EPISODE 39: Zenoda's Birthday

Morning in Kaigan Village always began with the cry of seagulls and the sound of waves breaking against the rocks.

The morning after the near-fatal test at the training camp, Zenoda woke up as usual. His muscles, which had been completely drained the day before, had fully recovered with deep sleep. He got up, washed his face, and walked to the dining room.

But this morning carried something strange. Rather than finding his mother busy at the stove, Zenoda found his father Brunt struggling to flip an omelette whose shape had already gone somewhat abstract on the pan.

Zenoda pulled out a chair and furrowed his brow. "Father, where's Mother?"

Brunt set the slightly burnt omelette in front of Zenoda and exhaled a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"She's still in her room, Zeno," Brunt answered with a puzzled face. "She says she doesn't want to be disturbed right now. Well... I got a bit worried and casually tried to open her bedroom door to check on her. But the moment my hand touched the handle... I was suddenly thrown back and landed three meters away from the door! There must be some kind of repelling spell on it."

Hearing that his mother had thrown his father with what appeared to be a high-tier magical barrier she had set up, Zenoda swallowed. The corner of his lip twitched, suppressing an awkward smile.

"Heheheh..." Zenoda laughed quietly. Internally, he murmured: (Mother must be preparing something secret and doesn't want to be disturbed. She even activated her barrier spell. Best to leave it alone for now.)

Brunt sat across from his son and joined him for breakfast. "Oh, one more thing, Zenoda."

"Yes, Father?" Zenoda asked between bites of bread.

"I received a message from your friend Annesia," Brunt explained. "She says Uncle Garrick really wants you to come help him do some hunting in the Wrathwood this morning. So today you don't need to help me in the fields or with the wood-cutting."

Zenoda nodded with understanding. "Alright, Father. I'll head over there right away."

After that slightly mysterious breakfast concluded, Zenoda returned to his room. He picked up his katana, slung on his small pack, and walked directly toward Uncle Garrick's location at the village border.

The moment Zenoda stepped out of the yard and his figure disappeared around the corner of the road, the main bedroom door of the house swung open.

Mirida — already in her clean, tidy clothes — stepped out. There was no longer any trace of yesterday's killing aura; only a bright smile and eyes sparkling with tremendous energy. She looked at her husband.

"Time to get things ready!" Mirida announced in a commander's tone.

Brunt grinned broadly and clapped both hands together. "Yes! Let's get started!"

On the other side of the village, at the edge of the Wrathwood, Zenoda had arrived at the promised gathering spot. He saw Garrick sharpening his massive sword.

"Uncle Garrick," Zenoda called casually.

Garrick turned and smiled broadly. "Oh, Zenoda! Perfect timing. I really need your help today — the village's reserved meat supply is getting dangerously low."

Hearing that, Zenoda rolled his shoulder with the eagerness of someone whose hands were itching for a fight. "In that case, leave it to me. I'll go in and hunt by myself. In half an hour I'll bring back ten tons of fresh meat."

At that entirely factual statement delivered with total casualness, Garrick's face went pale immediately. Cold sweat beaded at his temple as he recalled the horrifying field of thousands of monster carcasses from the other day.

"HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE!" Garrick snapped, spreading his arms to block Zenoda's path into the forest.

Zenoda furrowed his brow. "???"

"YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HUNT ALONE!" Garrick declared firmly.

"HAAAHHHHH?! Why not?" Zenoda protested, clearly unhappy about this.

"OBVIOUSLY!" Garrick snapped back with bulging eyes. "IF YOU GO IN THERE TO HUNT, THAT'S NOT HUNTING! THAT'S A MASS EXTERMINATION RITUAL OF THE ENTIRE ECOSYSTEM!"

Garrick drew a long breath, trying to slow down his heartbeat. He understood Zenoda could always return with an unreasonable quantity of meat — but massacring every predator in an entire territory would damage the food chain and completely destabilize the Wrathwood's ecological balance.

"Listen," Garrick said, calmer now. "I saw yesterday that your three-toned owl Familiar is remarkably unique and can heal people very quickly. That gave me a brilliant idea."

Garrick pointed behind him. "I'm planning to use today to train our village's beginner adventurers so they can build courage to hunt in the Wrathwood. With your Familiar's healing skill present, their safety margin will be considerably higher. Even though Linaya is also there to help, more healers in a battlefield environment is always better."

