Chapter 11 – A Name Left Behind
The night wind swept through the empty streets.
The White Sword Emperor’s statue towered over the city, overlooking every home, every market, every soul that lived beneath its shadow.
The Black Devil trembled once more.
Then…
It became still.
“…Did you feel something?”
The old man asked.
I quickly shook my head.
“No.”
He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
Together, we silently walked back toward the tavern.
⸻
The city slept.
Unlike Earth, there were no electric lights.
Only lanterns hung from wooden poles, their golden flames dancing gently with the wind.
People greeted the old man wherever he went.
“Master Borin.”
“Still awake?”
“You’re getting older. Sleep before your bones break.”
The old man laughed at every joke.
He wasn’t a noble.
Nor a famous warrior.
Yet everyone knew him.
Everyone respected him.
Watching him…
I realized something.
Perhaps strength alone wasn’t what earned respect.
Perhaps kindness survived longer than swords.
⸻
The tavern was quiet.
The last customer had already left.
The old man lit another lantern before sitting across from me.
Neither of us spoke for a while.
Finally…
He broke the silence.
“What did your parents call you?”
“My…”
The question caught me off guard.
“My name?”
He nodded.
I looked at the wooden table.
For some reason…
It suddenly became difficult to answer.
Back on Earth…
My name had meaning.
It belonged to my parents.
My friends.
My classmates.
My teachers.
It belonged to a life that no longer existed.
“…Aarav.”
(The name can be replaced later.)
The old man repeated it several times.
“Aa…rav…”
He scratched his beard.
“Strange.”
“It doesn’t sound like anyone from the Seven Realms.”
“I told you.”
“I came from another world.”
He chuckled.
“And I told you…”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I don’t believe that.”
“But…”
He smiled.
“I like the name.”
⸻
He suddenly stood.
“Come.”
He led me upstairs.
The second floor of the tavern was much smaller than I expected.
Only six tiny rooms lined the hallway.
He opened the last door.
“This used to belong to my son.”
My footsteps stopped.
The room was clean.
Too clean.
A wooden bed.
A simple desk.
A worn-out training sword hanging on the wall.
Everything remained untouched.
As if someone had walked out yesterday.
“…Where is he now?”
The old man didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he slowly removed the wooden sword from the wall.
His rough fingers gently brushed away invisible dust.
“He died.”
Only two words.
Quiet.
Simple.
Yet…
They carried years of sorrow.
“He wanted to become a great cultivator.”
“He said one day…”
“…he would protect this city.”
The old man smiled.
A lonely smile.
“He wasn’t talented.”
“He failed every entrance examination.”
“Every tournament.”
“Every trial.”
“He lost more battles than he won.”
Something tightened inside my chest.
The words felt…
Painfully familiar.
“But…”
The old man continued,
“He never stopped trying.”
Silence filled the room.
I lowered my head.
I couldn’t even claim that much.
When life became difficult…
I escaped.
Games.
Sleep.
Excuses.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Until there were no tomorrows left.
⸻
“He reminds me of you.”
The old man suddenly said.
I looked up.
“What?”
“My son.”
“He had the same eyes.”
“Eyes that believed they were born to lose.”
The words struck harder than any slap.
Because they were true.
The old man walked toward the window.
“The difference…”
“He kept walking.”
“You…”
He looked directly at me.
“…gave up before the race even began.”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it again.
I wanted to argue.
To defend myself.
But…
How could I?
Everything he said was true.
⸻
That night…
Sleep refused to come.
I lay on the unfamiliar bed, staring at the wooden ceiling.
The room was silent.
Yet my thoughts weren’t.
“You gave up before the race even began.”
The sentence repeated endlessly.
Back on Earth…
How many dreams had I abandoned?
Learning guitar.
Drawing.
Football.
Studying.
Even simple things…
Like cleaning my room.
I always quit halfway.
No…
Sometimes I never even started.
I laughed bitterly.
“Maybe…”
“I really am pathetic.”
For the first time since arriving in this world…
I didn’t blame anyone else.
Not my parents.
Not society.
Not luck.
Only myself.
⸻
The next morning…
The aroma of fresh bread drifted upstairs.
I slowly walked into the tavern.
The old man was already working.
Customers filled almost every table.
Merchants.
Hunters.
Travelers.
Even a few armored guards.
The old man glanced toward me.
“Good.”
“You’re awake.”
Without another word, he threw me an apron.
I barely caught it.
“…What’s this?”
He snorted.
“You ate.”
“You slept.”
“You used my medicine.”
“You broke one chair yesterday.”
“I did?”
“You fell on it.”
“Oh…”
He folded his arms.
“So…”
“You’ll work.”
“I don’t have money.”
“I know.”
“So you’ll pay with labor.”
Several customers laughed.
One hunter grinned.
“Looks like the old man caught another stray.”
Heat rose to my cheeks.
I wanted to refuse.
Then…
I remembered.
I truly had nowhere else to go.
“…What do I have to do?”
The old man’s eyes softened for the first time.
He pointed toward a stack of dirty wooden bowls.
“Wash those.”
I stared at the mountain of dishes.
There had to be hundreds.
Back on Earth…
I couldn’t even wash my own clothes.
Now…
I was about to wash dishes for an entire tavern.
Somewhere inside me…
The old version of myself whispered.
“Leave it for later.”
I looked at the bowls.
Then at the old man.
Then back at the bowls.
“…No.”
I quietly rolled up my sleeves.
“Not this time.”
The old man pretended not to notice.
But a faint smile appeared beneath his beard.
Outside…
The city bustled with another ordinary morning.
Inside the tavern…
A boy who had spent his entire life running from responsibility…
Finally picked up his first bowl.
It wasn’t a grand beginning.
No heavenly cultivation.
No legendary battle.
Just soap.
Water.
And a small decision.
Sometimes…
A person’s greatest battle begins long before they ever draw a sword.
End of Chapter 11