What exactly are “monsters”?

Monsters are animals that have absorbed mana from the atmosphere into their bodies, causing sudden mutations. The strength of a monster varies based on the amount of mana absorbed or accumulated. It is said that monsters that have absorbed mana for decades or centuries could harness power capable of annihilating a nation overnight.

—Though, such catastrophic monsters only appear in fairy tales. For the past few centuries, no disaster-class monster has been observed.

Even so, monsters that harm humanity persist, and the damage they cause continues to grow yearly. Their prevalence and danger result in constant casualties, prompting the establishment of a tier system to ensure individuals face monsters suited to their abilities.

And now, the monster before us—the Howl Wolf—is classified as the lowest rank, Level 10, in the ten-level tier system.

That said, it should not be underestimated. Even low-ranked monsters make up for their weakness by forming packs, and they can easily massacre fully grown adults. "Whenever you face a monster, prepare to die and fight to survive," my granduncle's words echo in my mind as I recall the moment before my first encounter with one.

"Take this!"

A spirited shout resounds from behind me. There are four enemies in total. Considering their rank and number, individually targeting them is the most efficient approach. Howl Wolves are adept at using extraordinary coordination to outmaneuver us, so maintaining distance between each other is crucial.

"Garrru!"

There’s no time to observe my surroundings. Before I realize it, a Howl Wolf’s razor-sharp fangs are closing in on my throat.

“Not so fast.”

I evade with a sidestep and counterattack. Though I’ve only just begun adapting my blood to the flow of mana, the awkwardness hasn’t faded. My body hasn’t fully warmed up, and I’m far from my peak. This is merely a trial run for my Blood Flow Manipulation skill. Even so, I don't feel like I’ll lose to this wolf.

"Take this!"

I don’t miss the opportunity when the defenseless Howl Wolf rushes past me. With the provided iron sword, I slash its belly—though “slash” might be too generous a term; it’s more accurate to say I smashed it.

“Gyaw!?”

The sword is plain, unremarkable. Its edge is far from sharp, and some might even find it completely impractical for battle. It’s a blade that some would scoff at, deeming it too crude for even a royal knight’s use.

—Yet, my granduncle specifically chose this sword for today’s training.

Why?

Is it because experienced knights can slay monsters with even a crude blade? While not wrong, the true reason lies elsewhere. Implicitly, that stubborn old man wants to teach us this:

—No matter the situation, strive to do your best.

Whether battling monsters or in war, circumstances are never ideal. Fighters rarely go into battle in perfect condition. The enemy might outnumber you, the terrain may favor them, or your only weapon could be a dull iron sword.

This training is to prepare us to perform at our best, regardless of the situation.

Thus, it’s not particularly surprising that I dispatched the Howl Wolf with a single blow. After all, Gordon and the others had also taken down their wolves without issue.

"Good work. Everyone’s unharmed."

“A promising start! Four monsters already down.”

“Impressive as always, Clay.”

“Thank you.”

While I often dominate during training, Gordon and the others are seasoned knights of the Royal Order, renowned for their skills. None of them would struggle against low-ranked monsters.

"Let’s keep pushing forward. We’ll use these iron swords until we reach the middle of the forest; after that, we’re free to use our usual weapons."

We sever the right ears of the defeated wolves as proof of the kills, burning the rest as instructed. There’s no time to leisurely disassemble them. Following Gordon’s lead, I press onward.

Half a day passes as we trek through the forest.

“So, we’re only halfway done?”

“Will we really finish this?”

“That person’s demands are insane…”

—No arguments here.

After defeating a group of Hide Goblins, we finally reach half the required number of kills stated in our mission orders. However, time is running out.

"The sun’s setting, and visibility in the forest is fading fast. Let’s set up camp before it gets completely dark."

"Understood," we all reply in unison.

As Gordon pointed out, darkness is rapidly consuming the forest. We’re now in the heart of Bayralell Forest, where the monsters are far more formidable than the Howl Wolves we faced earlier.

We’ve been fighting and moving almost nonstop, without proper rest. Even for knights with a strong foundation of training, the mental and physical toll is evident. Continuing recklessly would only invite disaster. Understanding this, Gordon orders a halt, and I have no objections. If anything, his decision is prudent.

“Shall we stick to the same tasks as yesterday?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

Having agreed, we begin setting up camp. Yesterday, I struggled with pitching a tent, but with the prior experience, I’ve gotten the hang of it.

“I’m done here. Let me help you, Rill.”

“Oh! Already finished on your own? As expected of Lord Bradley’s son…”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Flattery won’t get you anything.”

I chuckle at Rill’s exaggerated reaction while assisting her. The tents are simple enough for one person to set up, and with two, the task becomes even easier. Within ten minutes, both tents are ready.

“Time for dinner!”

Gordon calls us over after finishing his tasks.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes.”

The four of us gather around the campfire, hastily eating rations to fill our stomachs. Naturally, the conversation turns to—

"Clay, are you really eight years old?"

“Yes… Why do you ask?”

They find it hard to believe that an eight-year-old could endure a training regimen that even grown knights struggle with. To me, it’s simply a given, but to them, it’s an anomaly.

"Your stamina and combat skills are beyond what any eight-year-old should have. Just wanted to confirm."

“Honestly, Clay, I’ve thought this during training, but you’re exceptional.”

“And on top of that, you’re humble and mature—like you’ve lived multiple lives.”

“W-Well, flattery won’t get you anything!”

Rill’s remark catches me off guard. There’s no way they could know this is my second life, but her words make me uneasy.

“We’re serious, Clay,” Gordon interjects. “What kind of training do you do when you’re not at the garrison?”

“Oh, I want to know too! Is that where the secret to your strength lies?”

“Uh… Well—”

They bombard me with questions, ignoring my discomfort. Being recognized is something I’m not used to. While it’s flattering, it’s also a little embarrassing.

“Ha, are you blushing?”

“Oh, he totally is.”

“How adorable.”

Their teasing makes me grin wryly. Even as I try to brush them off, they don’t let up. The conversation carries on, and after deciding the watch schedule, we settle down for the night.

"Let’s rest up for tomorrow," Gordon says.

By tomorrow’s sunset, we need to complete the required kills and escape the forest. The task seems daunting, but I believe we can do it. With that thought, I drift into sleep.

That night, my fate began to shift.