How can this be real? How did he form Juggernaut? That sword... it's one of the legendary weapons of the Dwarfs, known for its unstoppable destructive power. Shadow was questioning himself, stunned by the sight of the blade now in Rayen's hand.
Rayen slowly started walking toward Shadow, making him instinctively step back.
"Don't you dare come near me!" Shadow yelled, eyes wide with a mix of fear and anger.
"I know what you're thinking—how did he form Juggernaut?" Rayen said, voice steady. "Did you forget? This is my imagination. I can create anything I want."
Then he pointed at Shadow.
"But you… you can't. Because you don't have your own world. You're just a fragment—just a part of me. My negative emotions, nothing more."
Then Rayen charged at Shadow, landing a blow—but Shadow dodged and took off running. Rayen didn't chase. Instead, he closed his eyes... and teleported right in front of him. Before Shadow could react, Rayen slashed his head off.
But it wasn't just Shadow's head—his strike split the entire imaginary world. Rayen's eyes widened at the destruction. "This thing wasn't that powerful—or was."
The endless world of imagination had been cleaved in two. From the line where it was sliced, a blinding white light began to shine.
Rayen walked toward Shadow's head and picked it up. "I heard you saying you're twice as strong as me?"
Shadow gritted his teeth. "You fucker, murderer, pedophi—"
Rayen kicked the head into the white void, erasing it—and the rest of Shadow's body—with a single blow.
"I'm not a pedoph!le, you fucking dog!" Rayen shouted into the void.
The sword in Rayen's hand disappeared. He looked back at the ruined remains of his castle. I have to make it again.
He raised his hand and, with a single snap, all the debris vanished into dust. Then, one by one, he summoned the foundation pillars and raised the walls again.
He crafted the ceilings and laid out the floors with clearer detail this time—smooth, polished stone tiles, faintly glowing with a white aura, like they were alive. Decorative arches formed above doorways, giving the structure a regal frame. Pillars became more defined, now carved with ancient patterns and symbols of strength.
He added tall windows that showed nothing but the void outside—but they reflected his growing control within. A long staircase coiled upward in the center, and atop it formed a throne made of obsidian and gold.
Rayen exhaled slowly. Better. Now... this is my world.
He then walked over and sank into the throne, exhausted from the fight and the strain of visualization. "I'm exhausted to the core. I need rest." His eyes began to feel heavy. "May...be, a sleep..." And with that, he drifted off on the throne, unaware of how much time had passed in the outside world.
Time moved on, but Rayen remained asleep. In the void, there was no sun or moon to mark the passage of time. The only light that existed was Rayen himself—soft, steady, and faintly pulsing like a distant heartbeat.
---
"How… much time has passed?" Rayen slowly opened his eyes after what felt like a deep, endless sleep. He looked around and realized he was back in the shrine. As he tried to stand and take a step forward, he lost his balance and stumbled into the wall.
"What happened to my legs?" But it wasn't just his legs. He noticed something strange—his body was bigger than before. He touched his face. It was no longer smooth and chubby; the features were sharper, more defined. He glanced at his arms and legs—larger, more developed.
"What… happened to me?"
His legs gave out, and he dropped to the floor. "My legs… I can't even stand properly. Why?"
"Because you were meditating for the last five years while sitting," a familiar voice echoed from the shrine's entrance. "It's only natural your legs forgot how to move, or bear your weight."
Five years? Doesn't that make me ten now? And that voice… Rayen turned his head toward the entrance. The old man was standing there. His already sagging face looked even more worn now, and he leaned on a cane for support as he stepped forward.
"Old man!" Rayen walked toward him. The old man patted Rayen's head gently.
"You've grown again… without even realizing it." His voice sounded tired.
Rayen noticed the changes in him and pointed at the cane. "How did it come to this?"
The old man let out a soft chuckle. "This is just normal in old age. I don't think I have many years left. I'm already eighty-two."
You've lived a pretty long life, Rayen thought.
The old man turned toward the shrine entrance. "Rayen."
"Yes?" Rayen responded.
"I don't know how much longer I'll be around, so starting tomorrow… your hardcore training begins. You better prepare yourself." With that, the old man stepped out of the shrine.
"Okay, sir!" Rayen beamed with excitement. "Yoshaa! Real training starts tomorrow!"
He glanced down at his body—and noticed he was standing properly without losing balance.
Great.
Rayen clenched his fists, feeling the weight of his new body. It was heavier, stronger, more solid than before. He took a deep breath and stepped outside the shrine for the first time in what felt like forever.
The world hadn't changed much—the same quiet forest, the same calm breeze—but something inside him had. His senses were sharper. Every rustle in the trees, every chirp of the birds—it all felt more alive, more vivid. This body… is different than before. But it feels like mine.
He walked slowly at first, then picked up pace. His legs trembled but didn't give out. The sun filtered through the trees, warm and golden on his skin. It felt like touching the world again after years of silence.
Suddenly, a rock came flying toward him. Rayen ducked on instinct. The stone slammed into a tree behind him and cracked it. He turned sharply.
The old man stood across the clearing with a small smile. "Good. Your instincts didn't die in sleep."
"You threw a rock at me?" Rayen raised an eyebrow.
"That was your first lesson. Be ready even when nothing seems wrong," he said, leaning heavier on his cane. "Tomorrow I'll throw something sharper."
Rayen grinned. "I'll catch it next time."
The old man nodded. "That's the spirit."
---
Next day morning—
"By sharp, you mean this?" Rayen asked, his face pale with terror. Behind the old man stood millions of thin, gleaming needles, each one looking sharp enough to pierce bone.
"Yes," the old man said calmly. "You have to dodge them without stepping out of that square." He pointed at the large square marked on the ground where Rayen was standing.
Rayen gave a nervous smile. "Let me just ask—are you trying to kill me?"
"Why would I?" the old man replied without flinching. "Didn't I tell you yesterday the training would be hardcore?"
Say you're joking... please. This is insane. How the hell am I supposed to dodge those in such a small space?! Rayen screamed internally.
"Then let us start the hardcore training," the old man announced, before flinging a storm of needles toward Rayen.
What the fuck? Give me a second to compose! Rayen thought, panic rising.
He sprinted left, then right, dodging with desperate leaps and rolls. All the needles moved in the same direction and at the same speed, which made it just barely manageable. Focusing his life force into his feet, he leapt high above the flying barrage, narrowly escaping the deadly rain.
Before he could catch his breath, the old man conjured millions more needles and hurled them again.
Give me time!
This time, the needles came from every angle, shifting directions unpredictably and speeding up and slowing down like wild sparks. Rayen raised a shimmering barrier in front of him, and as the needles slammed into it, their speed slowed just enough for him to launch himself to the side, narrowly surviving the assault.
But just as relief flickered, Rayen's eyes widened—another wave of thousands of needles surged forward from the same direction he'd just escaped, faster and more relentless than before.
He felt sweat drip down his forehead, but he couldn't stop. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest as he moved instinctively, each step sharper, each breath controlled.
I can't let this break me, he thought. I have to push through.
The old man's voice echoed, calm but firm, "Focus your mind, control your breath. Let the needles come, but don't let them touch you."
Rayen clenched his fists, narrowed his eyes, and slowed his breathing. Instead of fighting the storm, he moved with it—sliding, weaving, and bending his body just enough to avoid every needle's sharp tip.
Minutes felt like hours, but slowly, the endless barrage began to thin out.
Finally, Rayen stood in the middle of the square, untouched but exhausted. He looked up at the old man, breathing heavy but alive.
"That was only the beginning," the old man said quietly. "Remember, control is everything."