"Wush."
Osirs swung his sword through the air, his arms moving with focus and precision. He practiced his swordplay tirelessly, his blade slicing through the empty space as if trying to carve out the perfect technique.
But even after two hours of relentless training, nothing seemed to change. The supposed guidance of his Sword Path Instinct felt… absent. Or rather, it felt like whatever he was doing was simply wrong.
Frustration building, he finally stopped and let his sword fall to his side. He dropped to the ground and lay on the cool grass, his eyes fixed on the clear, blue sky above.
"What am I doing wrong?" he muttered aloud, his voice filled with irritation and confusion.
He closed his eyes, letting the natural sounds of the world wash over him. The soft rustling of leaves. The gentle whistle of the wind. The crisp, fresh scent of trees.
And then…
"Grrr."
A low growl reached his ears. It was distant, faint, probably coming from somewhere deeper in the forest.
Osirs's eyes snapped open. An idea struck him like lightning.
"Maybe… my imagination of the perfect sword path has already hit its limit. Maybe I can't improve because I've only been practicing in safety, without any real experience to challenge myself."
His eyes widened with excitement, a wild grin forming on his face.
"Yes!" he shouted, springing to his feet. "That's it! To find a stronger path of the sword… I need to experience more. I need to push myself beyond this safe little world!"
Without hesitation, he glanced back at his village one last time, then turned and marched toward the forest surrounding the settlement. The growling he had heard earlier was faint but distinct.
And he was going to find it.
Osirs drew his wooden sword from its sheath, clutching it tightly until his knuckles turned white. His heart pounded in his chest, nerves prickling his skin.
But even as his body trembled with nervous energy, his eyes burned with a madness that felt almost euphoric.
Every step he took deeper into the woods seemed to calm him, like ripples in a river smoothing into glass. His breathing steadied, his heartbeat slowed.
He moved with purpose. With certainty.
And at last, he found the beast.
It was a large fox with pure white fur, its coat so pristine it almost seemed to glow in the dim forest light. Two oversized, fluffy ears twitched idly, and its bushy tail swayed lazily from side to side.
The fox lay stretched out on the ground, doing nothing but resting. It looked harmless, almost… cute.
Osirs paused, his steps coming to a halt as he took in the sight.
Peaceful.
The white fox was just peacefully lounging, eyes half-closed as if drifting on the edge of sleep.
"Why should I disturb it?" Osirs muttered to himself. "It's just resting… like I used to do."
Something about the creature's tranquility reminded him of himself, how he would lie in the grass, enjoying the quiet, free from the pressures of training or expectation.
"Maybe I should just leave it alone and go look for a bloodthirsty beast instead…" he whispered, his grip on his sword loosening.
He took a step back, ready to leave.
But then a chill ran down his spine.
It wasn't the coolness of the air or the shade of the trees. It was something deeper. Colder. Like the sensation of a blade pressed against bare skin.
It reminded him of the time he cut his hand on a broken knife… or when he fell ill and shivered uncontrollably. But this was worse. Sharper. And it came from behind him.
Osirs's body shuddered with sudden, inexplicable dread. His instincts screamed at him, like a voice roaring inside his skull.
He leaped to the right, his body moving faster than his mind could process.
The instant he moved, a white blur flashed past where he had just been standing.
His eyes widened in shock as he turned to see the fox, no longer lying down, but standing where he'd just been, eyes gleaming with a savage hunger.
Its gaze was sharp, predatory, a twisted contrast to its serene appearance. It looked at him like a beast looks at prey.
"...What?" Osirs breathed, his heart pounding. The fox's mouth opened slightly, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
The innocent looking creature was nothing of the sort.
In that moment, Osirs understood what he had felt just moments before.
The feeling of death.
His teacher's words rang through his mind.
"Never trust a beast by its appearance. The more harmless something looks, the more deadly it can be."
The truth of that lesson now bore down on him with chilling clarity.
Osirs's grip on his wooden sword tightened, his knuckles turning white. His eyes, no longer sparkling with excitement, grew cold and sharp.
The casual curiosity he had felt was gone.
Now, only caution and survival remained.
With the feeling of death pressing down on him, Osirs swung his sword at the white fox.
The fox darted to the side, dodging the attack with ease.
But Osirs didn't stop.
He swung again. And again. And again.
Every strike was filled with panic and desperation, his wooden sword cutting through the air in wild arcs. His breaths came out ragged, his body trembling with adrenaline.
Yet, as relentless as he was, the fox was faster.
It weaved around his attacks, its movements fluid and precise. But Osirs's persistence paid off.
After countless swings, the tip of his sword finally scraped across the fox's side, slicing through white fur and leaving a thin trail of blood.
The fox snarled, its eyes narrowing with pain and fury.
But Osirs wasn't much better off. His body felt heavy, his arms straining to keep swinging.
"Haa… haa…" His breaths tore from his lungs, sharp and uneven.
Why was it so hard to breathe? Why did his chest feel like it was on fire?
He'd trained before. He'd sparred before. But never had he felt such exhaustion.
The fox didn't give him time to think.
It lunged forward, claws slashing through the air with deadly precision.
Osirs tried to dodge, but his body felt slow, his reactions dulled by fatigue.
Pain tore through his leg as the fox's claws raked across his skin, leaving burning, stinging lines of agony.
"Argh!" Osirs stumbled back, his leg throbbing with pain. Every time he moved, the pain worsened, like shards of glass cutting deeper into his flesh.
But the fox kept attacking, relentless and unforgiving.
Osirs swung his sword desperately, trying to keep the beast at bay. But his strikes grew weaker, slower. The fox danced around him, claws flashing, teeth snapping.
