The morning after Ji-hyeon's return from the altar was unusually quiet.
The village, usually bustling with life at dawn, felt muted — as if nature itself had sensed the shift in him. He didn't speak of what he had learned, not to his mother, nor to the few villagers who greeted him. Some things were too heavy to share.
But even as he tried to act normal, his thoughts kept returning to the name: Velkrath.
The Demon King… reborn?
He shook the thought away and helped his mother in the garden, as he always did. If he couldn't stop the truth from returning, he could at least delay it — until he was ready.
If such a day ever came.
---
Later that afternoon, as Ji-hyeon carried a basket of herbs toward the healer's hut, he heard the distinct clack of wood striking wood.
He turned.
Near the edge of the village, in a clearing by the trees, a young boy was training — or rather, struggling. Wooden sword in hand, the boy moved with energy but no technique, his swings wild, his footwork unbalanced.
Ji-hyeon watched silently.
"Still trying to become a knight, Seojin?" one of the village kids shouted from a distance.
The boy — Seojin — didn't reply. He just kept swinging.
Again. Again. Again.
His hands were blistered, his brow soaked with sweat.
Ji-hyeon recognized something in his eyes: the same fire that burned quietly inside himself. A need to rise. To become more than what the world expected.
He approached.
"You're holding it wrong," Ji-hyeon said, calmly.
Seojin paused, blinking. "What?"
Ji-hyeon stepped forward and gently adjusted the boy's grip on the wooden sword. "If you swing like that, you'll lose your balance every time."
Seojin frowned. "How would you know?"
Ji-hyeon just smiled faintly. "I read a lot of books."
---
That evening, after helping Seojin improve his stance, Ji-hyeon returned home with something unfamiliar in his chest.
A quiet sense of purpose.
He hadn't revealed his secret.
He hadn't used any magic.
But he had helped someone.
And in that moment, it was enough.