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“Again.”
At the words of the swordsman instructor, the boy picked up his sword again. He was very young, just turning ten years old. At this age, the boy needed lots of love, delicious sweets, and running around and playing with toys. But instead of that, he had to wield a wooden sword.
“It’s your last chance, scum. If you fail again, there’s no dinner for you tonight.”
With that, the instructor pointed down with his finger. The boy looked down, only to see the remains of rice balls next to the instructor’s military boots.
“Get started, scum.”
The instructor hated this child, so he didn’t even call him by his name. There were dozens of children in front of him, all in the same situation, holding wooden swords. Of course, he knew some of them by name, having memorized them either because the kids had potential or because they were particularly obedient.
However, the boy who had just dropped the wooden sword didn’t have that potential, which was why his name was just “scum”.
“Sigh…”
This was the boy’s last chance. He picked up his wooden sword again, the words of the instructor swirling in his head. His hands were full of calluses, and he had scratches and bruises all over his body.
Those weren’t marks of abuse but of harsh training. At least that was what the instructor thought. The...
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