Two weeks had passed since the Rite of Steel, and Korrin had finally received a letter from his merchant contact. The letter read, “Apologies for my late reply, Korrin. With the recent refugees swarming Stonegate, it was quite the effort to meet with an official. But as you know, nothing is quite too difficult for me~. I’ll come to pick you up soon!”

  After reading the letter, Korrin felt both relief and hesitation. He had spent years wanting to abandon the village and its oppressive atmosphere. But now that he was truly departing, he realized there was so much he had to leave behind.

  “I’ll have to tell Mother and Father… and Rikka.”

  It was all moving so fast. Maybe too fast…

  Korrin’s life was not the only thing rapidly shifting. The village, too, underwent significant changes. In the past two weeks, droves of wandering refugees appeared at the gates of Hearthglen, pleading to be taken in. From their mouths, the village came to know of the war’s situation in the deep south.

  Apparently, earlier in the month, Nyrium launched a brutal counteroffensive against the Iron Dominion, leading to the conquest of swaths of Ironhelm territory. With the Shadow Empire’s known cruelty towards the iron kin, the inhabitants of countless towns and villages had no choice but to flee north.

  Haldrek had masterfully built a refugee camp situated on the east side of the village and had already incorporated many of its newcomers into the village workforce. The most honorable and hard-working refugees had already been welcomed into the core of Hearthglen society, as if they had always belonged.

  In addition to the refugees, a small military encampment had been established to the west by the local Warden-Forge, consisting mostly of soldiers from Stonegate. Although this news did little to excite Korrin, many of the young villagers were enamored by the soldiers, frequently requesting sparring or stories from the warriors.

  Rikka had even requested him to accompany her to the camp one day, which he begrudgingly accepted.

  “Don’t look so down. Surely meeting a few warriors isn’t the end of the world.”

  “I’d rather be down in the mines than meeting some vain idiots.”

  “Come on~ I never see you around the village. You should at least try to meet some new people.”

  After arriving at the encampment, Korrin apathetically followed Rikka around as she conversed with a rugged soldier and other village members. As usual, he decided to slip into the background, preferring to remain unnoticed. At one point, Rikka was offered a sparring match from a young female Bladesinger, which she gladly accepted.

  “Take a look around, I’m sure there must be something here that’ll get you interested. I’ll see you later!”

  Korrin waved to Rikka as she walked off with the soldier, deciding it was best to take Rikka’s advice. But as he walked the perimeter of the encampment alone, he soon realized that nothing in the camp was capable of catching his eye. That was until he saw a familiar face locked in a stance with a menacing Ironclad soldier, who similarly had his sword facing the young man.

  “What is your name, boy?”

  “Vaelin.”

  “To achieve resonance at such a young age, incredible! Let us see if your skills match that mouth of yours!”

  With no further words, both Vaelin and the soldier’s eyes ignited with a silver flame, their bodies noticeably shifting as energy coursed through their veins. Although Korrin was unfamiliar with how the process felt, he knew they were activating their Mana Conduits to draw in mana from the surrounding area. It was a skill only mana wielders of the second tier could do after achieving resonance.

  The Ironclad soldier moved first. Korrin watched as the soldier’s skin took on a dull, metallic sheen, his muscles bunching like hammered plates. This was the unique ability of Ironclads—Ironbody—that allowed the soldier to harden his body to mimic the properties of certain metals.

  "Kneel, boy!" the soldier roared, his voice sounding like grinding ore.

  He rushed toward Vaelin with wide strides and swung a massive broadsword in a horizontal arc, almost slashing Vaelin’s face. But Vaelin didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned into the strike, his lithe Bladesinger frame blurring and arms bending in unnatural motions.

  Korrin’s eyes widened. He recognized that movement as the Blade Dance, the racial ability of Bladesingers. It allowed Vaelin to channel mana through the steel of his sword, forcing the weapon to accelerate and change momentum unnaturally.

  The blades met with the sound of screeching metal. Both the Ironclad and Vaelin were steadily enhancing their abilities with mana, causing each clash to be more powerful than the last.

  Vaelin’s movements were a stark contrast to the soldier’s. Where the Ironclad was a fortress of immovable weight, Vaelin was a whirlwind of precision. He slid his blade along the soldier’s reinforced skin, the friction throwing off bright orange sparks.

  ‘He’s pushing his mana output too far,’ Korrin thought, growing increasingly worried about Vaelin’s position within the battle.

  Vaelin’s capacity was high for his age, but Korrin could see the strain. Small beads of sweat formed on Vaelin’s brow, and his breathing became ragged. As he was only of the second tier, Vaelin could get seriously injured if he pushed his Mana Conduit too far. The mana would begin to crystallize in his veins—the beginning of mana burn.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Sensing Vaelin’s dwindling strength, the soldier lunged at him with a large burst of power, the broadsword soaring towards Vaelin’s chest. But Vaelin quickly spun, his sword phasing through the air with a hum of silver flame.

  "Too slow," Vaelin hissed, his voice like a shard of ice.

  With a loud thud, the butt of Vaelin’s sword slammed into the back of the soldier’s neck, causing the soldier to fall to the ground unconscious. Around Vaelin, the village folk cheered as onlooking soldiers whistled with amusement. He even thought he saw Draeven in the crowd, staring at his brother with veneration.

