'When I asked for training… I didn't mean this!'
Azel screamed inwardly as he brought the axe down with all the strength his ten-year-old body could muster.
THUNK!
The blade cleaved through the thick bark, splitting the log neatly into two.
Sweat trickled down his temples. His hands were blistered, the wooden handle rough against his soft palms.
His shoulders ached, his legs trembled slightly, and his stomach growled as if to remind him just how unfair life was.
It had been three months since he became the apprentice of the Sword Saint, and to say it was brutal would be putting it lightly.
This wasn't the cool, scenic sword training montages from anime.
This was real, and it hurt.
Steven Thorne, the Sword Saint, a living legend feared and revered throughout the continent, lived in a modest wooden cottage deep inside the Dark Forest — a place that most people avoided like the plague.
And not just because of the name.
There were monsters in these woods. Carnivorous plants. Giant shadow wolves. Even whispers of ancient undead.
But for Steven? This was just home.
And now, it was Azel's too.
Azel wiped his brow and looked around the clearing outside the cottage. Morning mist clung to the grass, and the air carried the scent of pine and damp soil.
Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, probably mocking him.
The woodpile at his feet was finally done.
He dropped the axe with a sigh.
[Basic Skill: Slash has leveled up]
[Slash (LV. 4)]
The message brought a tired smile to his lips.
"That's something, at least…"
Azel had done some tinkering with the System interface during his time here. Through experimentation, he'd figured out the skill structure:
There were different kinds of skills and they maxed out at different levels.
Basic Skills: Max Level 10
Unique Skills: Max Level 50
Ultimate Skills: Max Level 100
And true to its name, Slash was a Basic Skill. You didn't expect it to compete with something like Dragon Soul Severance or Moonlight Execution.
But still — he was proud.
He also discovered that mundane tasks — cleaning, cooking, chopping, and even organizing supplies — were considered Basic Skills too.
He'd already gotten most of them to Level 4, including one he was weirdly proud of:
[Cooking (LV.4)]
[Cleaning (LV.4)]
[Slash (LV.4)]
[Organize (LV.4)]
"If I max them out, maybe I'll become a master chef-slash-swordsman…" Azel muttered.
He stacked the split wood neatly by the shed. The Sword Saint insisted they keep the firewood well-stocked — for warmth, cooking, and the occasional monster attack.
And they were even planning to use some of it to build a storage hut next month.
With the chopping done, Azel dusted off his robe and headed back inside.
…
The cottage interior was simple but cozy.
There were wooden beams overhead. A stone fireplace. Bookshelves lined with old scrolls, some falling apart at the edges.
Weapons mounted on the wall — most dulled or ceremonial. A large, scarred table dominated the center of the living room, surrounded by mismatched chairs.
There was a small kitchen to the left, a storage cupboard, and two bedrooms in the back.
Azel walked toward the kitchen cupboard, yawning.
"We're running low again," he muttered.
He opened the cupboard and surveyed the ingredients.
There were a few golden root tubers (similar to potatoes, but slightly sweet), some dried crellon meat (thinly sliced, smoky and chewy like jerky), Half a bag of grain flour, A jar of salted fireberries (used more for spice than sweetness), One lonely spring onion, and a jar of glimmer honey, faintly glowing in the dim light
"Great. This looks like an apocalypse ration set."
Still, it was enough to make a basic meal.
He got to work.
Azel washed and sliced the golden roots, diced the spring onion with expert precision and tossed them into a small iron pan over the fire.
He added crellon slices next, letting them sizzle. The smell began to fill the room, savory and warm.
He sprinkled in a pinch of crushed fireberries for flavor, stirred it carefully, and then added just a spoonful of glimmer honey to balance the heat.
A light glaze formed, and the aroma turned mouthwatering.
Finally, he made flatcakes with the flour and water, cooking them on the side.
The total cooking time was only fifteen minutes, but his stomach had been complaining since the first second.
He plated the meal — simple, hearty, and surprisingly delicious. He made sure to save the larger portion for Steven.
Because…
"You're grumpy when you're hungry," Azel muttered with a smirk.
He soon tiptoed down the hallway and stopped outside Steven's room. The door was slightly ajar, and faint snoring drifted out.
It always struck Azel as strange.
The man was a walking demigod in combat — able to cut through monsters like butter, slash through spells with ease.
Yet, in the morning, he was the grumpiest, slowest creature alive.
Azel nudged the door open with his foot.
"Steven?" he called softly.
No response. Just snoring.
He stepped inside.
The Sword Saint lay in bed, blanket half-kicked off, hair a silver mess, one hand twitching as if still in the middle of a duel in his dreams.
Azel stood at the doorway, holding the tray.
"Steven, I made breakfast."
The man grunted.
Another pause.
Azel raised his voice. "Steven. If you don't wake up, I'm giving your portion to the squirrels."
Steven's eyes opened instantly. "...You wouldn't dare."
"I would."
The Sword Saint sat up slowly, rubbing his face.
"Damn brat…" he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile beneath the grumbling.
He reached out, and Azel handed him the tray.
Steven took one whiff and nodded in approval.
"You're getting better at this," he said, biting into the crellon and root dish.
"I'm basically a good chef now," Azel replied, puffing out his chest proudly.
Steven chuckled.
"Keep feeding me like this, and I might even teach you a real sword technique tomorrow."
Azel's eyes sparkled. "Really?"
"We'll see."
The two sat in silence for a while, enjoying the meal.