"Sanare. Caro." I repeated carefully after her.
"You're stressing the wrong syllable. Say it wrong, and you might not heal the wound—you might make it worse." Zenith's voice was tired. "I told you, keep your tongue loose. Don't pronounce it like Common. This is the Church's language. The sounds are different."
I let out a frustrated breath. I'd been learning healing magic from Zenith for weeks now. For the first time in ages, I felt like I was actually learning something—not just killing time trying not to die of boredom.
Ever since I wrecked my arm, I wasn't allowed to leave the house. Paul was firm: no activity until I fully recovered. Even Lilia, usually calm and detached, made sure I stuck to the routine. Without Zenith's lessons, I would've gone crazy long ago.
"Why can't I just say I want to heal someone and have it work?"
Zenith smirked.
"Welcome to Church magic. It was made that way—so only the chosen few could use it."
I frowned.
"So…"
"So if you don't have a teacher or seminary training, you'll never learn it on your own. That was the whole point—the Church controlled who got to heal and who didn't."
I shuddered.
"Say it again—slower," Zenith leaned in closer.
I nodded and tried once more.
"Sanare. Vitae. Refi—" My vision swam. I blinked, trying to focus, but everything blurred.
Zenith grabbed my shoulder.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, just…" I rubbed my temples. My head was foggy, thoughts heavy. I was used to it by now, but it still annoyed me. "It's the medicine… makes me drowsy."
She frowned but didn't say anything. We both knew I couldn't go without it. Even with it, the phantom pain never fully left me. Without it, I'd probably be screaming through the night.
Zenith stood, stretched, cracking her shoulders.
"You did well. Tomorrow, you can go outside."
I froze, looking up in disbelief.
"Really?"
"Yes. But don't do anything stupid," she added sharply.
I wasn't listening. A spark of joy lit up in my chest. After weeks of being cooped up, I was finally getting out.
Zenith gave a small smile when she saw my reaction.
"Just don't go getting into trouble again."
I wanted to joke, but couldn't bring myself to. I already knew—I'd learned that lesson.
***
The next morning hit me like a hammer. My head felt like someone had stuffed it inside a bell and started pounding from the outside. My mouth was dry, like I'd spent the night chewing sand. Standard morning. For the past few weeks, at least.
Through the haze and the pain, pieces of a dream still clung to my mind. I was standing in the middle of a road. The screech of tires. Blinding white light. People shouting. I stepped forward… then again…
I grabbed a nearby jug and drank greedily. The water tasted sweet, like I hadn't had a drop in days.
"Damn dream…"
Ever since I'd fully come to in this body, the nightmares had started. At first it was flashes—white light bearing down on me. Then they got clearer. Closer. Until I remembered everything—who I was, who I'd been, and how I died.
Well… I saved those kids, at least. Hope they remember.
For a while I thought things couldn't get worse. Then came that damned spell. The ruined hand...
A cold sweat broke out on my skin.
If it weren't for Zenith, I'd be dead. That would've been it. The end. I'd just been given a second chance—and nearly flushed it down the toilet myself. I'd already been reborn once. What happens if I die again? Not something I want to test.
I forced myself up, working the stiffness out of my muscles.
Got dressed. Went outside.
The sunlight stung, but the air was cool and clean. Freedom.
I needed a walk. Shake off the last of the sleep.
***
"Here!"
"Haha! Hit the head, you win!"
"…"
I was walking along the road when I decided to take a random path I'd never noticed before. Just a feeling. Like something was nudging me that way.
And what do I find?
Three boys, a little older than me, throwing stones at someone crouched on the ground, shielding themselves with a tattered gray cloak.
For the first time since reincarnation, I felt that old familiar thing—raw hatred, rising from nowhere.
Worlds change. But kids' cruelty doesn't.
So what do I do? Walk up and stop them? Just pass by? Maybe they had a reason... What kind of reason justifies this?
The anger started to boil, but not at them—at myself.
More excuses. More trying to avoid it. Just walk on, pretend I didn't see anything.
Is this what I trained for all this time? To keep my head down and act invisible?
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?!"
I said it. My heart immediately started pounding. Adrenaline surged. Calm down. They're just kids. I'm thirty-nine mentally, but I still freeze when things get tense. All those sparring matches with Paul, all those wooden swords to the head—didn't change a damn thing.
The trio turned around. They were taller. Older.
In Asura, sword training starts at ten. What if they'd already begun? What if they were better than me?
One of them, the one in the middle, grinned.
"Can't you see? We're hunting elven trash. Look how she's trembling."
Elven?
Only now I really saw the figure under the cloak. It was an elf. Even through the fabric, long pointed ears stuck out. The hood slipped back, revealing green hair—pure, bright green, not a shade I'd ever seen on humans.
"That freak doesn't even have normal hair!"
The second boy didn't wait for a response—he threw another stone.
"So what if he's an elf?"
I'd only ever heard of one elf family in the village. Rowls, the second guard after Paul.
So this was his kid?
"And who the hell are you, anyway?"
Finally, the one in the middle spoke. Clearly the leader. He was bigger than the rest, broader in the shoulders. Even the loose clothes couldn't hide how strong his arms were. Village kids worked from an early age. Physically, they had the edge over me.
