Sparring Session

Sixteen years have passed since I was reincarnated as Siegnir Spidralily. Time slipped through my fingers like water—quiet, fleeting, and impossible to hold onto.

These sixteen years… were some of the happiest moments of my life. I could run outside without worrying about collapsing. I could breathe in the open air and laugh freely.

Both of my parents were kind. For the first time, I felt like I truly belonged somewhere. Yet, I still miss my previous mother. I hope she’s taking care of herself, wherever she is.

My new mother’s name is Lint. A strange name. One she didn’t choose. It was simply given to her—the name left behind when she was abandoned on the steps of a church. She’s lived a harsh life, yet she still smiles. I often wonder… how? How can she smile so brightly?

And then there’s my father, Marcus. A village guard. Our village is small—barely twenty houses and even fewer people. Fifteen, give or take.

Father is a respected man. The sole provider for our family. He carries a confidence so radiant it could shame the sun, and he loves both Mother and me deeply.

Since being reborn in this world, I’ve learned this isn’t Earth. Though it resembles a medieval version of it.

Magic exists here—the kind you only read about in fantasy novels. But not everyone can wield it. Mother once told me that only one in a million are born with the ability to use magic. A true prodigy. A child kissed by Lady Luck.

Sadly, Lady Luck never looked my way. Nor did she bless anyone else in this tiny village of Cinderdust.

A place forgotten by the world. Left to rot and fend for itself. People here plant crops and pray for a decent harvest. Trading is normal. Corn for bread. Services for food.

Still, I’m content. As long as I have food and a strong enough body, I’ll keep smiling.

Yes. I have to smile—for my father, and for my friends.

Like a doll… a smiling doll.

The voice still speaks to me. A voice that sounds like mine, only smarter. It lies. But sometimes… it tells the truth. It remembers things I forget. It only speaks when I close my eyes, even in sleep. Whispering. Singing strange things I can’t understand. It’s not like it was in my past life… but I’ve grown used to it.

That was my peaceful, happy life in this new world.

But I didn’t realize just how fragile it all was—like a tower of sand, waiting for a breeze to knock it down.

The day everything changed came sooner than expected.

I was training with Father just outside the village, like always. Every morning, we’d clash wooden swords in a contest of pure skill.

He taught me how to wield a blade for as long as I can remember. I thought I was five...

〈You were seven.〉

Seven. That was the first time I held a sword. Since then, we’ve been sparring every chance we get. Not any kind of proper sword technique, just wild swinging—like a cat trying to catch a mouse.

The day it all changed… was a training day too.

***

Outside Cinderdust Village — Early Morning

A faint fog clung to our worn commoner clothes, making anything more than five meters ahead look like a blurry dream. The cold air bit at our skin—refreshing, but annoying.

“Son, are you done warming up?!” Father’s strict voice cut through the mist like a blade. That was his teacher mode—stern, focused, unshakable.

“I’m ready, Dad!” I shouted, unsheathing my wooden sword.

The blade was covered in scratches—a history carved by countless battles with him. He was the strongest in the entire village. I had never won, not even once.

But this time would be different.

“This time I won’t lose!” I declared, gripping the worn hilt tightly.

Father held his claymore in both hands. Even made of wood, it looked heavy. Intimidating.

“That’s how a man should be! Come! Fight like your life depends on it!” he said with a grin, eyes shining with excitement.

He always loved to spar. I think I did too… at least, that’s what the voice tells me.

I closed my eyes.

〈 You’re afraid. Afraid to show your true emotions. Afraid they’ll hate you if you do. 〉

It lies again.

I took a deep breath, then opened my eyes.

“Father! Here I come!” I shouted, charging full speed.

I thrust my sword straight for his head. With a clean downward sweep, he deflected it. The tip slammed into the dirt, sending up a dull thud into the quiet fog.

Too strong. A direct clash was suicide.

He turned his wooden claymore sideways, aiming for my neck. My instincts screamed.

I let go of my sword to lighten myself and leapt back just in time. The swing missed, slicing air just inches from my throat.

Cold sweat trickled down my brow. My breathing hitched. The world darkened. My eyelids fell heavy for a moment.

〈 You’re afraid of dying. Trauma from your previous death. If you don’t break that chain, your destiny will lead to death once more. 〉

'Shut up. I’m not afraid—I was just… startled.'

I steadied my breath and looked around. Father spoke again.

“Son. How many times do I have to say it? A warrior never drops his weapon. On the battlefield…” He threw my sword back. I caught it.

“…no one will be as kind as I am.”

That tone again. Like he was speaking to his younger self.

“Stand firm! Never take your eyes off your enemy! Fight—even if it kills you! Don’t be afraid! Come at me, Siegnir!”

A faint smile tugged at my lips. The man everyone respected… I could see why. He was radiant. A warrior through and through.

My resolve flared as golden rays broke through the fog behind him. I raised my sword. The mist seemed to lift with it.

One final clash. Winner takes all.

I grounded myself. Boots sinking slightly into the dark soil. This was it. A secret move I’d been developing in silence—my own technique.

I pulled back my right arm, sword trailing. My left foot stepped forward, my right drew back. I drew a deep breath, focusing everything into a single motion.

I launched myself forward, pushing off my back foot like a bullet. The world slowed. Father didn’t move. A statue in the mist. My sword flew toward his chest—

—I thought I had it.

But arrogance is always punished.

Father’s claymore struck down like thunder. My sword was flung from my hands. In a flash, he sidestepped and struck the back of my neck.

"Well done, Siegnir."

The world turned dark.

〈 You’ve lost. But gained something in return. Yet you still haven’t conquered your fear of death. 〉

I lost consciousness.

That was the last time I sparred with my father. The last moment where the world felt like it revolved around just us.

Despair was coming.

It crept closer—like a snake, coiled in silence, waiting to strike.