The next morning, Liam woke up stiff and sore, blinking at the ceiling of the cave like he'd been hit by a wagon in his sleep.
"Ugh… I've come a long way from warm beds and actual pillows," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
He stretched until his back popped, rolling his shoulders.
The dull ache in his side from yesterday's fight had finally faded away.
"Good! I was starting to doubt if that minor regeneration even counted for shit."
After some half-hearted warmups, he dug into his storage ring, fished out dried meat and bread, and had a quick breakfast.
The food was bland, but it filled him.
He wiped his hands on his trousers and got back on the road.
Hours later, he finally reached the hill he had been trudging toward since yesterday.
He stopped, tilted his head back, and let out a long breath.
"Hmm… finally here," he said, half exasperated, half relieved.
He rested his hands on his hips. "Now I just need to find the cave. Shouldn't be too hard…"
That was a lie.
Two hours later, Liam was cursing under his breath as he trudged out of yet another dead-end cave.
The first one had gone on forever and dumped him into a den of F-rank pests.
He had to carve his way out before realizing he'd gone the wrong way.
"Perfect. Wasted stamina and time. Love that for me," he muttered, flicking monster blood off his claymore.
Eventually, he found another cave.
This one was different. Quiet. Too quiet. No monster stink, no claw marks on the walls. Just an empty, abandoned tunnel.
"This has to be it," Liam said, voice low.
He walked deeper until the tunnel ended at a wall of scarred stone.
The grooves cut into the rock weren't natural—far too deliberate, like claw marks etched by a giant hand.
He stepped closer, running his fingers across each scar.
"Alright… don't fail me now," he whispered.
He closed his eyes, focused on the same resonance he felt when training with his axe, and pushed his mana into the wall.
The cave groaned.
A low rumble shook the ground.
Liam stumbled back as the wall slid open like a massive stone door, dust falling in sheets from its edges.
When the grinding finally stopped, a rectangular entrance yawned before him.
His heart thudded.
"This is it," he thought, forcing himself to breathe evenly.
Inside, the chamber was wide, circular, and empty—except for the weapon.
An axe sat embedded in a slab of rock at the center of the room.
It wasn't ornamental. No gemstones, no gilded edges. It was simple, timeless. Ancient.
The steel gleamed without a trace of rust, its edge sharp enough to cut the silence itself.
Liam swallowed. "Well, shit. That's… intimidating."
This was the tier six battle art he'd risked everything for.
He could've gone after some other art—sword forms, spear techniques, even staff disciplines—but none were this close, this obtainable.
And, honestly, he just liked the axe. It felt right.
Besides, the damn thing wasn't just a battle art.
The weapon itself radiated mana like a bonfire, oppressive and domineering.
The air in the room grew heavy as he stepped forward.
Each pace felt harder than the last.
At ten meters, the pressure was a weight pressing down on his shoulders.
At five meters, it felt like the ground itself was trying to swallow him.
"Alright, one foot at a time. Just walk. Don't face-plant. That'd be embarrassing."
Three meters away, his legs started trembling.
His knees nearly buckled under the gravity pressing on him.
A trickle of blood slid from his lip. He wiped it with the back of his hand and grinned through gritted teeth.
"...I might... actually die here."
He forced another step.
At two meters, the weight intensified.
It wasn't just gravity anymore—it was killing intent.
The axe's will slammed into him like a butcher's cleaver on bone.
His shoulders shook, spine threatening to snap.
For a moment, he wanted to collapse, to let the pressure crush him.
Then his earring flared, pulsing faintly.
Warmth spread through his chest, dulling the agony.
He gasped, straightened, and took another step.
"Nope… not quitting now. You'll have to kill me to keep me away."
Finally, after what felt like hours, he reached the rock.
He extended his hand, fingers shaking, and grasped the axe's handle.
The world went black.
***
He stood on an endless battlefield.
Blood stained the soil, weapons lay broken everywhere. In the distance, a hulking barbarian warrior approached, carrying the very same axe.
The man's eyes glowed like embers, his chest crisscrossed with scars.
"So… you're the one," the warrior rumbled.
"Yeah. Lucky me," Liam said dryly, though his voice cracked. "You planning on killing me, or is this a friendly welcome-to-the-club?"
The warrior's laugh boomed like thunder. "Not death. A gift. My art. My rage. My will."
He lifted the axe, and runes flared across its blade. "Take it, boy. But understand—strength demands blood. Yours, or your enemies'."
Before Liam could snark back, the warrior swung.
Not at him, but into the air—splitting the sky itself.
The motion burned into Liam's mind, every angle, every ounce of intent sinking into him like fire branding his soul.
"Carry it well," the warrior's voice echoed as the battlefield shattered.
***
Liam's eyes snapped open.
He was lying on cold stone, back in the outer tunnel.
The hidden chamber was gone—the wall that had opened earlier now smooth and blank, as if it had never existed.
He sat up, muscles aching, and pulled off his shirt. His breath hitched.
Etched across his chest and arms were sigils shaped like the axe itself, burned into his skin like tattoos.
A grin spread across his face.
"Well… that's new."
He summoned the axe.
With a flash, it appeared in his hands.
It wasn't exactly the same—it looked cleaner, sharper, alive. Power surged through him, humming under his skin.
"Yeah," Liam whispered, flexing his grip.
"This'll do."
***
The next day.
On the train on the way to class, Liam sat beside Jack that kept going on and on about a secret skin care routine
Their banter carried on until Jack leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Hey, you hear the rumors? About Aeon?"
Liam raised an eyebrow. "What now? He trip and break a nail?"
"No. They're saying Julian wrecked him. Like, fight of the century, Aeon got flattened."
Liam snorted. "Yeah, right. Rumors are always bullshit."
"Still," Jack said, eyes wide, "half the school's talking about it. Aeon's fan club is losing their minds. Julian's might start parading him around like a war hero."
Liam leaned back, sighing. "Great. Just what we needed. Middle-school politics, but with magic and egos the size of kingdoms."
Jack grinned. "Well, at least it's entertaining."
Liam shook his head. "True."