead. A broad, muscle-bound man blocked the path. His arms were crossed. His eyes were hard beneath a furrowed brow.
A monstrous blade taller than Blaze—broad, brutal, and forged for sheer destruction. Its jet-black steel shimmered under the sun. There was a jagged crescent carved near the tip that gave it a savage elegance. The gaping hole in the center wasn't just for show. It was like a mark of merciless efficiency. A weapon made to tear through both armor and arrogance. This wasn't a sword.
It was an execution.
"This ain't a playground. I'm talking to you. Ya lost?"
Blaze stepped aside, unfazed. "Just passing through."
But the man's gaze dropped to the sword at Blaze's side. Then, his expression shifted.
"...That blade. Don't tell me—you're joining the Battle Royale?"
"I am," Blaze replied, voice steady.
The man burst into laughter. "Hah! What are you, twelve?"
Blaze tilted his head, unfazed. "Seventeen."
"Same thing. Listen, kid—this isn't some backyard duel. You'll get chewed up out there. Turn back now and keep your limbs."
"I appreciate the concern," Blaze said, eyes calm. "But I didn't come here to play. I came here to win."
The man blinked; he was caught off guard by the certainty in Blaze's voice. Then he chuckled, then turned away. "Hah! Dream big, little hero. Just don't die on the first round."
Blaze watched him go. And a smirk tugged at his lips. "Go ahead. Doubt me. I'll make believers out of all of you."
He looked up.
And there it stood—
The Colosseum.
A giant forged from stone and steel. It rose like a crown above the city. Its curved walls soared. It was casting long shadows across the plaza. The domed roof gleamed under the morning sun. And from within... the roar of a thousand voices thundered like a storm.
Crowds surged around him. Nobles in jeweled cloaks. Mercenaries in worn leather. And children were hoisted on shoulders with their eyes sparkling in awe.
Blaze took a slow breath.
"So this is it... The place where legends are born."
A tremor ran through the ground.
Cheers erupted from within—waves of raw, unfiltered excitement.
Then—
"Participants! Report to the staging grounds immediately!"
The booming voice echoed from magical amplifiers suspended in the air.
"The Battle Royale begins shortly!"
Blaze clenched his fists.
This was it.
No more training. No more dreaming.
Just steel, sweat... and survival.
He stepped through the gates. It felt like the whole world changed.
The sound of the crowd burst into his ears. It was like a deafening storm of cheers and chants. Magic screens floated above the arena, showing views from every angle. The sands of the battlefield shimmered under the enchantments laid upon them.
High above, a lone figure in obsidian armor stood atop the announcer's tower, watching.
Blaze stepped forward, eyes scanning the arena.
But then—
Something shifted.
A chill, like a thread of shadow brushing against his skin.
Someone was watching him.
Not admiration.
Not curiosity.
Something darker.
A gaze that felt like a whisper of death.
He turned—
But the clang of the gates slamming shut behind him broke the moment.
"AND NOW... LET THE SLAUGHTER BEGIN!!"
The battlefield exploded into chaos.
Steel clashed. Magic tore through the air. Screams echoed as dozens of young warriors charged into battle.
Blaze drew his sword.
Its blade gleamed like fire in the sunlight.
Eyes sharp.
Heart ready.
No turning back now.