"Brat… your parents are going out of town on some overseas business..." Grandpa's voice took on a darker edge. "That means it's just you and me now..."
His tone... it sounded dangerous.
"You chose the sword, correct?"
"Yes!" I answered quickly, not wanting to show any hesitation.
"Good. Now, dress up." He pointed at the sword basket, which contained the one-piece uniform and the soft sword. "Come meet me in the garden when you're ready."
With that, he slammed the door behind him.
Shit. What was going to happen now? His amusement in that moment made me uneasy. The choice of words, the tone—nothing about this was reassuring. I had no idea what he had in store, but I could already feel the weight of it pressing down on me. The calm before the storm…
I dressed up quickly, donning the uniform and the face protector. My heart raced as I made my way to the garden. There he was—Grandpa, standing with a sword in hand, looking as calm as ever.
"Tch... such audacity..." he muttered, his gaze piercing through me.
"Brat... charge at me with everything you've studied."
His words rang in my ears, and despite the fear creeping up my spine, I couldn't hesitate. I gripped the soft sword tightly and squared my stance. This was it. I had no choice but to prove myself. I had to give everything I had—everything I'd learned in the past two yrs.
But deep down, I knew—this wouldn't be easy. Grandpa wasn't just any teacher. He didn't care about my age or my past. To him, I was simply another challenge to overcome.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Don't! Grandpa, please don't! Don't kill meeeee!"
At that moment, a single truth hit me like a hammer: Grandpa wasn't just any swordsman. He was ruthless. I'd barely taken a step, hoping he'd at least be gentle since I was his grandkid, right? But there I was, pinned to the ground, his wooden sword pressed against my throat.
"Brat, I appreciate that willpower you've got, but it all comes to an end now…" His voice was cold, sharp, as if he were a different person entirely.
Then…with a loud swish..
I was sure I'd felt the sword slice through me like butter, sure I was done for. But when I opened my eyes again, I was… standing. Right where I'd started, untouched. I blinked, looking down at myself in shock—no cuts, no bruises, no… anything.
"Eh… how… how am I here? I was… standing in the position before… I hadn't even charged yet…"
Grandpa let out a low chuckle. "Brat, I didn't even touch you! The 'death' you experienced was just my bloodlust."
His words sunk in, and I realized: he hadn't physically attacked me. Instead, he'd explained that an overwhelming bloodlust alone could make someone imagine their own demise. My mind had conjured up every detail—the slice, the pain, the finality. It was real, every second of it. And it was terrifying.
"Bloodlust so intense," he explained, "that it forces the victim to 'experience' their death. The pain, the fear… all of it is real. If you can't handle that, you won't survive here."
I looked at him, feeling a chill as his gaze bore into me. If this was training, it was going to be a nightmare.
Grandpa's gaze grew dark, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"Brat," he began, almost as if he were talking to himself, "in my many years of war and violence… I've only lost three things." He held up three fingers, his tone somber and distant, each word heavy with memories.
"The first was my *youth,*" he said, lowering one finger. "Years spent in bloodshed and battle leave a man older than his age. I may look strong, but I am far from young."
The second finger lowered, his expression hardening. "Then, my *innocence.* The first kill stains the soul in a way that can never be washed clean. War taught me that mercy has no place on the battlefield."
Then he hesitated, a hand hovering over his left eye. "And the third… was my *left eye.* It's the only thing that reminds me I, too, am flesh." He turned to me, his expression shadowed. "The one who took it from me was an Asura—those soulless fighters who live only for the thrill of battle, who care nothing for anyone or anything but destruction."
His one remaining eye locked onto me, piercing and intense. "So remember, brat," he said, his voice like steel, "whatever we face, there will always be creatures who fight for no cause but carnage. And you, if you want to survive… will have to be stronger than them."
Grandpa's voice was sharp, each word meant to pierce.
"Listen, brat... I don't know if you fully understand this yet," he began, eyes locked onto mine, "but the fact that you were able to read and remember books like that at barely two years old—well, it's clear you've got something special. Maybe even a rare talent." He paused, his gaze growing harder. "But let me tell you… *you're worthless.*"
My heart sank, but he didn't stop, each word hitting like a strike.
"Worthless against someone who's trained their whole life," he continued, "even if they have no talent to speak of. It's their hard work that makes them stronger, superior. Talent alone will never save you if you can't back it up with effort and grit."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "And let me tell you something else—There is no mercy. Mercy is for the weak. On the battlefield, if you show mercy, if you hesitate... that's where you'll die. Hesitation means death, brat. Don't ever let it rule you."