Hearing that logical explanation, Zenoda narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

(Hmmmm...) Zenoda thought internally. (The reasoning sounds logical, but... somehow the tone of it feels like an excuse carefully constructed to keep me away from the village for the entire day.)

Not long after, the members of the God Wings party, Elara, the three clownish nobles — Cedric, Valerius, Agru — and more than a dozen local beginner adventurers arrived at the gathering point from the direction of the village, all in full combat gear.

Zenoda immediately swept the assembled group with his eyes. One person was missing.

"Oh, right — almost forgot," Zenoda said, turning toward the Princess. "Where's Faizura?"

Elara, in the middle of tying her snow-white hair back, answered casually. "Ehhhh... I ordered him to stay at the inn and keep watch over Uncle Vivaldi. I'm slightly worried about him."

"Worried?" Zenoda raised one eyebrow. "There isn't a single threat — monster or assassin — that could attack anyone inside this village. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know. That's not the threat I meant," Elara countered, hands on her hips. "Uncle Vivaldi has a severe case of work addiction. Left to his own devices on a rest day like this, he'll absolutely wander off to open new trade routes or exhaust himself working through documents. I assigned Faizura to keep the old man confined to his room so he actually rests!"

"Ahhhh... I see," Zenoda nodded.

At that very specific reason rooted in genuine concern, Zenoda could only accept it without further questions. It all made sense.

Once everyone was assembled and formations were sorted, the group stepped into the Wrathwood.

That day, the forest once again became a training ground soaked in effort. The beginner adventurers and Elara's group fought bravely against the remaining Class C and B monsters. The three clownish nobles also demonstrated their progress, putting into practice the survival theory they had learned from Garrick the day before. No longer simply throwing spells at random, they were learning to read movements and positions. Everyone was working extremely hard.

Meanwhile... in a safe corner sheltered by the roots of a giant tree, Zenoda sat cross-legged with a sour expression.

Beside him, Linaya was bandaging the arm of an injured beginner, while Grey Owl — Mincilia — hovered serenely above, scattering healing particles. Zenoda's mission for today was genuinely just sitting in the corner as the invisible medical support.

"I still wanted to fight," Zenoda muttered, propping his chin in his hand. "My hands are itching."

Garrick, standing at a watchful distance, immediately turned and pointed his sword at Zenoda's face. "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! STAY RIGHT THERE!"

Zenoda rolled his eyes with maximum laziness. "Somehow Uncle Garrick is being unusually stubborn with me today. So many opinions."

Zenoda slowly reached for the handle of his katana, his eyes looking at Garrick's legs with a dangerously empty expression. A very serious thin smile formed on his face. "Should I take off one of his legs so he can't run away and understands his own position?"

Hearing that casual mutilation threat from her instructor's mouth, Linaya — in the middle of pressing a bandage on her patient — turned with an exhausted look.

"Instructor..." Linaya said in a maternal, thoroughly resigned tone. "That dark humor habit of yours is very problematic. Please don't make me stitch Uncle Garrick's leg today."

After the long session of training and hunting, their cart was filled with monster meat and valuable materials. Late that afternoon, they all returned to the village with tired but satisfied faces.

After receiving Sister Niyana's body-refreshing purification at the cathedral, Zenoda split off from the group. He decided to stop briefly at Uncle Morlak's blacksmith workshop to rest and escape the noise of the returning crowd.

Zenoda sat in the wooden chair on the workshop's porch, exhaling a long breath. "Huaahh... What a tiring day."

Morlak the Dwarf, who was smoking his pipe, gave a quiet laugh. "Seems your day was fairly exhausting as a substitute medical supervisor, eh?"

"Yes, very," Zenoda answered.

"But you still enjoyed it, didn't you, young Master?" Morlak teased with narrowing eyes.

Zenoda only answered with a thin smile.

Morlak then tapped his pipe against the ashtray to knock off the ash. "Oh, right. I heard through the passing grapevine that you'll be sailing far away to the Southern Continent soon?"

"Yes. We'll probably board the ship in a few days," Zenoda answered.

Morlak stroked his long braided beard. "The Southern Continent, you say? Hearing that name reminds me of something about the blade culture over there."

