Chapter 5:
The days had turned warmer, but Rowan didn't notice. Sweat had long since stopped bothering him. His muscles burned with a familiar ache, his hands were perpetually calloused, and his feet bled through the soles of his shoes where he'd run them raw. Every morning, he was out in the field behind the tavern. Every night, he collapsed into bed after hiding his bruises from Marella.
But the grave behind the tavern never faded from his mind.
The memory of the dog—of Duke—lingered like rot. Rowan didn't visit the grave again. Didn't speak of it. But he remembered. Sometimes in the lull between swings, he'd see that tag. That splash of red.
XP +15.
He hated how good it had felt. Not the killing. But the growth.
And now it was happening.
Name: Rowan
Age: 5
Race: Human (Soul-Bound Variant)
Class:
Level: 5
XP: 101 / 500
Attributes
HP: 63 → 75
MP: 32 → 35
SP: 100 → 115
STR: 11 → 13
AGI: 13 → 15
VIT: 10 → 11
DEX: 12 → 13
INT: 7 → 7
WIS: 6 → 6
CHA: 4 → 4
LUK: 2 → 2Perks
Soul-Weighted Body (Passive)
• Instinctual Defense (Passive)
• Soul Echoes (Dormant)
[Progression]
Class Unlock Available
Skill Slots: 1 Unlocked
He hadn't noticed it happen until he collapsed into the grass that morning, panting, sweat running down his face in streaks. A new screen flashed in front of him. It had no chime, no flash—just quiet confirmation.
Class Unlock Available.
Rowan didn't hesitate. He focused on the text, and the system responded.
[Available Classes:] • Warrior — A frontline fighter; General weapon mastery, toughness, combat fundamentals
Fighter —Agile brawler or duel-focused combatant; Practical combat—grapples, punches, improvised weapons
Swordsman — Precision blade user; Sword-specific skills—footwork, combos, finesse
He stared at the list. The first one stood out. Obvious. Right.
[Warrior Selected.]
A second chime rang in his head.
[Class Gained: Warrior (Level 1)]
[Skill Gained: Power Strike]
Type: Active
Cost: 10 SP
Cooldown: 5 seconds
Effect: Delivers a powerful melee attack that deals 150% base weapon damage. Slightly increased chance to stagger or knock back smaller targets.
Description:
Focus your strength into a single, overwhelming blow. Effective when used to break enemy guard or create an opening.
A tingling warmth spread down his arms as the new data settled into his bones. He stood and tried the skill out of instinct—there was no visual effect, but something locked into place in his stance. His footing felt solid. Grounded.
He grinned. For once, he didn't just feel like a kid playing soldier. He felt like something real.
Later that afternoon, he lingered at the edge of the field, practicing shallow swings when a gruff voice broke his rhythm.
"That's not a bad stance," someone said.
Rowan turned to see a man with a short beard, leathers worn from travel, and a sword slung over one shoulder. A mercenary, clearly.
"But you're dropping your elbow on the follow-through. Makes it easy to counter."
Rowan blinked, then instinctively corrected his form. The man nodded.
"Better. You been training alone?"
"Yeah."
"Figured. You've got the grit, but not the polish. If you're serious about this, you'll need sparring. Real instruction."
Rowan hesitated. "From who?"
The mercenary shrugged. "You're not gonna find proper training in a village like this. Army or a knight's retinue might teach you something. But you'd have to go to the capital. Plenty of mercenary guilds too. You look young, but not dumb. Someone would take you."
Rowan nodded slowly, something stirring deep in his chest.
"You want to get strong? Really strong? You'll need more than just swinging a stick alone in a field. Remember that."
And with that, the mercenary moved on, leaving Rowan standing in silence.
That night, Rowan stood in the small room he shared with Marella. She was brushing her hair in the dim candlelight when he spoke.
"I want to go to the capital."
She paused, her back stiffening. "Why?"
"To train. To join a guild. Learn to fight."
She turned to him, eyes sharp. "Rowan, you're five. You need to stop pretending you're something you're not."
He stepped forward. "But I'm not normal. You know that. You've always known. I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking.
"You're my son," she said, voice cracking.
"And I love you. But if I stay here, I'll waste whatever this is. I'll never be ready for what's coming."
She stared at him for a long moment, eyes welling up.
"You're just a child."
"Not anymore."
He left the room before she could argue further. Behind him, the candle flickered, and the door clicked shut.
He didn't feel triumphant. He felt like he'd burned a bridge he couldn't rebuild.
But some paths could only be walked alone.