Huff. Huff. Huff.
"How long do I have to keep running like this?" Valen gasped, his legs burning, his breath ragged as he sprinted through the overgrown paths of his family estate.
His feet pounded the dirt, weaving between crumbling stone pillars and patches of untamed grass. The estate—once grand—now stood hollow, silent, a ghost of its former glory. Only a handful of servants remained, clinging to their loyalty in the empty halls.
Since his parents' deaths, Valen had abandoned combat training. He'd wasted years shut away, drowning in grief, letting his body grow soft, his spirit dull.
But now…
Now he had a reason to rise again.
If Dravi—the mysterious entity bound to the crimson marble—could truly help him turn back time, Valen was willing to do anything.
Even this. But—
"You're already whining?" Dravi's voice echoed from the red marble tied to the white string around his neck, his tone laced with disgust. "You've barely started, boy. Pathetic."
Valen wiped sweat from his brow, scowling. "All I've done for days is run! When are you actually going to teach me skills? You promised!"
The bead swung with each step, glowing faintly as Dravi's voice rumbled on. "Skills? With that flimsy body? If you're so eager to die, just say so. I'll gladly save myself the trouble."
Valen's breath came in sharp, bitter huffs. "You're punishing me for dropping you that night, aren't you?"
"Ahem. Am I that petty? I am a god. Such trivial matters are beneath me." But his voice was suspiciously defensive.
"Sure you are." Valen muttered, unconvinced. His eyes narrowed. "You still haven't told me why you were hidden in my father's study."
Dravi hummed lazily. "A wisp of a soul like me? How could I know? Perhaps your father simply thought this stone was… pretty."
In the silence between Dravi's words, Valen felt a faint, creeping question: whose victory was he truly fighting for?
Valen wasn't a child. He wasn't so naïve to believe in coincidences.
What were the odds he'd found Dravi on the very night he was ready to end his life?
Had someone guided him? Manipulated his steps like a marionette on strings?
Was it absurd to think so? Perhaps. But even if Dravi had a hidden agenda, it didn't matter.
If Dravi could grant him the power to save his parents, Valen would accept the cost.
"You still haven't answered me properly. When will you teach me the skills that can help me ascend to the heavens as you said?"
Dravi snorted. "Hah! You? Reach the heavens? Stick to your family's scraps first, boy. You've got enough to worry about just mastering the basics."
And so, Valen's grueling training continued without end.
The six remaining servants, seeing Valen's newfound determination, welcomed the change. They had long worried for him. Now, seeing him train, they eagerly supported him—tidying the grounds, preparing his meals, cleaning his training equipment.
At first, Valen only ran around the estate's perimeter. Soon, Dravi added swimming in the old garden pond, climbing the crumbling walls, and strength-building drills until Valen's once-thin frame began to harden, his limbs thickening with lean muscle.
When his body finally began to catch up to his will, Dravi's lessons changed.
"Pick up the daggers. From today, you'll wield nothing else but this."
Valen retrieved the pair of daggers his father once used, their edges dulled from time and disuse.
"You chose the dagger as your weapon," Dravi's voice sharpened. "Then you must understand its principles."
So, Valen learned how to slashed. Thrust. Threw.
A thousand repetitions a day.
His palms blistered, his fingers bled, his grip faltered—but he persisted. Calluses bloomed over his skin.
"Daggers are best for close-quarters combat—quick thrusts, precise stabs. You must aim for the soft, the vulnerable parts of the body. That's why I want you to learn the human body's anatomy."
Valen panted, but kept moving.
His dagger work continued—circling invisible enemies, stabbing, slashing, evading.
"Your family's manuals are a good start, but true mastery is more than that. It's grip, stance, movement. You must flow—be a shadow. Quick. Silent. Lethal."
Dravi's voice cut sharp and cold. "A dagger's strength isn't power—it's precision. One well-placed strike. That's all you need."
Valen's movements grew faster, more fluid.
"Remember," Dravi warned, "dagger users must get dangerously close. Close enough to expose themselves. That's why you must always keep your opponents guessing. Tricks. Feints. Misdirection. Show them what they expect—then cut where they least expect it."
Valen frowned. "But I'm a noble. Isn't using cheap tricks… disgraceful? Cowardly?"
"Disgraceful? Cowardly?" Dravi laughed, cruel and loud. "What good is your nobility to a corpse? The ones who die for pride—do they get applause in the afterlife? Boy, the only disgrace is dying with regrets."
Valen's lips parted but no answer came.
His education had been filled with lessons about fairness, honor, righteous duels.
But here, sweating beneath the weight of his own survival, he realized those ideals were brittle things—easily shattered by a blade in the dark.
"Are you listening?" Dravi snapped. "Focus. A calm mind brings clear decisions. Distraction is death."
"Y-Yes, sorry. I was just thinking—"
"Save your thinking for later. You'd better master these dagger techniques by the end of the month. You'll have your first assignment then."
Valen froze, his heart skipping. "Assignment?"
"Of course. Training without application is pointless. You're not here to swing daggers for sport."
Dravi's voice dropped into a low growl. "Your family's downfall may have been tied to your curse—but don't think for a second that there weren't human hands involved. People took advantage of your misfortune. People profited from your family's ruin."
Valen's pulse hammered in his ears.
"Your first mission will be your revenge. Who else would make the perfect target to practice on, when the people responsible are already within reach?"
Dravi's voice dripped with quiet malice.
"You said you'd do anything to obtain karma—even steal it from others. But without resolve… without ruthlessness… you'll never achieve your goals."
A cold shiver crept down Valen's spine.
"I will teach you how to siphon karma—and how to turn your curse into your greatest weapon. So..."
Dravi's voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
"Train well, boy. If you fail—you die."
Valen's grip tightened around his daggers. His hesitation burned away, his resolve hardening like tempered steel.
"I won't fail."