A gentle wind blows beneath the burning sun, leaves drifting through the air toward the clearing by the cabin. The warrior rises from the front porch, leaving his handleless cup on the wooden floor. Stepping outside, he breathes deeply, filling his lungs with the pure midday air, exhaling softly as the wind stirs his black hair and leaves swirl around him. He lowers his gaze to the ground, breathing slowly, then lifts his eyes to the sky.
A warm laugh echoes in his memory as he feels a gentle hand patting his head, words resonating in his ears:
"Haha… you've read too much, boy. You need to rest."
He envisions a white-skinned man with dark brown hair and a mole on his upper left cheek, smiling as he strokes the head of a small black-haired child lying among stacks of books. A faint smile appears on Jayden's lips.
His expression hardens.
Facing forward, he slides his left foot across the grass, shifting his weight and raising his arms. He pivots his right foot slightly back, then rotates both feet to the left while thrusting his open right hand forward—four fingers extended, thumb tucked into his palm. His entire body follows the motion, left arm anchored at his waist, releasing a devastating strike that pierces an oak tree like a blade.
He lifts his right leg, transferring his weight to the left, and unleashes a backward side kick that slices cleanly through a cloud overhead. Without hesitation, he lowers the leg, slides his left foot to the right, raises his right elbow to shoulder height, and slightly extends his left arm, palm up, fingers stretched. As his right foot lands and his full weight settles, the tips of his fingers gleam for a microsecond like a sharpened sword, perfectly slicing a drifting leaf in midair.
Maintaining the momentum, he twists his torso, channeling all his mass through his right hip. Jayden lunges forward, striking sideways with the four fingers of his open right hand while lifting his left leg into a straight kick that stabs into a nearby tree. He returns smoothly to position, brings both open hands together—one over the other—shifts his weight onto his left leg, slides his right foot back, and spins with all the stored force, releasing a horizontal slash that cleanly fells several trees.
Finally, he clenches his hands into fists, gathers all his power to the right, and with incredible speed drives his elbows upward, cleaving the previously pierced oak clean in half. Birds scatter at the thunderous crash. Breathing heavily, the man returns to his starting stance and whispers to himself:
"I must… improve it. It's still not perfected. Something's missing…"
A bead of sweat falls to the ground, reflecting the sunlight. His shadow flickers with a brief sparkle. For some reason, the dark-skinned adult smiles, his thoughts drifting to a treasured memory.
—FLASHBACK—
In a notorious neighborhood of some city, agonized screams echo through a pitch-black alley. Several adults clad in different robes collapse, wounded, before a small child with glowing crimson eyes. With feral speed, the child drives through one man's abdomen, then launches him away with a double kick to the chest.
A dark-skinned man aims two pistols, shouting the name of a technique—but the child dodges effortlessly and closes the distance. A Bo staff master strikes the child mid-leap, knocking him to the ground. Seizing the moment, a white-skinned man with blond hair in a mohawk brings down a massive hammer glowing gray, smashing it into the child's head and cracking the concrete, blood splattering the ground.
The child only grows angrier.
A violent surge of Fiu erupts, hurling the adults against the walls. The boy leaps onto the dark-skinned man, raining punches that crack the wall behind him and pulverize his face into a bloody mess. He sprints to the blond man, twists his left arm backward until it snaps, then drives him into a brick wall with a straight right kick.
The Bo staff woman struggles to rise when she feels the boy's fingers pierce effortlessly through her stomach. He withdraws them, leaving her bleeding, then leaps to her face, striking savagely until she spits blood, finally sending her flying with a straight punch that shatters her nose.
The adults lie defeated. The last master is still airborne. The child, crimson eyes blazing, limps deeper into the alley, collapsing by a dumpster. He devours whatever he finds—vegetable peels, rotten fruit, moldy pizza, scraps of meat—then crawls to the end of the alley, licking water leaking from a drain to quench his thirst.
Exhausted from battling four Master-rank opponents, the boy looks up in rage as a new figure approaches, faintly reflecting the light. The man wears no robes—only a white long-sleeve shirt, black jeans, running shoes. Dark brown hair. A mole on his upper left cheek. A katana with a green handle and golden diamond patterns rests at his side.
He lifts the Bo staff woman and props her against the wall.
Matthew, gripping his katana, speaks coldly:
"This is horrific. Whatever you are, I won't allow you to slaughter these people and walk away unpunished. Let's see how strong you are against the Barrier of Skill."
He steps into the darkness as the red-eyed child rises, growling, ready to fight.
—END FLASHBACK—
The warrior exhales with a faint smile. Walking forward, he effortlessly lifts the two halves of the oak tree. A chill runs down the back of his neck as he notices the silhouettes of the approaching adolescents. Calmly, he sets the tree pieces in place and presses his hands together, erasing all traces of his training. He repeats the process with the other damaged plants, then places his hands behind his back and waits.
