The trek to the shrine had been grueling. Minjae led the way through the shifting sands, his movements steady despite his injuries. Jin stumbled behind, struggling to keep up, his boots sinking into the soft dunes with every step. The weight of the sword on his back and the unbearable heat made him feel like he was dragging his body through quicksand.
By the time the shrine appeared on the horizon—a crumbling relic half-buried in sand—Jin's vision was swimming. He collapsed at the entrance, gasping for breath. Minjae hauled him up roughly by the arm.
"Rest inside. The patrols don't come this far."
The shrine was eerily silent, its walls adorned with faded carvings that Jin couldn't make out in the dim light. As soon as he sat down, Minjae began tending to his own wounds, working methodically with scraps of cloth and a small pouch of herbs.
Jin couldn't take his eyes off the blood on his hands. It had dried into dark streaks, but he still felt its warmth, still heard the soldier's gurgling last breath.
"I can't do this," he muttered.
Minjae didn't look up. "Then you'll die."
Jin's head snapped up, anger bubbling to the surface. "I didn't sign up for this! I'm not some trained warrior! I'm just—"
"—alive," Minjae interrupted, his tone sharp. "And you won't stay that way if you keep whining." He threw a small knife toward Jin. It clattered to the ground at his feet. "Pick it up."
Jin hesitated, his hands trembling. "Why?"
"Because out here, nobody's coming to save you. You want to live? Learn."
What followed was an hour of brutal drills. Minjae didn't explain much, just barked commands and hurled rocks when Jin faltered. At first, Jin barely managed to dodge, his limbs sluggish and uncoordinated. But something shifted as the drills continued.
His movements, though clumsy, began to feel instinctive. When Minjae lunged at him with a stick, Jin managed to sidestep. When he was told to strike, he felt the knife move in his grip with a growing familiarity.
By the time Minjae called for a halt, Jin was on his knees, drenched in sweat. Every muscle in his body screamed, and his hands were blistered, but a flicker of pride warmed his chest.
"Not bad," Minjae muttered, tossing him a water flask. "For someone who's never fought, you learn fast."
Jin gulped down the water and leaned back, exhausted. As he stared at the darkened ceiling of the shrine, something strange happened.
A translucent window appeared before his eyes, its faint blue glow illuminating the dim space:
[Skill Acquired: Basic Knife Handling (Beginner)]
Skill Level: 1/10
Description: Basic proficiency in handling a knife during combat. Movement is 10% faster, accuracy improved by 5%.
Jin blinked, his breath hitching. He raised his hand to touch the glowing words, but they vanished just as quickly as they'd appeared.
"What the hell…" he whispered.
Minjae glanced at him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Jin said quickly, shaking his head. He didn't trust himself to explain what he'd just seen.
But as he curled up that night, clutching the knife to his chest, Jin couldn't shake the thought: Whatever was happening to him, this world was starting to leave its mark.