The wind whispered softly across the Jura Forest, stirring the tall grasses atop a gentle hill that overlooked the growing village below. Morning light danced through the trees, casting golden hues upon the figures standing proudly at the crest of the slope.
Varvatos, cloaked in dark royal garb adorned with silver-threaded runes, stood tall with his arms crossed behind his back, his long hair fluttering slightly in the breeze. His gaze was fixed on the village—his domain.
Beside him, Benimaru, calm and alert, stood with a composed posture, his crimson armor glinting in the sun.
Towering to the side was Veldora, the Storm Dragon in his humanoid form, grinning with curiosity, while curled near Varvatos' feet was Ranga, his tail gently thumping the earth.
Ranga's ears perked up, and he glanced up toward the ancient being beside him.
"Master Varvatos… this village feels warm, alive… but still exposed. It breathes like a child—strong, but unaware of danger."
Varvatos didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained on the village, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
Finally, his voice came—deep, composed, and woven with time.
"Even the fiercest dragons begin as eggs, Ranga… and in that fragile shell, they dream of skies they've never seen. This village is no different."
Benimaru tilted his head, glancing at the lord.
"Do you plan to build stronger defenses? Bigger Walls? Patrols?"
Varvatos' lips curved into a faint smile.
"Walls crumble. Guards can be deceived. But magic… especially the kind the world has long forgotten… that lasts."
He stepped forward, raising his hand slowly.
Varvatos continued, tone unwavering.
"I will make the village protect itself."
He raised his arms slowly, as ancient glyphs began to shimmer into existence around his body—celestial runes spiraling in the air like stardust. Then, he began to chant in a language that made even Veldora's dragon blood tingle. The language was older than the sky, older than dragons, older than fear.
The wind stopped.
Even the birds seemed to hold their breath.
"Ignar'dar Rel'theon Vustar… Esthra Vel'tah Arkanum…"
Suddenly, a pillar of light shot into the sky from where he stood, bursting into a dome of brilliance that expanded outward, washing over the village like a tidal wave of gentle warmth.
The villagers—hobgoblins, kijins, and direfangs—paused mid-task as they looked to the heavens, shielding their eyes from the radiant light.
Then, like glowing scripture, ancient runes appeared mid-air around the dome—symbols no scholar alive could read—floating for but a moment before vanishing into thin air.
The light faded.
And silence followed.
Veldora's jaw hung open, his golden eyes wide.
Benimaru was just as stunned, though he maintained composure.
"What… in the name of all spirits was that?"
Varvatos turned toward them slowly, the residual power still shimmering faintly in his irises.
"This is a Sentient Astral Ward. It is not a spell—it is a conscious magic construct. It observes, learns, adapts, and evolves. The barrier will reject any being that enters with malice, and if attacked, it will not break… it will absorb the attack's power and reinforce itself."
Ranga's ears perked up, eyes glowing with wonder.
"A barrier that… feeds on hostility?"
Varvatos nodded.
"Exactly. It will grow stronger the more it is challenged. It is alive in concept—linked to my will. And it will protect the village in my absence."
From below, Rigur received Benimaru's thought transmission and immediately addressed the villagers.
"Do not be afraid! Lord Varvatos is casting a divine ward to protect us! Stay calm and watch in reverence!"
The villagers exhaled in awe and whispered among themselves. Children looked up with wide eyes. Kijin elders knelt in respect. The direfangs howled not in fear, but in salute.
Then Veldora, grinning like a child before a new toy, took a step forward.
"Can I test it? Just a little blast? A medium one, I promise!"
Benimaru raised a brow, but Varvatos only smiled.
"Go ahead. Let it feel your strength."
Veldora didn't wait—he took a breath and fired a condensed Dragonic Breath blast, one that could melt mountains.
The beam of energy streaked toward the dome—and upon touching it, the light around the barrier shimmered, absorbing the breath like a sponge.
Then—
FWOOM.
The barrier pulsed once, as if… feeding on the attack. The runes appeared again, this time burning with deeper hues. The barrier had grown visibly stronger.
Benimaru blinked.
"It's… self-evolving…"
Veldora clutched his head.
"That's amazing! My magic's gone and the barrier just… gulped it down like soup!"
Varvatos looked at them with a faint smile.
"Even now, dragons soar… but they no longer remember the stars that birthed them. This village will remember. It will be more than strong—it will be eternal."
He then continued,
"The village is now safe. Let the world send its spies and its monsters. If their hearts are black, they will find only their reflection turned against them."
Ranga barked once, tail wagging.
"Master Varvatos… I am proud to serve you."
Benimaru bowed slightly, eyes gleaming with respect.
"Your presence here... will change the course of history."
The four of them stood silently for a while, watching the glowing shimmer fade into invisibility.
The village buzzed with the peaceful hum of daily life as Varvatos and his companions—Benimaru, Ranga, and Veldora—made their way through the main path. The morning's magic had left a quiet awe lingering in the air, but Varvatos walked calmly, almost detached from the weight of what he had just done. He carried no pride—only purpose.