Zenoda's eyes brightened slightly with interest. He genuinely needed local intelligence. "Does Uncle Morlak know something about that place?"

"What I know from stories told by maritime traders," Morlak explained, his voice thickening, "is that the Southern Continent is a very rigid and deeply tradition-bound place when it comes to the sword. Whether you're talking about technique, materials, or sword type. Over there, a sword isn't merely a tool for killing monsters — a sword is a person's true identity."

Morlak pointed at the ebony sheath at Zenoda's hip.

"The long katana you carry right now... that is the swordsmanship style of the elites over there," Morlak continued. "As far as I know, there are two main castes in the sword-culture society there, and the lifestyle and social status of the people are very strongly determined by the length of the sword they carry."

"Two castes?" Zenoda echoed.

"That's right. The first caste is the wearers of the long katana — like yours," the dwarf explained. "Those are the nobles, the wealthy, military generals, and other elite and powerful individuals. The length signals the authority and the reach of their power."

Morlak exhaled a long trail of pipe smoke into the air. "And the other caste... is the common people, the middle class, poor wanderers, or hired Ronin. Because they are not permitted or not able to afford a full-length blade, they carry a sword somewhat shorter than a katana. They call it an Iado sword."

(Note: The "Iado" sword in this culture refers to a blade shorter than a standard katana yet far longer and more substantial than any ordinary dagger — designed specifically for extreme close-quarter combat and the lightning-fast drawing technique.)

"This Iado sword..." Morlak concluded, "is devastatingly lethal in narrow alleys or enclosed spaces. That's about all I know of the ironwork culture over there."

Zenoda absorbed every detail of the information into his mind. A social caste system dictated by sword length was something deeply rigid — but very useful to anticipate.

"I see... That is very useful information. Thank you, Uncle," Zenoda said, rising from his chair. "I'll head home now."

"Take care on your way back, young one!" Morlak called after him.

On the walk back toward his home at the hill's edge, Zenoda found himself daydreaming. The afternoon breeze touched his face. In his mind, he was imagining the difference in sword balance based on the blade's center of gravity.

"An Iado sword, is it?" Zenoda murmured quietly, mentally working through the exchange angles against a short high-speed blade. "That sounds like a genuinely interesting sword technique to encounter. Relying on pure speed without excessive counterforce..."

The sky had turned to complete darkness by the time Zenoda reached his front yard. The oil lamp at the door burned with a dim glow.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Zenoda reached for the door handle and turned it.

The moment the door opened, the house inside was pitch black. Zenoda furrowed his brow, stepping carefully into the living room.

But one second after he stepped inside—

BANG! PYAAAAAR!

Magical lights across the entire room blazed to brilliant brightness simultaneously. The sound of party horns and a shower of multicolored confetti exploded from every corner, raining down on Zenoda's head.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ZENODA!"

A simultaneous, enormously joyful shout detonated from within the room.

Zenoda went completely still. His eyes went wide. His mortal heart pounded with shock.

Inside his not-so-large living room, everyone had gathered. Karham, Ziryal, Annesia, Linaya, Master Vivaldi, Faizura, Elara, and the three clownish nobles — Cedric, Valerius, and Agru. Every single one of them was wearing a ridiculous paper cone hat and blowing a party horn. Their faces radiated a joy that was completely and genuinely real.

Zenoda could only stand there in surprise, his mouth slightly open.

In the billions of years of his existence as the Supreme God Ursilium, time had been nothing but an illusory concept. He had never had a date of birth. He had never encountered the concept of a "birthday." To a god, celebrating the age of a mortal vessel was something entirely outside the scope of meaning.

But today... in this mortal world, in this small room... he felt the warmth of a celebration of life. That warmth spread upward and made his eyes sting slightly. He could only exhale a long breath and smile thinly, accepting the wonderful chaos around him. His mother's secrecy since morning, Garrick's prohibition on solo hunting, and Elara's reason for keeping Vivaldi confined — everything had been a carefully arranged scenario for this surprise party.

Not long after, from the direction of the kitchen, his mother — Mirida — stepped out carrying a tray. On it rested several slices of simple, freshly baked sponge cake, fragrant from the oven, decorated with sweet berry jam on top.

