Rise of the Demon Dragon

Chapter 3: The Grandfather Master!

Zyren limped southward, unsure where he was headed. The dense forest around him made progress slow, and he hoped beyond the trees he might find a village.

Traveling while still recovering was tough. 

Occasionally, he had to push aside shrubs blocking his path. His biggest worry was spending the night in the forest. With his condition preventing him from climbing trees, he relied on the fire he’d made to keep wild animals at bay. He stayed awake at night, drawing on his past bandit experience to survive even the most haunted woods.

The worst part about nights in the forest wasn’t the wild animals like tigers or wild dogs, nor was it the spirits, genies, or demons—it was the centipedes, snakes, scorpions, and mosquitoes.

Zyren had already dispatched several centipedes and scorpions with a stick. If he hadn’t, he might have ended up injured from accidentally touching one of them.

He collected the dead centipedes and scorpions, briefly roasted them over the fire, and ate them. Zyren had learned to eat anything. His bandit life had taught him to overcome fear and disgust.

As he sat alone, he thought about his father. The memory of killing him still haunted him.

Carthas had been a formidable bandit, but his strength wasn’t from physical prowess; it came from the heirlooms and talismans that made him resistant to weapons. 

When Carthas bathed, he removed these items, making him vulnerable. That’s when Zyren, stronger than his adoptive father, had managed to kill him.

Afterward, he took Carthas’s heirlooms and talismans. Unfortunately, those items were useless when Aetherion soldiers, including one with a talisman against black magic, arrived to capture him and his gang.

Zyren had heard of powerful warriors who gained their strength through rigorous training and special rituals, not relying on talismans or heirlooms. But he had never encountered such warriors.

His stomach growled with hunger. The few centipedes and scorpions he’d eaten only made him hungrier. If he were in better shape, finding food in the forest at night wouldn’t be a problem. 

But now, his wounds, which had seemed to heal, began to throb again after he ventured deeper into the forest.

Days passed, and Zyren remained lost in the woods. His legs showed no signs of improvement and seemed to be getting worse. He didn’t know about medicinal plants or remedies in the forest.

All he knew was that he needed to eat—anything he could find, from leaves and fruits to small animals like earthworms and snakes. He believed that eating enough would help him recover.

Unaware that his body was weakening from the ignored fatigue, Zyren’s legs became more swollen, and other wounds began to hurt again. He kept going until, eventually, he collapsed.

Zyren woke up to find himself not in the forest but in a small cave. He lay on a stone covered with dry leaves, wrapped in unfamiliar plants with a strong aroma.

“Where am I? Who helped me?” Zyren wondered aloud. 

He tried to move but found it impossible. His body felt stiff and sore. His throat was dry, and his stomach growled with hunger.

A short while later, someone entered the cave. Zyren turned to see an old man with disheveled white hair. The man’s entire outfit was black and looked peculiar, unlike the common clothing of villagers. He would have seemed out of place in the middle of a village.

“You’re awake. Given the extent of your wounds, you should have died. Whether it's due to your strength or luck, you’re still here,” the old man began.

“Did you save me? Thank you so much.”

“No need to be formal. I’ve been watching you in the forest for several days. When you passed out, I brought you here. This is where I live,” the old man replied.

“Who is this old man?” Zyren wondered. He suspected the man was powerful, as he hadn’t even noticed him watching. But he wasn’t entirely sure.

“My name? Ah, I’ve forgotten it. It’s not important. Just call me ‘Grandfather.’ That’ll do.” The old man was hesitant to reveal his name, though he was actually Master Leander, the Demon Warrior, a long-lost figure in the world of martial arts.

“Alright, Grandfather. Why did you help me?” Zyren asked.

“Because you still seem to want to live. So, I helped you. Once you’re better, you can leave or stay here if you prefer. Are you an Aetherion soldier?” the old man inquired.

“I was a soldier. I managed to survive.”

“Only a fool would want to be a soldier. It’s a shame; you have a strong body, but you lack real power.”

Zyren was surprised the old man could tell he had never trained in martial arts. He had only learned to fight from his adoptive father and his subordinates.

“If you want, you can learn from me. But it’s not easy. Only those with strength and a strong will can become warriors, not just brawlers, fighters, or foolish soldiers who swing swords and shout to intimidate their opponents.” The old man’s challenge stung Zyren, who, though feeling belittled, knew the old man spoke the truth.

A few days later, Zyren’s wounds began to heal. The old man provided potent forest medicines and nutritious food to boost his recovery, including wild honey, meat, fish, fruits, and special herbs he had to drink daily.

In less than a month, Zyren was fully healthy. Despite his recovery, he had no intention of leaving the cave where he and the old man had stayed. He was still curious about the old man who had cared for him until he was well.

“Your condition is excellent now, Zyren. As I mentioned before, you’re free to leave if you wish,” the old man said while roasting a large snake Zyren had hunted in the forest.

When he recovered, the old man kept him busy. He frequently sent Zyren to hunt animals or gather firewood. The activities not only sped up his healing but also kept him energized.

“Grandfather, you once said I could learn something from you, right?” Zyren asked.

“Do you want to become a warrior?” the old man asked.

“Yes, Grandfather,” he replied earnestly.

“What kind of warrior do you want to be?” the old man asked. Zyren couldn’t answer. He had never seen the old man demonstrate his martial arts skills and only imagined that being a warrior meant having superior abilities.

“Is my question too difficult, Zyren?” the old man asked.

“I don’t understand what you mean. How many types of warriors are there?” Zyren asked. Growing up among thugs, he wasn’t used to speaking politely to his elders.

“Hahaha, you’re indeed foolish. I don’t want a disciple without a goal. There are at least two types of warriors: black warriors and white warriors. I am a black warrior,” the old man explained.

“So that’s why you always wear black?” he asked, noticing the old man’s irritation.

“You were once a soldier, right? Didn’t you ever discuss warriors? How can you be so ignorant?” the old man snapped.

“That’s what we knew. Black warriors wear black, white warriors wear white!” Zyren said.

“There are many powerful warriors who don’t wear black or white. What distinguishes them is their knowledge, not their clothing!” the old man corrected him.

“Yes, Grandfather. I understand,” he said, trying to avoid further scolding.

“If you want to learn from me, you must be prepared to become a black warrior. The path is tough. You’ll not only learn martial arts techniques but also poison knowledge, dark arts, and, most importantly, you must not pity your enemies,” the old man said.

“I’m used to killing. I even killed my adoptive father,” Zyren said.

“Yes, I know. You have a murderous aura that even some novice black warriors lack. That’s why I found you and brought you here,” the old man said.

“Alright, Grandfather. I’m ready. I want to be your disciple.”

“No, you’re not ready yet. But that’s okay. I’ll teach you martial arts. When you’re ready, I’ll teach you to become a warrior. You need to understand the difference between practicing martial arts and being a true warrior. Tonight, we start training! Is your body ready?” the old man said.

From evening until nightfall, Zyren was eager. He imagined the old man would teach him new techniques. But the reality was different from his expectations.

When night fell, the old man took him to a forest location. He instructed Zyren to stand and wait while he did something silently, mumbling under his breath. Then, he turned to Zyren.

“After this, you must survive and find your way back to the cave,” the old man said before leaping away, moving nimbly from tree to tree. It was the first time Zyren had seen him move so agilely.

As soon as the old man disappeared, something rustled behind the bushes. Zyren’s hair stood on end. “Damn, what did the old man just do?” he thought.

Zyren watched the moving bushes with growing fear. When the figure finally emerged, his heart raced, and his instinct was to run and save himself.