As they passed the training grounds, the sounds of steel against wood and disciplined shouts echoed in rhythmic cadence.
There stood Hakuro, the master swordsman, directing a group of young ogres and goblins, each soaked in sweat and determination. His blade was sheathed, yet his very posture radiated mastery—a man who had walked the sword's path for centuries.
The moment Hakuro's sharp, aged eyes landed on Varvatos, he paused mid-instruction, then approached with a slow, respectful bow.
Hakuro: "My Lord Varvatos. Forgive my boldness… but your bearing betrays a truth no swordsman can ignore. You've walked the path of steel… and perhaps, even deeper than I have."
Varvatos gave him a half-smile, amused by the old warrior's instincts.
Varvatos: "You're perceptive, Hakuro. The sword is my companion…since when the stars were younger."
Hakuro's eyes lit up like a fire rekindled.
Hakuro: "Would you grant this old blade the honor… of crossing paths with yours?"
Benimaru, always curious when strength meets strength, immediately grinned.
Benimaru: "A spar between you two? Oh, this I must see."
Veldora's eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Hoh?! This day just keeps getting better!"
Varvatos looked at his hip, where his true sword rested—an ancient blade said to cut through dimensions.
Varvatos: "My blade… is unfit for sport. I'll improvise."
He stepped aside, picked up a long branch of oak, and with a mere tap of his fingers, imbued it with reinforcing magic—just enough to withstand steel. The branch shimmered for a second, then settled into a faint, glowing sheen.
He twirled it once. The wind seemed to follow.
The crowd was gathering now—ogres, kijins, goblins, direwolves—everyone stopping what they were doing. Even Shuna and Shion arrived, both taking front-row seats, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Benimaru stepped forward, raising his hand like a formal referee.
Benimaru: "Begin!"
Hakuro disappeared.
A blur, faster than most could follow.
Veldora: "He vanished?!"
But Varvatos didn't move. His feet rooted like stone, the wooden staff held casually in one hand. His eyes calmly followed every step of Hakuro's movement.
The first strike came from the left—sharp, precise.
CLACK!
Varvatos deflected it with a mere shift of his wrist.
Hakuro was already behind him.
WHAM!
Blocked again. This time, Varvatos stepped sideways, his cloak swaying, eyes unmoved.
Varvatos: "You step too wide, Hakuro. Shorten your pivot or your opponent will exploit your flank."
Hakuro smiled, the fire of challenge in his eyes. Without a word, he transitioned.
Hakuro: "Hazy Style: Flowing Water Slash!"
His sword danced—liquid, seamless, a wave crashing from all angles.
The crowd gasped, seeing only glimpses of his sword arcs.
But Varvatos… moved like air.
He flowed backward, deflecting each strike with minimal motion. One hand, one branch, and a dance of impossibly clean footwork.
Varvatos: "Excellent control. But your third strike is slightly delayed. The 'water' must not hesitate—it must consume."
Hakuro narrowed his eyes.
Hakuro: "Then take this—Thunder of Heaven and Earth!"
He stabbed the blade into the ground, channeling his energy. Lightning sparked—then a shockwave burst beneath Varvatos, aiming to disrupt his footing and follow with a cross-slash of devastating power.
It hit.
Dust exploded.
But—
When the smoke cleared…
Varvatos stood behind Hakuro, his staff lightly resting on the old warrior's shoulder.
He had dodged everything.
Without blinking.
Varvatos: "A good technique. But predictable when your eyes follow your blade."
Silence.
Then—
Applause. Cheers. Gasps.
The younger warriors stared wide-eyed. Some dropped their wooden swords.
Goblin Soldier: "He didn't even swing his staff!"
Ogre Guard: "He read every move… like he'd fought this fight a thousand times."
Shion, wide-eyed: "Was that… teleportation?"
Ranga, tail thumping excitedly.
"Master Varvatos' movements were like shadow and breeze. I couldn't even smell him move!"
Hakuro, despite the sweat on his brow, broke into a grin. He stepped back and bowed deeply.
Hakuro: "I see now. My path still has miles left to walk."
Varvatos lifted his wooden staff and placed it behind his back.
Varvatos: "You're a master, Hakuro. But mastery is not the end—it's the beginning of humility."
He turned toward the young soldiers.
Varvatos: "Swordsmanship is not about speed… or strength… but clarity. Know your blade as you know yourself. No hesitation. No indulgence. Every step, every breath—it must be truth."
The soldiers bowed, many deeply inspired.
Benimaru: "That was a masterclass. You're going to have to teach me next, Varvatos."
Veldora, still vibrating with excitement.
"That was amazing! I want to spar with you next!"
Varvatos chuckled lightly, brushing past.
"Perhaps… but only if you use a branch."
Everyone laughed.
And so the day turned quietly heroic. The barrier had been placed. The soldiers had been humbled. The air was now heavy not with dread… but potential.
The legend of Varvatos' sparring match with Hakuro would echo throughout The forest. For many, it was not just a display of power—
—it was a lesson in grace.