The wooden sword feels heavy in my hands, almost unbearably so. I plant my feet and grip the hilt tightly, trying to steady myself. I raise it above my shoulder, mimicking the stance I've seen countless times in this world.
My arms tremble.
The moment I swing, the blade veers off course, falling short of its intended arc. The weight pulls me forward, nearly throwing me off balance. I barely manage to hold my footing, but the sword clatters to the ground.
I stare at it, breathing heavily, frustration tightening my chest. How? How can I, a true blood of the Vandor family, fail at something so basic? My family—no, this body's family—is renowned for its mastery of the sword. My father is a captain in the Black Knight Order, an elite force known for its unmatched skill on the battlefield.
And yet here I am, struggling to even swing a piece of wood.
I reach down to pick up the sword, but my hand freezes mid-air. The mock battle. I'd almost forgotten.
The Vandor family holds a mock battle, a tradition meant to showcase the prowess of our lineage. It's not just an event for us, either—the vassal families tied to the Vandors participate, each sending their best to fight. For them, it's an opportunity to prove their loyalty and strength. For us, the true blood of Vandor, it's a test of honor.
This year, I'm expected to participate.
But I? I've never even held a sword until now. In my past life, my battles were fought on a keyboard, my victories measured in lines of code. The idea of stepping into that arena, of facing off against someone who's trained their entire life, feels like a death sentence.
But I can't run.
"If I can't swing the sword…" I mutter to myself, "then I'll make my body strong enough to do it."
Swinging the sword isn't the problem—I am. This body is too weak, too untrained to handle the demands of combat. If I want to stand a chance in that mock battle, I'll have to start from the ground up.
The next morning, I begin my training.
I rise before the sun, the courtyard shrouded in the pale light of dawn. The wooden sword rests against the wall, untouched. Instead, I drop to the ground and press my palms into the dirt.
"One push-up," I say aloud, as if hearing the words will make them easier.
It doesn't. My arms give out almost immediately, and I collapse face-first into the ground.
I push myself back up, frustration burning in my chest. Again.
After finishing my routine, I collapse onto the ground, sweat soaking through my clothes. The sky above is painted with streaks of orange and pink, the setting sun casting long shadows across the courtyard.
I call out in my mind, summoning the status window that has become an odd comfort in this strange world.
----
[Status Window]
[Name]: Zenith Vandor
[Age]: 8
[Race]: Half-Human
[Title]: Scion of Vandor
[Strength]: F → E
[Mana]: FFF
[Vitality]: FF → F
[Agility]: F → E
[Intelligence]: A
[Unique Ability[: The Coder - SSS
[Compiled Spells]: 155
[Custom Functions]: 27
[Other Abilities]: None
I close the window, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
"It's not much," I whisper to myself, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own breathing. "But it's a start."
I drag my feet back toward the estate after another grueling day of training. My body aches, muscles screaming in protest with every step. I can barely keep my eyes open, the weight of exhaustion threatening to pull me under. All I want now is to fall into my bed and forget about the mock battle looming ahead.
But as I near the hallway, something sharp halts me in my tracks. The temperature seems to drop, and the air itself feels thick with an almost suffocating pressure.
I turn the corner and stop dead in my tracks. There, standing like a mountain carved from stone, is Vellion Vandor.
My father. The Patriarch.
My breath catches in my throat. I've seen him before, of course—glimpses from a distance—but never this close. Vellion stands tall and imposing, the embodiment of the Vandor bloodline. His black armor gleams with an aura of battle-hardened strength, and the weight of his presence presses down on me.
I force myself to remain upright, but my heart hammers in my chest.
His cold, calculating eyes meet mine. He doesn't blink, doesn't waver.
I instinctively reach for my side, where I can feel the familiar sensation of my own status window, but what catches my attention is the one in front of me—the status window of my father.
----
[Status Window]
[Name]: Vellion Vandor
[Age]: 38
[Race]: Human
[Title]: Patriarch of Vandor, Captain of Black Knight Order, The third swordmaster
[Strength]: S
[Mana]: C
[Vitality]: SS
[Agility]: S
[Intelligence]: A
[Unique Ability]: Black Sword [SS]
[Other Abilities]: [Absolute Leader]
I freeze, staring at the window. It's unfilled, but the sheer presence of it—the possibility of what might be within it—hits me like a punch to the gut. My father's abilities, simply monstrous.
I shudder, the realization sinking in. There's so much more to him than I could ever comprehend.
Before I can gather my thoughts, Vellion's voice cuts through the air, low and final.
"You don't have to participate," he says, the words sharp like a blade. "Milith will succeed me anyway. You don't need to worry about it."
"I'll do the bare minimum as a Vandor," I say, forcing the words out, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. "I won't run from my battles."
Vellion looks at me for a long moment. His expression is unreadable, cold as always. Without another word, he turns and walks past me, his footsteps echoing in the hall as he disappears into the distance.
I stand still for a moment, the void of his presence lingering, suffocating me. My legs shake, and suddenly I collapse to my knees. The aura his presence carries—unspoken, yet oppressive—drains everything from me.
I gasp for breath, the weight of the moment crushing down on me. In that brief exchange, I feel the full extent of my father's power, his presence. I've never experienced anything like it before. It's not just strength—it's sheer force, an aura that seems capable of crushing anything in its path.
I press my hands against the cold stone floor, trying to steady myself. I feel the tremble in my limbs, the overwhelming pressure on my chest. My father is a monster!
And for the first time since my rebirth, I feel the weight of my family's legacy pressing down on me, heavier than anything I've ever known.