Daniel wandered through the large village market, his eyes scanning the various stalls with a focused expression. The air buzzed with conversation and bartering, merchants shouting over each other in a cacophony of voices. The scent of grilled meats and sweet bread mixed with the earthy aroma of herbs and old leather. It was midmorning, and the crowd had begun to swell with villagers eager to purchase supplies, weapons, and rare potions.
Trailing a few paces behind was Klav, still the same nervous boy he had always been, but now with a different energy about him. Since Daren and Lord Vayren had left, it was as if an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His back was straighter, his steps more stable. Though he remained timid, the fear in his eyes had been replaced by quiet determination.
Daniel walked with purpose, his boots thudding against the packed dirt road as he weaved between vendors. His gaze wasn't on trinkets or weapons, but focused entirely on potions and vials. His goal was clear. He didn't need another blade—he had already reclaimed his golden sword, the same one from his past life. That was enough. What he needed now was power. Reliable, incremental power.
He paused in front of a stall lined with glass vials and flasks, their contents shimmering in the sunlight. Some glowed faintly, others bubbled with internal heat, while a few were sealed in metal cages to keep them from combusting.
Permanent vials. That's what he was looking for. Potions that wouldn't just give him a temporary boost, but change the structure of his body—fortify him in the long term. Most were rare, and even more expensive.
"How much for the crimson essence?" Daniel asked the vendor, pointing to a vial with a deep red fluid, thick like syrup.
The merchant, a short man with three golden rings in each ear and a face tanned by the sun, looked up from his notes.
"That one? Five gold coins, no less. It's brewed from the hearts of red mountain drakes. Permanently boosts vitality and strength, but the body needs to be conditioned enough to handle it."
Daniel winced slightly at the price. He didn't have gold—only a handful of silver coins. Definitely not enough.
"Any permanent enhancements for silver?" he asked.
The merchant chuckled. "If you're lucky, you might find a diluted bone-strengthener or a minor nerve-reflex serum for that price. But nothing that'll turn you into a knight overnight."
Daniel moved on, scanning stall after stall, but the situation was the same everywhere. Potent vials cost more than what he had. Even temporary potions weren't cheap. He picked up a small flask labeled Muscletide—it promised an hour of enhanced strength and endurance. The vendor offered it for three silver. Daniel considered it, but decided against it.
It would help in battle, sure. But it wasn't what he truly needed. He needed something that could nudge his stats, even slightly. Something that could help him escape the pit he felt trapped in.
He opened his status window with a subtle flick of thought, his eyes quickly scanning the familiar numbers.
------
[Character Status]:
Name: Daniel Vaelwyn
Race: Human
Age: 5
Rank: D+
[Attributes]:
-> Strength: 20
-> Speed: 16
-> Durability: 20
-> MP: 5
-> INT: 20
[Skills]:
Absolute Lightblade (ZZZ-tier Awakened | Power: F-tier)
Allows the user to summon the True Blade of Light, crafted by Goddess of Light. The blade is made up of mana, which cannot be dispelled. The blade pierces all darkness, nullifies corrupted energy, and strikes with divine precision.
MP: 10,000
Passive Drain: 100 MP/min while active
------
It hadn't changed. Despite training hard for days—weeks now—his stats refused to budge. He had refined mana, trained physically, fought with purpose, and pushed himself further each time. And still, no visible progress.
Even his mana, though somewhat improved in control and quality, stubbornly refused to go beyond five points. He had begun to suspect that the curses Saint Torren mentioned weren't just limiting his health—they were actively suppressing his growth.
He glanced back to check on Klav.
The boy was flipping through a book on basic spell formations, walking and reading with an absent-minded look on his face. Despite his shyness, Klav had made solid progress. His physical stats, while still lower than Daniel's, had gone up. And his mana refinement was becoming more refined. His spheres formed faster, flew straighter, and hit harder.
Daniel exhaled through his nose and turned forward, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. The black sheath at his left side held the golden blade—recovered from the ruins of his past life. He hadn't used it yet, not in full, and he wasn't even sure if he should. Not until he was stronger.
He walked past a stall selling dried herbs, another selling lightly enchanted trinkets, then paused again. A small stand tucked between two larger ones caught his attention. It was old, cracked in the corners, with barely a sign to advertise what it offered. But inside the case were several odd-looking bottles—one of them labeled Rooted Muscle Extract. It was cheap. Only two silver.
"Does it work?" he asked.
The vendor, a woman with greying hair and a missing left eye, nodded. "It's weak, but real. Might push you by half a point, if you're lucky. Comes with side effects. Nausea. Mild fever. But nothing permanent."
Daniel handed over two silver and pocketed the bottle.
It wasn't much. But it was something. And in a world where progress was measured by fractions, he would take any inch he could get.
Behind him, Klav finally looked up. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Barely," Daniel said.