It was overpowering him.
Fear twisted in Osirs's gut, icy and paralyzing. His mind raced, frantically searching for a way to survive.
"I'm… I'm going to die?"
The thought slammed into him like a physical blow. His body trembled, his breaths shaky and shallow.
The cold, dreadful feeling spread through his veins.
But even as fear threatened to consume him, something else sparked within him.
Refusal.
"No… I won't die here!"
Osirs gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with defiance. He pushed past the pain, dodging the fox's attacks as best he could.
But it wasn't enough. He was too slow. Too tired.
And then…
A faint, almost inaudible sound reached his ears.
A weak, high-pitched whimper.
Osirs's eyes narrowed, his gaze locking onto the fox's own.
The bloodthirsty, predatory look it wore before was gone.
Instead, its eyes were filled with panic.
Fear.
Not of him. Not of the battle.
But of something else.
Osirs's gaze shifted, scanning the area until he saw it.
Hidden among the bushes, just barely visible… a small, trembling pup.
A tiny white fox, curled up and whimpering, its eyes wide with terror.
Osirs's mind raced as the pieces clicked into place.
"It's… her baby."
The realization hit him like a slap.
The fox wasn't hunting him out of hunger or cruelty. It was protecting something. No, someone.
Its own child.
Osirs's grip on his sword faltered, his eyes widening with understanding.
A ruthless thought ignited in Osirs's mind, and before he could question it, he acted.
He moved toward the source of the faint growl, eyes locked on the small, trembling pup hidden in the bushes.
The white fox, realizing his intention, panicked. Its wild, desperate gaze flicked away from Osirs and toward its child.
Forgetting him entirely, it whirled around and bolted toward the hidden pup, frantic to protect it.
It rushed past Osirs, its fur brushing against him as it sprinted toward the sound.
But Osirs didn't hesitate.
As the fox's back turned to him, he hurled his sword with all the strength he had left.
The blade spun through the air and pierced into the fox's body, sinking deep into its flesh.
The fox stumbled, its legs giving out as it collapsed to the ground.
It let out a choked whimper, eyes wide with pain and disbelief. Blood spilled from its mouth, staining its pure white fur with streaks of crimson.
The creature looked over its shoulder, dazed and trembling. Its eyes found the sword protruding from its back.
It tried to stand, claws scratching at the dirt, but its body betrayed it.
Its breathing grew shallow, eyes growing dull and glassy.
It knew death was near.
The fox slumped to the ground, its chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths.
Until finally… it stopped.
The white furred beast lay motionless, the life draining away from its body.
Silence.
Osirs stood there, staring at the corpse painted red by its own blood. His breathing was heavy, his wounds aching, but his mind felt strangely blank.
"It's… dead?" he said aloud, his voice distant, as if he couldn't quite believe it.
One moment, the fox was a relentless predator trying to tear him apart. The next, it was just a lifeless body sprawled across the dirt.
"This is… weird." His words came out as a whisper.
He glanced down at himself, his robe covered in dried blood, both his own and the fox's.
His legs stung from the fox's claws, thin scratches crisscrossing his skin. His arms and torso hadn't been spared either, dozens of shallow wounds tingled painfully with each breath he took.
"Ahh…" The pain finally registered, dull aches morphing into sharp stabs that pulsed with his heartbeat.
But as he inspected his injuries, he realized something.
None of them were serious. Just scratches and bruises that would heal over time.
His gaze shifted back to the dead fox. Its body lay still, blood pooling around the sword he had thrown.
He felt a strange mix of emotions.
Relief, guilt, confusion, and something darker.
The fight had ended. But the weak, trembling growl had not. It continued, faint and desperate.
Osirs pushed himself to his feet, legs shaking from pain and exhaustion. His breathing was heavy, each inhale feeling like a fire in his chest.
He stumbled over to the white fox's body and yanked his sword free. Blood coated the blade, dripping down its length and pooling on the ground.
With a flick of his wrist, he swung the blade several times, splattering blood across the grass until it was mostly clean.
Satisfied, he slid the sword back into its sheath.
"Haaa…" Osirs sighed, his breath ragged and uneven. His body screamed for rest, for the comfort of his straw bed back at the village.
But despite the pain and fatigue, his heart still pounded with exhilaration.
It was as if the rush of the battle still echoed within him, refusing to fade away.
And he liked it.
The fear, the thrill, the desperation to survive. It had all been real. Raw and pure.
He found himself smiling.
"Is this… what I crave?" he whispered, his voice trembling with both exhaustion and excitement. "Is this what I want to live for?"
He let out a low, breathless laugh.
"I could've died… but it seems like that's what I truly desire."
Osirs's eyes grew sharp, his gaze cutting through the air like a blade.
"It's to fight, isn't it? To feel that dreadful sensation of facing death head-on… and the relief of surviving it."
He chuckled, his laugh deepening into something almost manic.
"What a foolish desire…"
But even as he spoke, his eyes began to shine. A faint, golden glow lit up his gaze, burning from within.
"But even if it's foolish… it's still my desire."
The glow grew stronger, the yellow light consuming the darkness of his eyes until they shimmered like twin embers in the night.
"So what if it's foolish?" His voice rose with newfound conviction. "From this day forward, I will live for it. I will challenge death. And if anyone dares to stand in my way…"
He grinned, his entire body trembling with excitement.
"I will cut them down."
The golden light in his eyes intensified, blazing so brightly it seemed to pierce the air itself.
And then a yellow black screen apeared before him.
[Ding! Congratulations! You have learned a new skill!]
[Thirst of the Battlefield]