综合自拍亚洲综合图区喷

\'Mastering the beast inside me?\'

The moment I heard about this, I suddenly thought of the past. They were fragments, fleeting images of a time when everything was simpler yet far more complicated.

When I first picked the weapon, and my master started teaching me, he also mentioned the same thing.

\'You are smiling when you fight.\'

He had watched me with those sharp, discerning eyes of his, and I remember the day he spoke to me about it.

///////

It was a clear afternoon, the sun casting long shadows over the training grounds. I stood before him, clutching a wooden practice sword, my young heart pounding with excitement and something else—something darker.

Master had approached me, his expression unreadable, but there was a seriousness in his gaze that made me stand a little straighter, my grip tightening on the hilt.

"Kid," he had said, his voice calm yet firm. "There\'s something you need to understand about the path you\'re choosing. The sword is more than just a weapon. It\'s a reflection of the soul that wields it."

I had frowned, not fully grasping his meaning at the time. To me, the sword was something that I meant to use. Something that was an extension of mine.

But Master had seen beyond my naïve understanding.

He had seen the beast lurking within me, the raw, untamed hunger that drove me to pick up the blade with such fervor.

"There\'s a beast inside you," he had continued, his eyes never leaving mine. "It\'s different from the ones in others. Yours is different….You do not seek simple strength. Having strength will not satisfy you."

His words struck a chord within me, a truth I hadn\'t fully acknowledged. I had always thought that my desire to grow stronger was like everyone else\'s—a natural drive to protect myself.

But Master was right. There was something deeper, something more consuming.

"You want more than just strength," Master said, his voice carrying a weight that made my heart pound. "You want to clash blades. You want to converse with your blade rather than with words. Every swing, every thrust—it\'s like you\'re speaking through your sword, revealing all the things you\'ve buried deep inside."

His words felt like he was pulling back the layers of my soul, exposing the raw truth that I had tried to keep hidden, even from myself. The blade wasn\'t just a tool for me; it was a voice, a way to express the emotions and thoughts I couldn\'t put into words. The thrill of battle, the connection between two warriors clashing with all they had—that was where I felt truly alive.

"But there\'s a danger in that," Master had said, his tone growing somber. "When you speak through your blade, you\'re opening yourself up, laying bare your soul. And in that thrill, in that moment of connection, you start to lose yourself. The beast inside you takes over, driving you to fight harder, faster, more recklessly.

It\'s not just about winning or losing—it\'s about the rush, the feeling of being fully alive in that moment."

Of course, before he could talk to me further, he left this world, leaving me still pondering what he meant by that.

And still, I had yet to find the correct balance.

///////

As the memory faded, I found myself back in Harlan\'s smithy, the echoes of my master\'s words still ringing in my ears.

Harlan was right. The way I fought was raw, unrefined, driven by a hunger that wasn\'t entirely my own. I needed to find a way to bring balance between that primal urge and the precision my weapon demanded.

"Mastering the beast inside me…" I muttered under my breath, the resolve hardening within me. It was a journey I had begun long ago but one I had yet to truly understand.

Harlan, still watching me closely, seemed to recognize the shift in my demeanor. "You\'ve got the skill," he repeated, his voice softer now. "But skill without control is like a sword without a hilt—it\'ll cut you just as easily as it\'ll cut your enemy. Remember that."

Vitaliara\'s voice echoed in my mind, her tone calm but laced with concern. [I didn\'t say anything before because it wasn\'t detrimental, but you know you change when you hold the sword, Lucavion. There\'s something different about you, something that even I can sense.]

I frowned slightly, her words striking a chord with the thoughts that had been swirling in my mind ever since Harlan\'s harsh critique. "You\'ve noticed it too?" I asked quietly, glancing at the estoc in my hand.

[Of course I have,] she replied, her voice gentle. [You become… sharper, more focused, but also more distant. It\'s like you\'re letting something else take over, something that\'s not entirely you. It worries me.]

I let out a slow breath, the weight of her observation pressing down on me. "What do I need to do?" I asked, turning my gaze back to Harlan. "To make you forge a weapon for me? One that can help me master this… beast inside."

Harlan looked at me for a long moment, his eyes studying me with a depth that made me feel exposed as if he could see every flaw, every doubt within me. Then, his gaze dropped to the estoc in my hand, his expression hardening slightly.