  Korrin looked on, mesmerized, yet distant. He clutched the silverbloom necklace at his throat, a feeling of sadness suddenly washing over him. This was a world he was never meant to stand in.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” Rikka said as she approached Korrin, who currently sat near the edge of the familiar cliff. “What’s got you looking so down?”

  Korrin hesitated, then answered quietly.

  “Just thinking.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to give me a little more than that.”

  As silence enveloped the two, Korrin could only mindlessly stare at the mountains in the distance, the silvery grass rustling beneath his legs.

  Suddenly, he heard a loud sigh as Rikka plopped down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Korrin was a little taken aback, his face flushing as he tried to gently resist her touch. But after realizing she wasn’t moving, he could only sit still and look onward, her warmth easing his gloom.

  “Let me sit like this, just for a minute. Then you’ll tell me, okay?”

  With a slight nod, Korrin accepted, and together the duo looked at the snow-capped mountains in silence.

  “Rikka, do you think… I’m strange?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I can’t fight, I can’t mine, I can’t even use mana. What am I even supposed to become?”

  As the bitterness of reality began to creep into his heart, tears welled in his eyes.

  “You don’t need to become anything else, Korrin. Just be yourself.”

  Korrin smiled. He lifted his gaze past the village, past the forests, and finally past the mountains. For the first time, Korrin gazed directly into the sky.

  “Thank you, Rikka.”

  With those last words, the duo was once again veiled in silence, this time, their hands resting atop each other’s.

  The next evening, Korrin’s work in transcribing a scroll was rudely interrupted by a loud pounding coming from his front door.

  “Son, you wouldn’t mind getting the door, would you?” Korrin’s father said weakly as he rested on a dining room chair, clearly tired from a day of intense labor.

  Making his way to the door, Korrin irritably ripped it open, shouting in the process.

  “Who is—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, an energetic Rikka jumped from behind the door into a hug, almost pushing Korrin to the ground in the process.

  “Surprise! I know it’s kind of late, but I got those silverblooms for your mother,” Rikka said as she unwrapped a bundle of silver flowers strapped to her back.

  “Korry~ Is that Rikka? Tell her to stay for dinner!”

  “Can I, mother? I would love to eat some of your famous ironmaw stew!” Rikka grinned, winking at Korrin in the process. Korrin could only smile back sheepishly.

  Soon, the four of them were seated around the dining table, happily chatting away and enjoying their meal.

  “Rikka, my dear, you didn’t have to. You’re so kind!”

  “Don’t worry about it, mother. You’re one of my biggest supporters. A bundle of silverblooms is the least I can do.”

  “My, my~ These flowers take me back to my youth. Back then, Korrin was so cute and chubby…”

  “Mother, please don’t continue.”

  “Be quiet, Korrin! I want to hear this.”

  As laughter and shouts of joy echoed throughout the house, a sudden foreboding feeling hit Korrin unexpectedly. Instantly, a loud explosion rang in the distance, causing the table to fall silent. In the next instant, screams of terror could be heard sounding from the southern reaches of the village.

  Korrin’s father was the first to move towards the house door. But before he could open it, a staggering figure ran through the door, exhausted and wounded. It was Vaelin.

  “What the—”

  “Father, gather the family. We are being invaded. Quickly, we must support the frontlines.”

  “Vaelin…”

  “Father, we don’t have time. Grab your weapon.”

  Counter to Vaelin’s orders, however, Korrin’s father stood still, seemingly terrified.

  “In-invaded? Is this true?”

  Failing to catch his breath, Vaelin weakly attempted to order him once again.

  “Father, get your wea—”

  “Enough, Vaelin!”

  From across the room, Korrin suddenly roared, anger contorting his face. “What do you mean, gather our weapons?! You know we can’t fight! We should be worrying about escaping instead! Do you care about any of us?!”

  In that moment, Korrin lost control of his emotions. The anger, the inferiority, the disgust; it had all boiled over. Years of standing in Vaelin’s shadow exploded in a single instant. With ragged breaths, Korrin cooled his head, half expecting Vaelin to give him his usual cold glare.

  Yet that did not happen. Instead, it seemed like the cold rationality he had always expected from his brother began to churn once again, a look of realization appearing on his face.

  “Yes, Korrin. You’re right. I must not be in my right mind. Quickly, head to the—”

  But before Vaelin could finish his sentence, his eyes were lit aflame, similar to what Korrin had witnessed from Vaelin in the duel. Instantly, a look of urgency returned to Vaelin’s face.

  “Stop standing around! Grab your weapons! We must move!”

  A wave of confusion hit Korrin in that moment. Why had Vaelin changed his mind?

  “Vaelin, we will all die! Don’t you understand!”

  “Grab your—!”

  “Brother!”

  Silence enveloped the room for a moment before a look of hatred rose from Vaelin’s face. Somehow, this expression of loathing was colder and sharper than his indifference had ever been.

  “Don’t call me brother. No ink can erase my sister’s blood from your hands.”

  The atmosphere in the room suddenly became colder. Even Korrin’s mother and father seemed visibly uncomfortable. Sensing that no one was going to come with him, Vaelin grunted and turned toward the door.

  “Dishonorable cowards. May you rot in Ashfall.”

  And then Vaelin was gone.