Three years had passed.
Rynan had finally learned how to talk. And by finally, he meant it had taken a soul-crushing amount of effort to go from babbling nonsense to forming actual sentences. But the victory was sweet. So sweet, in fact, that he'd taken it upon himself to spice up his vocabulary whenever Andrea wasn't looking.
"Damn!" he muttered under his breath one morning. The word rolled off his tongue, satisfying in its forbidden simplicity.
Andrea, the ever-watchful maid, turned her back for a split second. Perfect timing.
"Hell yeah!" Rynan added, testing it out. He stifled a grin and glanced around. No one had heard him.
Every day had turned into a covert operation of speech-making. He wasn't just learning to talk—he was reclaiming a part of himself, one tiny rebellion at a time.
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The family had gathered for breakfast, the air filled with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread and honeyed tea. It was peaceful, as always.
"Darling~ say aah~" Linia cooed, holding up a spoonful of food to Forle like they were characters in a romance novel.
"Awh, thanks, darling." Forle leaned forward and accepted the bite with an exaggerated grin.
Rynan nearly choked on his porridge. Oh damn. Were they always this romantic? He looked over at Andrea, searching for some kind of sanity check.
The maid shrugged, her expression neutral but vaguely amused. "I dunno what's happening," she said before popping a piece of fruit into her mouth.
Andrea was chill like that. She never let anything faze her, even the absurdity of Rynan's new life.
Rynan, meanwhile, focused on his breakfast, scarfing it down like it might escape him. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could retreat to the relative sanity of solitude. After downing the last bite, he hopped off his chair and carried his plate to the sink.
"Dad, can I go up to the storage room?" Rynan asked, his voice still high-pitched but steady—adorable enough to disarm even the toughest of hearts.
Forle's face lit up instantly, his grin stretching ear to ear. "Oh, Rynan, you'll be training with me starting today!"
Rynan froze mid-step, his little brain struggling to process the sudden announcement. "Training? What kind of training?"
Forle puffed out his chest, his excitement almost palpable. "I'm going to teach you the Manly Arts!"
"Manly Arts?" Rynan echoed, tilting his head. "What's that?"
"It's swordsmanship, obviously!" Forle declared, flexing his arms like he was already preparing for battle.
The room went silent for a moment. Then—
"Pfft!" Linia spat out her drink, her wide eyes darting to her husband. "Darling, didn't we agree to make him a mage?"
Forle's expression didn't falter. "No, we agreed to make him a swordsman!"
And thus, the 'lovers' quarrel' began, an impromptu debate that promised to last well into the afternoon.
Rynan sighed inwardly, already feeling the headache forming. They're really going to argue about this for five hours, aren't they?
Linia crossed her arms, her fiery orange hair catching the morning sunlight. "Darling, we talked about this! A mage has more opportunities in this world. It's safer, more practical—"
"A mage is fine," Forle interrupted, his voice rising an octave. "But a swordsman has honor! Discipline! And it's not like I can teach him magic, can I?"
"Well, I can't teach him swordsmanship!" Linia shot back, her brows furrowing.
The back-and-forth escalated quickly, each argument louder than the last. Andrea, unfazed, continued eating her breakfast, though her eyes occasionally darted to Rynan as if to say, Good luck, kid.
Rynan wasn't about to let this drag on. He raised his hand, waiting for a pause in the shouting. When none came, he sighed and cut in. "Mom, Dad, what if I did both swordsmanship and magic?"
The room went still. Forle and Linia stared at him, their faces blank with surprise.
Then—
"Rynan, you're amazing!" Linia beamed, her earlier frustration melting away.
"A true prodigy!" Forle agreed, nodding vigorously.
Rynan pinched the bridge of his tiny nose. No, you guys are just… dumb.
Still, their praise wasn't entirely unwelcome. He let out a small sigh, relieved but also a little exhausted by the mental gymnastics required to keep his new family in line.
Forle clapped his hands together, his enthusiasm returning tenfold. "Then it's settled! Rynan, my boy, you'll be a mage and a swordsman! The best of both worlds!"
Linia nodded, her smile softening as she looked at her son. "We'll make sure you have the best training possible, sweetheart."
Rynan gave a small nod, though his thoughts were far from optimistic. Great. Now I have to balance two entirely different skill sets in a world I barely understand. No pressure.
Still, a part of him was intrigued. This was a second chance, after all. A chance to become something—or someone—he'd never been before. Maybe, just maybe, he could make it work.
As the conversation moved on, the lingering tension in the room eased, replaced by the warmth of shared purpose.
Rynan leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Well, at least life won't be boring.