Although it was not a multi-tiered luxury birthday cake like those of the Koreson palace, Zenoda felt genuinely happy. He understood that regardless of who he truly was, there would always be sincere people who cared about and loved him in this mortal life.

"Forgive us, Instructor!" Annesia cried, pressing her palms together in apology. "Because your mother only told us about this first thing this morning, none of us had any time to prepare actual gifts!"

"Yes, forgive us, Zenoda," Elara added with an awkward bow. "There aren't any jewelry shops open here."

Zenoda smiled warmly, waving a hand. "Don't worry about it. All of you filling this house with this kind of noise... that's already more than enough for me. I mean it."

The simple party began. They ate Mirida's cooking with tremendous enthusiasm, shared embarrassing stories from the past, and laughed openly. Elara forced the paper cone hat onto Zenoda's head, making the "Kaigan Monster" look completely ridiculous — and strangely, he didn't resist even slightly.

As the night grew late, everyone's stomachs were full and the party had drawn to a close. The guests from the capital and the God Wings members said their farewells and headed back to their respective inn and dormitory.

Now, in the living room of the wooden house, only Zenoda and his mother remained. Brunt was already snoring softly on the sofa.

Mirida walked toward her son, who was helping to stack the dirty plates.

"Zenoda," Mirida said gently.

"Yes, Mother?"

Mirida gestured for Zenoda to follow her to the corner of the room. From inside an old teak wooden drawer that had been firmly locked, Mirida withdrew a long bundle wrapped in black silk cloth.

She held it out to Zenoda.

"This is a gift from Mother," Mirida said, her voice carrying a slight tremble, radiating an aura of deep nostalgia. "Open the cloth."

Zenoda accepted the bundle, which felt heavier than its size suggested. Carefully, he unwound the silk wrapping. As the cloth fell away, Zenoda's eyes widened slightly.

In his hands rested a sword — shorter than a katana, yet far longer and more substantial than any dagger. Its handle was wrapped in faded purple woven cloth, and the sheath was made from beautifully polished silver wood.

It was an Iado sword.

The exact same type of weapon Uncle Morlak had spoken about just that afternoon. The signature blade of wanderers and the middle caste of the Southern Continent.

Zenoda looked at his mother with a deeply questioning expression.

"To be honest..." Mirida said, offering a bittersweet smile as she looked at the sword. "...Mother has never drawn this even once in her life since the day she came to hold it. This weapon is the companion piece of the two katanas you faced yesterday. It carries... a promise."

Watching the Iado sword being given to him, Zenoda was genuinely moved and amazed. His mother seemed to always be able to read his mind and understand precisely what he needed to complete his fighting style.

"Even if it's a little late in the day to say it..." Mirida pressed her palm gently against her son's cheek. "...Happy birthday, Zeno. Mother's proudest child."

"Thank you... Thank you so very much, Mother," Zenoda whispered.

Overflowing with emotion and joy, Zenoda wrapped his arms around his mother tightly — a fierce, warm embrace that joined two souls who loved each other unconditionally.

When the embrace finally released, Mirida's face shifted into something very serious. Her eyes looked straight and deep into Zenoda's.

"Zeno... there is actually something very important Mother wants to tell you tonight," Mirida said, her voice shifting to carry real weight. "Something about that sword. About Mother's origins, and about the darkness in the Southern Continent that you're heading toward."

Zenoda held his breath. The mystery he had sensed yesterday was about to be revealed.

But Mirida slowly shook her head. "But... not yet."

"Why, Mother?" Zenoda asked, unable to hide his impatience.

"Because... you must promise Mother one thing first," Mirida requested, gripping both of her son's shoulders firmly.

"What kind of promise, Mother?"

Mirida's eyes glistened, holding back an emotion long suppressed. "Promise me... that you will sail, complete your mission, and come back safely from the Southern Continent. Don't die there."

Mirida's eyes fixed sharply on the Iado sword in her son's hands.

"If you come back from that hellish continent still breathing... then and only then will Mother tell you an absolute truth. A truth that will shatter everything you believe you know. And during the time that separates us until then... Mother hopes you will be patient and wait for it."

Feeling the weight of the secret that bound the promise, Zenoda gripped his new sword tightly. He would not disappoint his mother.

"I promise," Zenoda said firmly. "I will come back, Mother. I swear it."