Although his master had strictly forbidden him, Lowell did it anyway.
He had been secretly joining the gate raids the local guides organized. The gates weren't high‑ranking ones, but they still provided enough talons to support himself and his master. Every raid, every risk, was for Gabriel's sake — the only person he had left in this world whom he could call family.
Werebeasts were often sold at high prices, valued as descendants of mighty dragons, beasts, or other powerful beings. Lowell had never disclosed his heritage; if nobles discovered it, he could be sold in an instant.
Though such a life might be comfortable, he would never rest knowing Gabriel was left alone. They had been together since childhood, and they were all each other had.
…
Gabriel turned to Lowell, his voice steady but edged with unease. "Then tell me… how long has it been since the war ended?"
Lowell tilted his head, confusion flickering in his bright grey eyes. "War? What do you mean, master?"
A dreadful chill spread through Gabriel's chest. The war… the great war against the demon realm that sought to overtake the human realm.
Lowell's expression remained blank. "Master, I have no knowledge of what you are asking. If the war you are referring to is the Ebonveil Conflict, then that war ended over five hundred years ago. Since then, the human realm has known peace."
Gabriel's heart dropped. His breath caught as the words echoed in his mind. Five hundred years…? How can this be? I was there. I fought alongside my comrades. I bled with them. How could it have been so long?
He did not voice the question, but his face betrayed the turmoil within. No—he forced himself to compose. I have awoken in another body. If so, then five hundred years passing is not strange. It only means I have awakened five centuries after the war.
The thought weighed heavily. His comrades, his friends—what had become of them? Had they survived? Had they remembered him?
Most of all, what was the figure that had attacked him? It had not been human. Its shadow still lingered in his memory, a presence that defied explanation.
Gabriel's resolve hardened. If he wanted answers, he needed to leave this cave. As he had sensed earlier, there were no other humans nearby. They were deep in the forest, far from civilization.
He clenched his fists. I must get out of here. I must learn what happened in these five hundred years… and what became of my friends.
Gabriel studied Lowell. He was about to do something he had often done in his past life: measure someone's potential. If they were weak, he wouldn't waste his time.
"Hah." Gabriel sighed, annoyed at his own frailty. If they were to survive the shadow that had followed him, he needed strength. He didn't want the burden of protecting anyone, nor the title of savior.
He had carried that once before, and the people had clung to him too tightly. He didn't remember how many of them it had been. Yet now he was trapped in this pathetic body.
His eyes returned to Lowell.
"Lowell, what swordsmanship are you practicing?"
Lowell froze, surprised. "Mas—Master, you won't get angry with me, will y—?"
"No. Answer the question."
Relieved, Lowell hurried to fetch a tattered book. "Here, master. I was practicing from this."
Gabriel flipped through the pages, his expression twisting in ridicule. "What the hell is this?"
"Master, these are the sword styles passed down by our heroes," Lowell said earnestly.
Gabriel scanned the titles:
Shadow Dance — light and agile, blending with darkness.
Wind's Whisper — swift movements, controlling the wind.
Titan's Grasp — brute force, relentless strikes.
Silent Reaper — stealthy, lethal, silent kills.
Ocean's Embrace — flowing, adaptable, overwhelming waves.
Verdant Blade — harmony with all elements.
They looked like cheap imitations of the true styles he had once practiced. Written by observers, not practitioners. No matter how hard one tried, they would never reach the originals.
Gabriel shook his head. "No matter how hard you train, you'll never reach your full potential with these. They're not real — just shadows of the true sword arts."
Lowell lowered his head, fidgeting with his fingers. Gabriel added, "And because you don't have a master."
Lowell's eyes widened. "Then… how could I find one?"
Gabriel thought grimly. If I'm going to survive that thing, I might as well train this pup. At least he won't be dead weight.
"You don't need to worry. I'll teach you."
Though still weak, Gabriel resolved to guide him. But first, he needed to know Lowell's foundation.
"Bring me the gem you keep," Gabriel ordered.
Lowell obeyed, handing over a small mana stone. Gabriel pricked Lowell's finger which made Lowell wince a bit, letting a drop of blood fall onto the gem. The stone pulsed, then glowed faintly.
A light blue radiance filled the cave — the mark of Sigil Eight, the lowest stage.
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "So that's your Sigil…"