The Anomaly's Path-Chapter 65: The Stubborn Ones

[Roran’s POV]

Peace is a very fragile thing. It is like a well-aged bottle of wine; it takes years to settle, but only one clumsy, black-haired brat to shatter it into a thousand jagged pieces.

It had been nearly two weeks. Two weeks of the same routine. Every single morning, before the sun had even managed to burn the mist off the village paths, I would hear it. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of boots hitting the dirt outside my shack.

I would be sitting there, minding my own business, nursing a headache that felt like a tiny blacksmith was using my skull as an anvil, and there he would be.

Leo.

The "narcissistic handsome demon lord," as the kids called him.

He would lean against my fence with that punchable, confident grin of his, looking like he had just stepped out of a noble’s ballroom instead of a dusty orphanage.

"Good morning, Roran!" he would say, his voice far too bright for the hour. "Beautiful day for some training, don’t you think?"

I would not even look up from my whittling. "No. Go home, kid."

"Tsk! I will be back tomorrow," he would reply, unfazed.

"I will be saying no tomorrow, too."

"We will see about that."

And then he would vanish into the jungle.

Every. Single. Day.

At first, I thought he was just another arrogant noble brat playing at being a warrior.

I had seen plenty of his kind back in the war—boys who thought a shiny family crest and a bloodline full of legends made them invincible. Usually, they were the first ones to cry for their mothers when the mud started mixing with blood.

But this kid... he was a different kind of breed.

I started watching him. Not because I cared—I didn’t. It was mostly because I had nothing better to do between drinks and gambling. I would wander near the edge of the Verge, catching glimpses of him in that clearing.

It was honestly a little disturbing. I wondered if he was a masochist.

I have seen men train hard, but Leo treated his own body like a piece of scrap metal he was trying to hammer into a god-slaying blade.

He would fall. He would fail. He would vomit from the sheer strain of moving his mana. And then, with shaking legs and blood leaking from his nose, he would stand up and do it again.

I didn’t understand it.

What are you chasing, kid? I would wonder, leaning against a tree just out of his sight. What kind of ghost is following you that makes you run this hard?

What was so important that he would push himself past every limit, ignore every warning, and sacrifice every bit of comfort he had?

If I said I wasn’t curious, I’d be lying. I was curious. I wanted to know what made him tick. What made him keep getting up when the world kept knocking him down.

Maybe I’d already known the answer. Maybe I’d just been too scared to admit it.

I was the one who built the wall. I knew that. I was the one who kept saying no, refusing to acknowledge the sheer, stubborn effort he was pouring into the dirt.

I was not grateful for his persistence; I was terrified of it.

Because every time I looked at him, I saw a flicker of someone I used to be. Someone who believed that strength could actually protect the things that mattered.

This morning, my feet carried me toward the jungle before I even realized I had left my home. I didn’t plan it.

And then I heard it.

The sound of steel cutting air. Sharp. Fast. Unrelenting.

I reached the place and stopped, blending into the shadows of the massive roots. Leo was there, but he wasn’t just swinging a stick anymore. He had that dark, curved blade Torben had given him.

He was moving like a fool. His footwork was experimental, his stances were slightly off, and he was pushing his mana so hard the air around him felt heavy. His stances weren’t pretty or polished. But they had something that training alone couldn’t teach.

He was clumsy, yes, but there was something behind every move.

Intent.

Every swing had a purpose. Every step had a destination. His eyes were fixed on something I couldn’t see, something that existed only in his head, something that kept him moving when his body was clearly screaming for rest.

He wasn’t just practicing; he was visualizing a kill.

Sweat soaked through his shirt. His arms were shaking. His breathing was ragged, uneven—the kind of breathing that came from pushing too hard for too long. But he didn’t stop. He swung again. And again. And again.

I watched him for a long time.

He fell twice. Once when his foot caught on a root, once when his arms simply gave out mid-swing. Both times, he got back up. Both times, he raised his sword and kept going like nothing had happened.

"..."

I quietly watched him doing his practice.

I was about to turn back when I felt it. A flicker of movement in the trees behind him.

A monster.

Something was moving in the undergrowth to the east of the clearing. It was a Razor-Back Ravager—a Minor Rank beast covered in bone-like armor and tusks that could rip through a man like wet paper. It was at least a rank higher than what a kid like Leo should be handling alone.

My hand instinctively went to where my sword used to hang. I was about to step out, to bark at him to run, when I saw his eyes.

Leo didn’t flinch.

He didn’t look surprised. His gaze shifted toward the rustling leaves, and it went cold. Deathly cold. The "pretty boy" persona vanished, replaced by the focused, icy stare of a hunter who had been waiting for this exact moment.

He knew the monster was there. He had probably been baiting it.

I stayed my hand. Fine, kid. Let us see what you have learned.

The Ravager burst from the treeline, a mass of muscle and bone-plates, and let out a guttural roar that shook the moss. It charged, its tusks aimed straight for Leo’s gut.

Leo moved.

It wasn’t the refined footwork of a trained soldier, but it was fast. He surged to the left, the dark blade in his hand suddenly erupting in jagged arcs of black lightning. The air around him hissed and crackled, turning heavy with the scorched, stinging scent of burnt electricity.

He swung.

The strike was powerful, fueled by a desperate, raw energy. The lightning hissed as it slammed into the beast’s armored side. It didn’t cut through the bone-plate, but the electrical discharge sent a jolt through the Ravager, making it stumble.

Leo didn’t stop.