When his students arrive and see him outside, they stop abruptly and bow. The brown-haired girl blurts out:
"Master! We managed to open the cube—we have to go see Niter so he can tell us what this egg is!"
She reveals the strange contents. The adult simply shakes his head and walks back inside.
"Fine. We'll go. First, make your clones. We'll eat, then leave."
The order completely throws them off. It felt almost… human. Still, knowing refusal could result in serious injuries, they nodded and headed to the backyard to create their clay replicas.
At twelve-thirty on December twenty-ninth, the youths sit beneath the front porch, waiting while their master cooks. They hear something sizzling in a pan. Crossing her arms, the blonde asks:
"Hey… do you think the master's okay?"
The black-haired girl and the boy with yellow-tipped hair glance over, puzzled, until the brown-haired girl adds:
"Yeah. He was smiling—and sweating."
That alarms all four. A smile from him usually meant something bad. Sweat made it worse.
Then the green-eyed girl lights up.
"Maybe he was practicing the Oscillating Style!"
"Style what?" Tyron asks, utterly confused.
"That's a sword style, right?" Emily and Francesca ask.
"Yes!" Alexa beams. "But not a simple one like ours. The Oscillating Style reverses an opponent's force against them through mere contact. Any attack is returned amplified—your own power plus theirs. Those who master it are said to be nearly invincible!"
Francesca raises an eyebrow. "A sword style that makes one of the three strongest beings even stronger? I doubt it. I'm not denying it's powerful, but our master's already strong—there's a limit."
"That's the point," Alexa grins. "The style evolved beyond swordplay—it became a combat philosophy!"
Emily tilts her head. "The creator must've been at least as strong as the master."
Alexa smiles. "Well, actually—"
The warrior steps outside, carrying a platter with five burgers.
"The creator wasn't at my level," he says calmly. "He was far above it. He was my master."
The black-haired girl brightens—she'd heard countless stories of the legendary Matthew Bennett. For her, training under Jayden wasn't just about revenge for her sister, but about learning more about the famed Barrier of Skill.
The other three, however, imagine something far more terrifying than their already brutal teacher.
Jayden hands them the food.
"Eat. Don't misunderstand my master. He was noble, kind, just, heroic—never seeking recognition. His style was originally natural, intercepting an opponent's movement before completion and turning their force against them. As his knowledge grew, he perfected it by incorporating pressure points. With mere touch, all the enemy's power flowed into our hands, amplifying our strike beyond imagination."
The teens listen intently as he gazes at the sky.
"My master belonged to the last generation of an old system meant to integrate humanity with what lies beyond. When it was dismantled, he developed his own sword style—deadly, fast, precise. Later, he realized its weaknesses and added anti-pressure points, infiltrating his energy into the enemy's body or weapon, causing their own power to turn against them—inflicting nearly infinite internal and external damage."
"…He created all that himself?" Francesca asks in awe.
"Yes," Jayden replies. "And passing it on to his only disciple was exhausting."
They nearly choke on their food.
Afterward, cloaked and hooded, they prepare to depart. The brown-haired boy notices the cloak feels lighter. The others agree.
"The cloak is heavy," Jayden explains, showing his necklace of green and blue stones, "but your bodies have been moving under much higher gravity. Your muscles have strengthened without you noticing."
Three smile. The blonde clenches her fist, thinking:
I'm stronger… but still…
They'd nearly died yesterday.
Grasping the necklace, green mist envelops them.
They reappear on the Oksilis planet, on the small island surrounded by Greek-style columns. As the mist fades, they realize they no longer need to reinforce their muscles to withstand the gravity.
But something is wrong.
Hundreds of advanced cargo aircraft descend toward the citadel's third sector.
"What do you think is happening?" the brown-haired girl asks fearfully.
No one answers.
"Whatever it is, we need to get to Niter," the green-eyed girl shouts, sprinting for the stairs.
They race past Jayden.
"Why the rush?" he mutters.
Guards watch silently. The blonde grows uneasy. A gray-skinned Oksilis child in ragged clothes tries to read their minds and fails—then grabs Emily's arm.
Greelig (thinking): Please help! My brother hasn't come home!
Emily swallows. She knows how her brother died—but can't say it.
Before she speaks, the yellow-tipped-haired boy shakes his head. The child's stomach growls.
Jayden appears instantly, handing over a steaming bowl.
The child smiles, eating eagerly.
As a ship passes overhead, the blonde notices the same logo again—the Muster corporation.
Her expression darkens.
She remembers the black-skinned man in a suit they met at the king's palace.
Something is very wrong.