Azel donned a simple outfit fit for his age and frame — a white linen shirt tucked into black shorts, a brown belt keeping it in place.
It complimented his features well: silver hair that fell just past his ears and eyes that shimmered crimson under the morning sun.
Despite looking like a delicate porcelain doll, Azel’s body had hardened over the past three months of rigorous training.
His arms had definition, his core was firm, and he no longer tripped over his own feet.
His reflection in the mirror looked less like a helpless child and more like a boy soldier straight out of a fantasy novel.
Outside the cottage, Steven stood leaning on a walking stick, clad in a simple tunic and brown trousers with a wide-brimmed straw hat resting over his long silver hair.
His casual look was almost too effective — no one would’ve guessed this laidback man was the Sword Saint who had once carved a battlefield into ribbons.
Azel came jogging out with a list in hand. "This is a list of things we need."
Steven took the list from his hand and squinted at it. "Looks like you wrote this in bird scratches."
Azel huffed. "You’re the one who said a warrior must do everything himself. I’m just applying that logic to groceries."
Steven handed Azel a small sheathed dagger and adjusted the belt around the boy’s waist.
"Keep it on you. The town’s not as safe as it looks. If anyone strange approaches you — stab first, ask questions never."
"...That’s not what a responsible adult should be teaching a kid."
"It is when the kid’s already been kidnapped once," Steven said dryly, before smirking and ruffling Azel’s hair. "Let’s get going."
The Dark forest was dangerous.
It was a monster-infested forest hidden behind a veil of natural illusions and steep cliffs.
Steven had carved a path through the thickest part of the woods — a secret, winding trail shielded by branches and misdirection.
As they walked down it together, Azel could feel a sense of freedom he hadn’t felt since waking up in this cursed world.
It took thirty minutes before they broke past the final row of shrubs and arrived at a worn cobblestone road, now dappled with sunlight.
A crooked wooden sign nearby read [Welcome to Deymoor Town] — the same town Azel had first arrived in.
He suppressed a shudder.
’The same town where I almost got sold like a piece of cattle... Good times.’
At the town gates, two guards stood with halberds crossed lazily in front of them.
Both men straightened the moment they saw Steven, their eyes lighting up with recognition.
"Ah, Old Man Thorny!" the taller one called. "Didn’t expect to see you dragging a kid around. Fatherhood finally caught up to you?"
Steven chuckled. "Something like that."
"Cute kid. Hope he’s not as uptight as you were back in the day."
"He eats like a starving troll and swings an axe like he’s angry at the trees. You tell me."
The guards burst into laughter.
One of them leaned over and handed Azel a couple of bronze coins. "Here, lad. Buy yourself some sweets."
"Thank you!" Azel beamed.
’Being a kid has its perks.’
The currency of the world — Ares — was a gold-based coinage system. One bronze Ares could buy a meal in the slums, a silver Ares bought you a night in a cheap inn, and one golden Ares? That could pay for a month’s rent in a respectable district.
Azel had once checked the in-game economy and remembered how hard it was to save up even 1,000 gold Ares.
Steven led him through the bustling gates, into the heart of Deymoor Town. Cobblestone paths twisted between narrow houses with mossy roofs.
Colorful banners hung overhead, and the scent of roasted meat and spices drifted through the air like a seduction spell.
Merchants shouted about discounts, potion peddlers waved flasks of dubious color, and street performers balanced fire wands while singing off-key.
It was chaos — and Azel loved it, it wasn’t as bustling as American cities though.
"Stay close," Steven warned. "And if anyone tries to sell you a miracle elixir, punch them in the nose."
They wove through the market district, ticking off items from the list as they went.
Azel carried a cloth bag slung over his shoulder, gradually filling it with the stuff they bought along the way.
At one stall, Steven haggled with a grumpy old butcher, while Azel’s gaze wandered between the two.
[You have gained a new Basic skill]
[Haggling (LV.1)]
...
The sun was beginning its lazy descent across the sky, spilling gold over the cobblestones of Deymoor Town.
Azel let out a quiet grunt, adjusting the heavy sack slung over his shoulder. It had taken a while but the bag was packed to the brim with vegetables, dried herbs, thick cuts of meat, and a suspicious number of flintcap mushrooms.
Every step he took made the bag groan.
"This better be building stamina," he muttered under his breath. "Otherwise, this is just child labor."
Steven walked ahead with his hands in his pockets, strolling like a man with no weight on his shoulders — because, of course, he literally had no weight on his shoulders.
Azel squinted at him suspiciously. "Are you sure this is for training and not because you don’t feel like carrying anything?"
Steven didn’t even turn around. "A warrior must train his body. Strength comes from struggle."
"Lazy comes from delegation," Azel shot back.
A few locals greeted Steven as they passed. "Mr. Thorn! Good afternoon!"
Steven tipped his straw hat and waved at them with a friendly smile.
None of them knew he was the Sword Saint, I guess he had to keep his secret identity up.
To them, he was just a nice, slightly aloof local who lived deep in the woods.
Honestly? Azel couldn’t blame them.
The Steven in the game was a stern, unsmiling juggernaut of steel and discipline. This Steven looked like he was on vacation from adventuring... and was currently outsourcing heavy lifting to a ten-year-old.
After a few more turns through Deymoor’s back alleys, they arrived at their destination: a large stone building with smoke puffing from a wide chimney.
Hanging above the doorway was a sign etched into polished oak that read:
[The Steel Swan – Weapons, Armor, and Wisdom Forged Daily]
Azel tilted his head. "Why are we at a weapon shop?"
Steven turned and patted his shoulder. "You wanted to learn the sword, didn’t you? We’ll need a proper training blade. And some armor, too."