"The blade you\'re holding now," Harlan said, his voice gruff but steady, "it\'s on its last breath. You\'ve pushed it far beyond what it was meant to endure. If you want me to forge a weapon for you, I need you to prove that you can control yourself—control that beast."

I nodded, my grip tightening on the hilt of my estoc. "How?"

Harlan\'s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "There\'s a group of bandits that have been causing trouble around these parts. They\'ve taken advantage of the war and the lack of order, and they\'ve been terrorizing the nearby villages. Clear them out. But here\'s the catch: you have to do it with the blade you\'re holding now.

If it remains intact by the time you\'re done, you will get your new weapon."

But while he was saying that, his last words caught my attention. "If I succeed, I will get my new weapon?"

Harlan\'s smile widened, a glint of something almost playful in his eyes. "If you succeed, you\'ll get your weapon. But I get the payment upfront."

"Payment upfront?" I echoed, confused.

Harlan\'s eyes sparkled with knowing amusement as he saw the confusion on my face. "Indeed. Spill what you have. The materials."

I hesitated for a moment before asking, "How did you know?"

Harlan chuckled, his rough voice carrying a hint of warmth. "I\'ve seen far too many people like you before, lad. That gleam in your eye, the excitement you\'re trying to hide… it\'s the same look every swordsman gets when they\'ve found something precious. It\'s as clear as day. You wouldn\'t be so eager for a new weapon unless you had the materials to make it worth my while."

A sigh escaped my lips as I realized how transparent I must have seemed to him. It was as if I was a child in front of this old man, someone who had seen and done far more than I could imagine.

The feeling was oddly familiar—reminiscent of my time with Master, though there was a subtle difference.

At that time, when I was with Master, I was really a kid.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I reached into the small pouch at my side. "I suppose there\'s no point in hiding it then," I said, pulling out a handful of rare, gleaming scales that I had gathered."

Harlan\'s eyes lingered on the scales I handed him, the gleaming surface reflecting the dim light of the forge. He ran his fingers over the rough texture, his expression a mix of admiration and surprise. "The scales of an Abyssal Wyrm… No, these are from a Lesser One," he said, his voice carrying a note of recognition. "You hunted this beast yourself?"

I met his gaze evenly, nodding. "I did."

For a moment, there was silence as Harlan studied me, his eyes narrowing slightly. The weight of his scrutiny was palpable as if he was trying to see through me and understand what kind of person would challenge such a creature at my age.

He finally let out a low, impressed whistle. "Only someone like you would have the guts to take on a beast like that at your age. Most would run from a Lesser Abyssal Wyrm, not seek it out."

A smirk tugged at my lips, the corners curling up just slightly. "I\'m a beast myself, after all."

Harlan chuckled, a deep, rough sound that echoed through the smithy. "It\'s good that you know yourself," he said, a gleam of respect in his eyes. "Most people spend their whole lives trying to figure out who they are. You\'ve already got that part down."

I shrugged, the weight of his words settling on me. "It\'s something I\'ve had to learn, whether I wanted to or not."

Harlan\'s gaze softened slightly, the gruffness in his demeanor easing just a bit. "You\'re young, but you\'ve been through a lot, haven\'t you? That kind of experience… it shapes a man, for better or worse."

His words struck a chord within me, a reminder of the battles I had fought, the lives I had taken, and the scars—both visible and invisible—that I carried with me.

"It\'s made me who I am," I replied quietly, the truth of it echoing in my heart.

Harlan nodded as if understanding more than he let on. "Well, lad, you\'ve got the spirit and the skills. But remember, a good weapon isn\'t just about what it can do. It\'s about the bond between the blade and the wielder. If you can keep that sword intact while clearing out those bandits, you\'ll have earned yourself a weapon that will be with you for life."

"If the blade is not enough?"

At some point, I doubted that a blade made from the scales of a peak rank-3 monster could endure that much in the future.

"Then it is the blade\'s fault, not yours. Just focus on yourself, for now, kid. You may not see the blade yourself."

"Haha….that is right."

He gave the scales one last look before setting them aside with care. "I\'ll start preparing the forge. You focus on the task ahead. But don\'t forget—this isn\'t just a test of your strength. It\'s a test of who you are."

I nodded, the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. "I understand."

As I turned to leave the smithy, I somehow felt a little fulfilled.

\'Let\'s rest now. It has been a while since I stayed in an inn.\'

Thankfully, I had some money from Empire in the pouch.

Something that could last me for a little while.

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