His name was Brak.
He wasn't big. He wasn't loud. He didn't talk much, either. Most of the time, Brak just stared off into space or wandered around with a stick in his hand, poking rocks or pretending to fight invisible enemies.
He was that kind of kid.
Quiet. Strange. Harmless.
Until he got the ring.
Brak didn't even know what it really did. He only got one because everyone got one. He tapped it, just like the others did. Most rings showed nothing at first.
But his?
It flared up the moment he touched it.
[Swordsman Lv. 5]
[Reflex Lv. 3]
[Focus Lv. 2]
The board glowed. A soft hum filled his ears. He blinked at the screen like it was lying.
"What is... swordsman?"
He didn't even know what it meant.
Word spread fast.
"Tikka, did you hear? That kid Brak, the weird one, he's got Swordsman at level five already!"
"Did he train with someone?"
"No! He's never even held a real sword!"
"He's a natural!"
"Is that even fair?"
Some whispered about a rare bloodline. Others said the ring was broken. But Caelen confirmed it himself—no errors. No bugs.
Just talent.
Tikka watched Brak during sword practice. They gave him a wooden blade to test his skills.
He didn't swing it with force.
He danced with it.
Light steps. Smooth turns. He didn't even think—his body moved on its own. Even the older goblins stepped back when he lunged.
Dorgrim whistled from the side. "That kid's faster than a falling hammer."
Zira narrowed her eyes. "It's like he was born with a blade in his hand."
But Brak didn't smile.
He didn't cheer or laugh.
After training, he sat by himself near the fence, poking dirt with his stick again.
Tikka approached. "You alright?"
He glanced up. "Why do I have a sword skill?"
"You tell me."
"I never fought. I don't even like hurting things."
"Then maybe your sword isn't for hurting."
He frowned. "Then... what's it for?"
She sat beside him. "Some people fight to protect. Some to prove something. Others because it's all they know. Maybe your skill is waiting for you to choose."
Days passed. Brak kept training, but never joined the hunting teams. Never asked for stronger weapons. He just trained.
One day, during practice, another student got too excited and swung wild.
Brak didn't think—he stepped forward and deflected the strike with the side of his wooden blade.
He didn't hit back.
He just helped the kid up.
Tikka noticed.
"You could've countered."
Brak shook his head. "He didn't mean it."
That night, his ring lit again.
[Parry Lv. 1]
[Compassionate Blade – Title Unlocked]
Effect: Attacks have reduced chance to kill. Higher chance to disarm or knock back.
The whole village started talking again.
"He's a warrior who doesn't want to fight?"
"Why give a sword to someone who won't use it?"
"Maybe that's the point."
One morning, while walking near the edge of the village, Brak found a young elf girl crying beside a broken wooden cart. Her brother had gone missing in the forest. She begged for help, but most adults were busy with repairs or work.
Brak didn't wait.
He ran into the trees, following tracks, holding nothing but a stick.
He found the boy caught in thorny vines near a pit. A wild boar circled nearby, ready to charge.
Brak stepped between them.
The boar charged.
He didn't scream.
He moved.
One step.
One swing.
The stick cracked against the beast's head, knocking it back without drawing blood. Just enough.
The boar ran off.
He freed the boy and led him back.
No one clapped. No one praised.
But the elf girl ran to him, hugged him, and cried.
His ring glowed again.
[Protector Lv. 1]
Caelen summoned him that evening.
"So," Caelen said, smiling gently, "you've got one of the highest sword skills in the village, and you don't like violence."
Brak nodded slowly. "I don't hate fighting. I just... don't want to hurt anyone."
"I respect that. A real warrior doesn't just swing a sword—they decide when not to."
Brak looked down. "Is it okay to be like that? Even if others want me to be stronger?"
Caelen leaned forward. "Brak, this world needs all kinds of strength. Yours is just a quiet kind. That doesn't make it weaker."
Brak didn't reply right away.
Then he whispered, "Thanks."
Later, as stars blinked into the sky, Brak stood in the quiet field behind the village, wooden sword in hand.
He swung it gently.
Not for power.
Not for battle.
But for peace.
And every swing made the ring glow just a little more.