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Both Rynan and Forle stood in the backyard, swords glinting in the midday sun. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of grass and sweat. Rynan held the practice dagger tightly in his small hands, its weight unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
"Alright, Ryn," Forle began, his voice brimming with excitement. "Today, I'm teaching you the basics of swordsmanship. Pay attention, okay?"
"Yes, Dad," Rynan replied, suppressing a sigh. Can we just get on with it already?
Forle cleared his throat, adopting the stance of a seasoned instructor. "In swordsmanship, there are five distinct styles. Each has its strengths and weaknesses, so it's important to find the one that suits you best."
Rynan nodded, though his attention waned slightly. He already knew how this was going to end.
"For the first style," Forle continued, holding up one finger, "we have the Ordinary Sword Style. Simple but reliable. Perfect for beginners and practical in any situation."
"Okay," Rynan murmured, his tone neutral.
"Next, the Double Sword Style." Forle mimed holding two blades, his movements exaggerated for effect. "It's harder to master, but it's incredibly efficient if you can wield two swords at once."
"Mhmm." Rynan gave a faint nod, waiting for him to continue.
"For the third," Forle gestured dramatically, "we have the Longsword Style. Brutal and devastating, it's all about raw power. Not for the faint of heart."
Sure, let's give a kid my size a greatsword. Totally practical, Rynan thought, but he stayed silent.
"For the fourth style," Forle grinned, "the Shortsword Style. Compact, precise, and highly effective in tight spaces. It's shorter than a sword but longer than a dagger."
Rynan tilted his head slightly, intrigued despite himself.
"And finally," Forle declared, his voice reaching a crescendo, "the Dagger Style. Fast, agile, and requiring sharp reflexes and brains. It's perfect for those who can think three steps ahead."
At this, Rynan's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I see."
"So, Ryn," Forle asked, leaning forward slightly, "what style do you want to start with?" His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Rynan didn't even hesitate. "Dagger Style."
Forle blinked. "Huh. Really? You're sure?"
"Yep." Rynan nodded firmly, his grip on the practice dagger tightening. Of course, I'd pick daggers. I wasn't called the Pinnacle of Death in my past life for nothing.
Back when he was Alexus, knives had been his weapon of choice. Small, discreet, and deadly. In emergencies, they were perfect for slicing throats and ending fights before they even began.
"Well, alright then!" Forle said, clapping his hands together. "Let's get started with the basics—"
"Oh, no need, Dad," Rynan interrupted, his tone casual. "I already know how to use a dagger. Read about it in some books."
Forle froze, his mouth slightly agape. Then, suddenly, he threw his arms into the air. "My son… is a TRUE PRODIGY!"
Rynan blinked, struggling to keep a straight face. Not really… I just know how to use a knife thanks to my past life's… less-than-noble skills.
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It was time for the mock duel.
Rynan and Forle faced each other, a solid ten meters of grassy terrain separating them. The tension in the air was thick, but Rynan felt a strange calm settle over him.
Forle held his sword confidently, a grin plastered on his face. "You ready, Ryn?"
"Yep," Rynan replied, flashing a small, knowing grin. "I could say the same to you, Dad."
Forle chuckled. "Alright, let's see what you've got. Go!"
Dash!
Forle moved first, kicking off the ground with such force that a cloud of dust erupted around him.
Rynan's eyes widened. Woah. I never thought of that technique in my past life...
Before he could fully react, a shadow loomed behind him.
Clang!
Forle's sword came down hard, but Rynan managed to block it just in time. His small frame trembled slightly from the force, but he held his ground.
"Nice reflexes, Ryn!" Forle exclaimed, clearly impressed.
Rynan smirked. "Thanks, Dad. Not bad yourself."
Despite his size, Rynan knew he had one clear advantage—speed. He crouched low, aiming a sweeping kick at Forle's right leg.
Forle, however, was one step ahead. He jumped, narrowly avoiding the attack.
Oh no.
The jump transitioned into a smooth side-flip, Forle's blade arcing toward Rynan's shoulder.
Fuck!
Bang!
Rynan barely managed to roll away, the blade missing him by inches. He sprang to his feet, his heart pounding but his mind sharper than ever.
Forle landed gracefully, his grin wider than before. "Not bad, Ryn! But you'll have to do better than that!"
Rynan didn't respond. Instead, he focused, his grip on the dagger tightening. He needed a plan—and fast.
Forle lunged again, his sword a blur.
Rynan dodged to the side, his small frame making it easy to slip out of Forle's reach. He retaliated with a quick slash aimed at Forle's ribs, but the man deflected it effortlessly.
"You're fast!" Forle admitted, stepping back for a moment. "But speed alone won't win this fight."
Rynan smirked, his mind racing. We'll see about that, Dad.
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