Klav nodded, not pressing further. They continued through the market together, Daniel thinking over his next move. Ten days. That was the timeframe he had given himself. Ten days of preparation, of progress, before he would head to the next challenge.
Daniel browsed a stall draped in shimmering cloth, its table cluttered with vials of all colors—azure blue, glowing crimson, deep viridian, and clear as water. He picked one up and tilted it, watching the thick amber liquid swirl lazily inside the glass.
"This one's for temporary strength," the vendor said, a stout woman with iron-gray hair and a sharp glint in her eyes. "But only lasts an hour."
"Got anything permanent?" Daniel asked without looking up.
The woman smirked. "You and half the world want that. I have a few, but they'll cost you more than silver."
Daniel sighed. He had enough to buy a couple mid-tier potions or one low-tier permanent vial, but nothing too grand. He needed value—efficiency.
Behind him, Klav wandered to a small alchemist's table where bubbling flasks hissed over open flames. The heat from the burners caused the boy to flinch, but he peered closer regardless. His eyes lingered on a small, corked container of glowing green mist.
Daniel turned from the stall, walking with calm poise through the market's noise and crowd. Klav stayed behind him, careful to keep a few paces back but never too far.
The market was loud today. Travelers and villagers bustled past each other, bartering, yelling, and sometimes laughing. The scent of roasted meat mixed with the sharp sting of boiled herbs and acrid alchemy. Foot traffic was heavy near the heart of the square, and people shoved to get to the best deals.
Then, without warning, two large men—clearly drunk, their movements sluggish and uncoordinated—staggered out of a tavern entrance and slammed into both Daniel and Klav. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with ruddy cheeks and tangled hair, nearly toppled over, then turned and growled.
"Watch it, brat," he slurred, gripping Daniel by the shoulder.
Daniel didn't flinch. He stared at the man, cold and calm. "You ran into me."
The second man, bulkier and sporting a mess of unshaven stubble, laughed and gave Klav a shove. "Kids these days… roaming 'round with their little swords, thinking they're warriors."
"Nice sword," the first one muttered, pointing to the golden-hilted weapon on Daniel's waist. "Bet it's fake."
The second man leaned closer, squinting. "Looks like some kinda ornament. Gold's soft, boy. You don't use it to kill anything but a goose."
Klav started to speak, but Daniel lifted a hand slightly, stopping him. His voice was level. "You two like challenges?"
The men exchanged glances, half-amused, half-curious. "What kind of challenge?" asked the taller one, his eyes narrowing.
Daniel stepped forward, the hem of his cloak brushing the dust off the cobblestones. "You try to break my sword. If you succeed, you get three pieces of gold. If you fail, you owe me three pieces each."
The boldness of the statement cut through the air like a blade.
"Three gold?!" the first man choked. "You serious?"
"Dead serious," Daniel replied. "Unless you're scared."
The second man's pride flared. "Scared of a kid?" He pulled a rusted axe from his belt and held it up. "I'll split your toy sword like firewood."
Word of the challenge spread quickly. A crowd began to gather: merchants, villagers, travelers. Everyone loved a bet, and the sound of gold on the line drew attention like blood in the water.
"Get on with it!" someone from the crowd shouted.
Daniel calmly unhooked his blade and rested it against a nearby stone bench. He didn't draw it, didn't hold it—just let it sit, the sheath and the golden hilt exposed. It gleamed under the sun.
The first drunk man stepped forward and raised his broadsword, muscles tensing as he took a full overhead swing.
A loud crack split the air.
His weapon shattered on impact, the metal splintering into jagged fragments that flew in every direction. He stumbled back, staring at the hilt left in his hand.
"What the—!"
Before he could finish, the second man leapt in with his axe. He struck hard, sideways, roaring with all his drunken might.
Another crash. The axe snapped in half, the handle splintering like cheap wood. The head of the weapon bounced uselessly across the ground.
The crowd erupted in laughter and gasps.
"What kind of sword is that?!"
"They didn't even scratch it!"
The two men looked down in disbelief, hands now empty, pride annihilated. Daniel simply crossed his arms.
"Three gold each," he said, not smiling.
"Now wait just a damn second," the first one growled. "That ain't natural. That sword's enchanted or something! Ain't fair!"
"You agreed," Daniel said, voice cold.
The second man backed away, fists clenched. "We're not payin'! This is a scam!"
They turned to flee, shoving through the crowd.
The spectators booed loudly, some shouting at the cowards, others laughing, some even placing bets on who might chase them down.
Daniel didn't move. He didn't need to.
Let them run. Gold wasn't the real test here.
He calmly walked back to the bench, picked up his blade, and reattached it to his side. Klav walked up beside him, shaking his head.
"Why do you let them off?" Klav asked.
"They lost something more valuable than gold," Daniel replied, eyes scanning the distance. "Their pride. And their fear."
Then he turned away from the crowd, heading toward the next stall.