When Ares finally stirred from his unexpected collapse, he awoke to the gentle glow of morning sunlight streaming through the window. The soft chirping of birds greeted him, their melody light and carefree—a stark contrast to the weight in his chest.
For a brief moment, he was lost in a fog of confusion—questioning why was he in bed and what happened. But the questions barely had time to form before a tidal wave of memories came crashing down.
His father was gone.
And then, just as vividly, he remembered the translucent window that had appeared before his eyes. The text on it had been unmistakable, as if etched into reality itself.
He remembered everything. He had extracted his father's soul weapon.
The realization settled heavily over him like a thick fog. He sat still, replaying it over and over again in his mind.
A soul weapon. Something he had longed for more than anything since coming to this world. A symbol of power. Of purpose and potential. But now that it was within his grasp, the way he had received it left a bitter taste. It wasn't triumph that filled him—but turmoil. He didn't know whether to grieve or to be grateful, and that uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.
When Ares had first been reborn into this world, he'd tried to keep his distance. He told himself these people—his new parents—weren't truly his family. It was easier that way. But as the days turned into months, and the months blurred into years, the walls he built had slowly crumbled. Somewhere along the way, he had grown to care deeply for them.
The memory of the young soldier's words surfaced next, darkening his mood.
The Guild of Assassins.
They were the ones behind his father's death. Ares didn't know their names, didn't know their faces—and frankly, he didn't care. All that mattered was that they had taken someone precious from him. His mind was set. One day, he would have his revenge. No matter how long it took.
But before he could dwell any further, a knock at the door broke the silence. His mother entered the room, her face lined with concern, unknowingly interrupting the storm of vengeance brewing in his heart.
Fortunately, everyone believed he had simply collapsed from the emotional shock of losing his father. No one suspected the truth—that he had extracted his father's soul weapon in that moment of grief. That secret, for now, remained safe. And it needed to stay that way.
He trusted his mother. He trusted his grandfather too. But the soldier? He was still an unknown variable. And in times like these, caution was survival.
Now, just hours later, Ares stood alone atop the hill where he and his father had once trained together. The memories clung to the place like morning dew on grass.
The wind whispered through the towering branches of an enormous tree. Birds sang beneath the wide, crystal-clear sky, and for a brief moment, Ares allowed himself to simply exist—to breathe, to feel the world around him.
Then, with a deep sigh, he summoned the Status window.
*****
Name: [ Ares ]
Race: [ Human ]
Rank: [ Novice II ]
Soul Weapon: [ Father's Will ]
Unique Trait: [ Limit Breaker, Rank: SSS ]
Trait Description: [ You can possess more than one Soul Weapon. ]
Unique Ability: [ Soul Thief, Rank: SSS ]
Ability Description: [ You can extract Soul Weapons from fallen foes. ]
Elemental Affinity: [ — ]
*****
His eyes widened. His jaw clenched as he stared at the screen in disbelief.
"Father's Will…"
That couldn't be the real name of his father's soul weapon.
"Did the System rename it?" he muttered, his expression twisting with distaste.
It felt like a cruel joke—like the System was mocking him. But he forced himself to focus and looked past the name. His attention locked onto the weapon itself.
He summoned the Soul Weapon.
In a blink, blue particles spiralled around his right arm, flowing smoothly into his palm.
Then—so quickly it was almost imperceptible—a small obsidian katana materialized in his grip.
He gritted his teeth. The strain of simply summoning the weapon hit harder than he expected. But what truly caught him off guard was its size.
The memory of his father proudly displaying his Soul Weapon remained vivid in Ares's mind. But the one in his hand now was far smaller than the blade his father had wielded.
"Does the Soul Weapon adjust its size to the user?" he wondered aloud, a faint frown crossed his face.
He had never read anything like that in the books. The idea blindsided him—but the logic held strong. If people received their Soul Weapons at a young age, a full-sized weapon would be impossible to use. Some form of scaling mechanism made sense.
Ares swung the katana a couple of times.
The balance of the weapon felt perfect. The blade sang as it sliced the air.
He'd only undergone basic sword training, yet the weapon felt natural in his hand—like it was made just for him.
He stared at the black katana for a few long moments before finally dismissing it.
Ares clenched his fist as the blade disintegrated into blue sparks of light. The determined expression on his youthful face might have seemed almost laughable—but the fire in his heart was real—burning with resolve.
He would get stronger.
Silently, he sat down and crossed his legs. His eyes slipped shut.
Resting his hands on his knees, he centered himself and focused on the faint, pulsing sensation deep within his abdomen.
Then—he resumed his training.