"What, cat got your tongue, dumbass? Deaf or something?"
"He's probably gonna piss himself in fear! Hahaha!"
"I'm Rudeus Greyrat."
"You hear that, Somar? He's even got a last name! Must be some baron's kid!"
"Shut it, moron."
Somar raised a hand. The other two shut up immediately. Now he was studying me more carefully. His eyes landed on my right hand. The scars.
"You're that guard's kid. Paul's."
"Yeah."
"Heard his boy's a nutcase. Runs around talking to walls and wets himself."
"Shut your mouth," Somar barked, and the lackey clammed up fast.
He looked at me again.
"So, what—you sticking up for this elven filth?"
There was something off about Somar. His tone was calm, but there was tension in him. Like a wolf just before the lunge.
"Why are you throwing rocks at him? You realize his father's the second village guard?"
"Let me spell it out for you, since you're that stupid," Somar sighed and stepped forward. "Elves are like animals. They live in trees, lurk in forests. Then one day they come out, burn villages, snatch girls, kill them, fuck them, and eat them. In that order."
He kept closing the distance. I stood my ground. Show weakness, and he'd smell it.
"This—this is justice."
Now he was just a step away.
"He did all that?" I nodded toward the elf.
"It's a she. And she lives right here among us. You think just because she doesn't bite, she's safe? My village, they just watched at first too…"
He trailed off, and something flickered across his face. He shook his head, kept going.
"Trying to play the hero, huh? Save the poor little elf? What, hoping she'll suck your dick after?"
Crack.
I didn't even register the punch. My body moved on its own.
My fist smashed into Somar's jaw, and he dropped.
"Son of a—!"
I jumped back, dropped into the stance Paul drilled into me. The other two moved.
"Stop."
Somar got up, dusted himself off, and slapped the side of his head. He was… laughing?
"Well, damn. Guess you've got some balls. Good on you."
He stood tall again, like the punch never happened.
"Alright then, freak. You want to play the knight? You'll have to earn it."
"You serious? I'll destroy you."
I didn't even know why I said it. The adrenaline had shut my brain off.
"Come on, big man. Let's see what you've got," Somar said, turning to his buddies. "Hey! Bring two swords. Let's make it a proper duel!"
One of the boys ran off and came back with two wooden training swords. So I'd guessed right—they were already training.
I caught the sword.
The weight was familiar. The balance—natural.
I'd done these movements a hundred times.
Paul was ten times the fighter this kid would ever be.
I could handle this.
***
Step. Another step.
We circled each other, shifting our weight from foot to foot. Somar's stance was textbook—exactly what they taught on day one.
Strike.
He broke first, lunging at me. Fast. His blade came straight for my gut—a simple, direct attack. I tried to sidestep, but he slowed midway.
A feint.
I barely caught the flick of his wrist before it was too late. The sword veered up, aiming for my throat. I raised my blade just in time to catch it, but the blow still landed. A glancing hit. Not strong, but unpleasant.
I stepped back.
He was stronger. Heavier. Longer arms. He didn't need to rush—just keep pressing, keep me retreating.
But he was slower. That was my edge.
Strike.
I attacked. Our swords clashed.
Bad timing.
He swung again, faking another gut shot. I moved to block, but he twisted the hilt, redirected—his blade whistled past, nearly grazing my shoulder.
He pressed down on my sword. Wood creaked under the strain.
"You're just as much a freak as your whore mother!" Somar yelled.
Rage flared, but I remembered Paul's words—control wins fights. Emotions get you killed. Stay calm. But…
You bastard… I'll make you eat that.
Somar only had one trick. He'd try that gut-feint again.
Sure enough—same move. Downward strike, then sudden shift upward.
But this time, I was ready.
I blocked, waited for him to shift his weight to his left foot, then stepped hard to my right.
He hesitated, came down late. A high swing—predictable.
I caught it mid-air and drove it down. Wood scraped against wood. He lost control. In the same motion, I lunged forward.
Sliding strike.
That's what Paul called it.
My wooden sword smashed into Somar's skull. He stumbled, then dropped flat on his ass.
His two cronies gasped. Everyone went dead silent.
But I couldn't stop. There were still two more.
Strike.
Another hit to Somar's head. That one knocked him out for real.
One of the others stepped back, glancing around—looking for a weapon? Too slow.
Rush.
I lunged before he could move. He turned just in time to see my sword slam between his shoulder blades. He screamed and collapsed, clutching his back.
"Gh—!"
One left.
He didn't hesitate—he charged me, trying to knock me off my feet.
I sidestepped, slipping past him. His body flew by.
My sword cut through the air and slammed into his face. Blood from the nose. He hit the ground, wheezing.
"Haa... haa…"
My hands were shaking. The wooden sword felt heavy. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
They were all down. I'd beaten them. Somar wasn't even conscious. The other two groaned, barely moving. I probably broke something.
"Hey! You… you okay?" I turned toward the one this all started over.
She didn't look scared. Not thankful either. Just watching me. Closely. Like she was trying to figure something out.
"Do you always fight like that?" she finally asked.