Grandpa straightened, looking down at me with a calculating, expectant look, as if waiting to see if his words had sunk in.
Grandpa's voice was fierce, yet calm, each word deliberate. "Do you know why I'm telling you all this, brat? Why I'm saying these things to someone barely two years old, who can hardly even run?" He knelt down, looking me square in the eye, his expression more intense than ever.
"I've had my eyes on you since the day you were born," he continued, his voice unwavering. "But I held back. For the sake of my son, your father—I hesitated. I thought maybe you'd get to have a normal life." He sighed, though his resolve never faltered.
"But now, with them both gone overseas on business... it's just you and me." He straightened up, his gaze as unyielding as iron. "And now, I can finally do what must be done. I'm going to mold you, brat. Forge you into the perfect warrior—a warrior like the world has never seen."
His words hung heavy in the air, a promise and a challenge wrapped into one.
His eyes hardened, any trace of warmth vanishing. "And don't ever think I'll go easy on you, brat!" he barked. "The fact that you're my grandson means *nothing* until you've proven yourself worthy of it. Blood alone doesn't grant strength."
He dropped to the floor and knocked out a flawless sit-up, swift and powerful, before glaring back at me. "Now," he commanded, "do this a hundred times. No slacking, no excuses."
My heart pounded. This was it—my first real trial. I knew there was no sympathy here, only the cold, unyielding road he had chosen for me. And somehow, the intensity in his eyes dared me to rise to it.
After I managed to finish the first set, my muscles already aching and trembling, I dared to look up at him, hoping for a hint of approval.
But he only crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Not impressive. More!" he barked, his voice like steel. "One hundred more, brat!"
My legs were like jelly, my arms felt like they were on fire, but there was no way I could back down. Not after coming this far. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and started again. If he wanted a warrior, I'd prove I could handle it—even if it broke me.
Yes… I've been reincarnated into this world… a fantasy world, where strength isn't just a goal—it's survival. I *have* to become the best. There's no choice. No matter how hard he pushes me, no matter how much it hurts, I *can't* back down.
Every bit of pain, every bruise, and every demand from Grandpa is just another step toward what I need to become. I'll endure it, all of it. If I'm going to make a mark in this world, if I'm going to protect the people who matter, I have to be stronger than anyone could ever imagine.
Two weeks had passed, though it felt more like a lifetime. Physically, I'd gotten used to the grind—my body recovered quickly, maybe some genetic perk. But mentally? I was drained. Exhausted from the endless drills, the cold stares, and relentless training sessions with Grandpa, who seemed to think words of encouragement would somehow weaken me.
He didn't offer a hint of kindness or approval, just the cold, blunt reality of what he expected. I'd catch myself thinking, *Is this it? Just me and him, this lonely routine?* But I knew that if I wanted even a scrap of respect, some sliver of warmth, I'd have to earn it on my own. No shortcuts, no complaints. Just proof—proof that I could survive, even thrive, under his harsh discipline. And maybe then, I'd see something other than that stern, unyielding gaze in his eyes.
In these two weeks, I grew more than any normal two-year-old. I had already reached nearly 90 cm—well above average—and weighed 15 kg, 3 kg more than most kids my age. My routine was simple but brutal: wake up, eat, train, eat, train, and then eat again. Every night, Grandpa would lecture me on different topics—magic, leveling systems, artifacts—all the knowledge I would need to survive in this world.
It was a hellish routine, and while my body recovered quickly from the physical strain (probably due to some genetic advantage), my mind was another story. Mentally, I was about 31, but my mind was constantly pushed to its limits. Every mistake was met with punishment, and there was no room for slacking, not even as a two-year-old. I was constantly reminded that my value would only be proven through action—not by age, not by blood, but by my ability to endure and excel.
It was strange, really. I had been reincarnated into a fantasy world, but despite the overwhelming pressure, there was one thing I knew: I had gained a mentor. Grandpa wasn't the kind to give affection or show mercy, but the lessons he taught me—no matter how painful—were priceless. His cold, unyielding discipline would forge me into something more than just a child, something stronger, something worth respecting.
I may have been forced to learn through hardship, but in this strange new world, I had to prove I was worthy of anything—especially love or affection.