He danced around the beast, his footwork carrying him in jagged patterns. He was struggling; I could see his muscles twitching from the mana backlash. His attacks were clumsy, lacking the refinement of a true swordsman, but the power behind them was undeniable.

The Ravager grew frustrated. It pivoted, its massive tail swinging in a wide arc. Leo jumped, but he was a second too slow. The tail clipped his ribs, sending him tumbling across the dirt.

I was already moving, ready to step in, ready to—

That was when I heard it. A low, calm, and cold ragged whisper from the dirt.

"Caught you."

Leo wasn’t scrambling away. He was braced on one knee, his left hand gripping the flat of the blade, his right hand tight on the hilt. He had let the beast get close. He had baited the charge.

As the Ravager lunged, Leo didn’t dodge. He pivoted on his heel, using the beast’s own momentum against it. He drove Stray upward, the black lightning screaming as it found the soft gap beneath the monster’s jaw.

CRACK-BOOM!

The discharge was deafening. The Ravager’s head was snapped back by the force of the explosion. It collapsed into the dirt, its legs twitching for a few seconds before going still.

Silence returned to the jungle.

Leo stood there, panting, covered in dirt and monster blood. He looked like he was about to collapse. Then, he threw his head back and started laughing.

"I did it! I finally fucking did it! HAHAHA!"

He sounded like a maniac. A tired, broken, brilliant maniac.

I couldn’t help it. A small smile touched my lips as I watched him celebrate his victory over a pile of rotting meat. He was a stubborn little shit, but he had the heart of a lion. It was ridiculous. It was absurd. It was...

Familiar.

I watched him from the shadows.

But then, the wind shifted. The sharp, metallic tang from Leo’s black lightning hit my nose, and the world around me began to blur.

The green of the jungle bled into a deep, suffocating crimson.

The sound of Leo’s celebration muffled, replaced by the heavy, wet thud of my own heartbeat. The smell of the moss vanished, replaced by the overwhelming, sickly-sweet scent of blood and the cold rain of that night.

Suddenly, I wasn’t in the jungle anymore. I was back in the mud, my hands trembling as I cradled a weight that felt far too light.

I felt her touch—a faint, ghostly pressure against my cheek.

Her fingers were cold, stained with red, but her eyes... they were still that soft, shimmering green.

Even with the light fading from them, she was looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

Then, the whisper came. It was ragged, bubbling with a cough, but it pierced through the ringing in my ears like a scream.

"You are the strongest man I know, Roran... Promise me... you’ll always smile... even without me."

The memory hit me like a physical blow. I jolted, my breath catching in my throat. I felt a chill run down my spine.

The world snapped back into focus—the dirt, the trees, the smoking carcass of the monster. My breath came in ragged gasps, and I felt a violent chill run down my spine once more.

My hand flew to my neck, my fingers fumbling blindly until they caught the silver chain. I ripped the locket out from under my tunic, my knuckles white as I clicked it open.

Inside was a small portrait.

A girl with blonde hair that looked like spun gold and soft green eyes that seemed to hold all the kindness in the world. She was smiling—that same charming, radiant smile that had once been my entire world.

...That radiant, perfect smile that I had spent every day since her death trying to forget.

"...I’m sorry, Clara," I whispered, my voice cracking like dry wood. "I’m not doing much smiling these days."

I looked back at Leo. He was leaning on his sword, wiping blood from his forehead, his face still lit up with the pure, unfiltered joy of being alive.

Protecting smiles...

I had spent years building a wall to keep the world out, but this black-haired brat had just spent two weeks hammering at it with a wooden stick.

And today...

The memory of her smile was so heavy I forgot where I was. I shifted my weight, and my boot came down hard on a dry, fallen branch.

Crack!

Leo spun around instantly, his blade leveled at the shadows where I stood. "Who is there? Come out!"

I didn’t answer. I turned and vanished back into the thick brush, moving silently through the trees. My mind was a mess of old ghosts and new sparks.

The kid was a noble. He was arrogant. He was annoying.

But maybe... just maybe... he was the only one stubborn enough to bridge the wall I had built around myself.

I didn’t head back to the village. Instead, I let my feet carry me away to a familiar place.

_

Author’s Note — Monster Ranks

Hey everyone! Quick explanation about monster ranks since I know it can get confusing.

In this world, monsters are ranked from Grade 1 to Grade 9. I’ll use both the number and the name throughout the story:

Grade 1 — Fodder (weakest, basically cannon fodder)

Grade 2 — Minor (the monster Leo just fought)

Grade 3 — Common

Grade 4 — Greater

Grade 5 — Elite

Grade 6 — Commander

Grade 7 — Lord

Grade 8 — Sovereign

Grade 9 — Calamity (world-ending threats)

Most monsters also have sub-ranks — Low, Mid, High — to show individual strength within their grade. So a "Minor (Mid)" is stronger than a "Minor (Low)" but weaker than a "Minor (High)."

However, similar to human ranks, once monsters reach the higher tiers (Sovereign and above), sub-ranks stop mattering. At that level, their power is measured by will, territory, and the laws they command — not just raw strength.

The monster Leo just fought was a Razor-Back Ravager, a Minor (Mid) rank beast. They’re ambush predators, covered in bone-like armor that makes them hard to kill. They rely on charging with their tusks and using their massive tails to knock prey off balance.

Most young fighters die because they panic — Leo baited it instead. Smart kid.

One more thing: In the future, if I just call a monster a "Minor rank" without saying "Grade 2," don’t get confused — it means the same thing. Same goes for "Common rank," "Greater rank," etc. I’ll use both terms throughout the story.

Anyway, Hope this help!