Reincarnated with SSS-Rank Trait and Unique Ability-Chapter 7: Decision

Time stretched thin as Ares stared, wide-eyed, at the soldier.

"He could summon parts of souls as spirits?" he echoed, voice barely above a whisper. "What a terrifying ability..."

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His thoughts drifted—flooded with memories of his father. The silly old man who used to perform tricks just to make his newborn son laugh. The man who smiled more than he spoke, the one who ruffled Ares' hair every time he passed by.

Never once had Ares imagined something darker—something this powerful—lurking beneath that gentle exterior. He would have never guessed his father wielded such a fearsome enchantment.

His shock slowly melted into a frown. A thought crept in—unwelcome, but undeniable.

"If his father could summon spirits to fight alongside him... then what kind of person was strong enough to kill him?"

"...Of course, there are limits," the soldier said quietly, as if sensing the storm behind Ares' expression. "Once a spirit dies or is released, it's gone. He can't summon it again."

But the revelations didn't stop.

"We were attacked by a single person."

Ares blinked. "A single person?"

The soldier's expression twisted—half embarrassment, half restrained fury.

"I thought you were travelling in a group?"

"We were. Seven of us in total," he said, voice tightening. "Now... only I remain. Even with three Expert Ranks among us, we couldn't win. I barely escaped with your father."

He hesitated, then added quietly, almost like a confession, "No... it felt like he let us escape."

The words struck like a hammer, heavy and irreversible.

They stood there in silence. The wind whispered through the grass, but neither of them moved. Ares felt like the world beneath his feet had shifted. Everything once safe and familiar now felt like glass—fragile and ready to shatter.

Finally, the soldier stepped forward, his eyes dark with something unspoken.

"My name is Nicholas. I've known your father for years," the soldier said—his tone awkward, as if trying to steer the conversation away from the pain that lingered between them.

"He was a good man," he added.

"Ares," the boy replied, though he was certain the soldier already knew his name.

Nicholas nodded. "You have talent. I've never heard of someone reaching a weapon's enchantment at your age."

Ares lingered on those words. People were always telling him how talented he was, how far he'd come—but all he felt was frustration. Dissatisfaction.

His father, an Expert Rank, had fallen. Two others of the same level had fallen. All to a single person.

How could he feel proud? How could he feel content?

He was weak. Far too weak to avenge his father.

He clenched his fists. His gaze lifted, locking eyes with the soldier.

"I want to be stronger."

Nicholas studied him for a moment, brow raised in surprise. Then—slowly—a faint smile spread across his face.

The air around him shifted. Blue particles of light shimmered into existence, swirling gently. In the blink of an eye, a silver sabre materialized in his hand.

"Then let's get started."

*****

Hours passed.

During that time, instead of his usual mana manipulation training, Ares was taught swordsmanship—purely and relentlessly. His understanding of sword fighting was quickly shattered, as even the most basic techniques turned out to be far more complex than he had imagined. Angles of attack, footwork, grip adjustment, breathing—everything had a purpose, and everything demanded discipline.

Nicholas drilled the basics over and over. Strikes, parries, stances. Then again. Then again. Sweat poured down Ares' face. His shoulders burned. His legs trembled.

Each time he thought he had it, Nicholas would disarm him with ease.

"Again."

He continued over and over.

Then—Ares finally collapsed.

He lay stretched out on the green grass, chest rising and falling rapidly, gasping for breath.

"You've done well with mana manipulation," Nicholas said, standing over him. "But your swordsmanship is lacking. You don't even have the basics. With the way you've been training so far, you wouldn't last a second in the wilderness."

He paused, folding his arms as he sank into thought.

"Well, I suppose with your talent, you'll just attend the academy instead of joining a guild."

Ares lingered on that.

He had never considered joining a guild before. His goals had always been simple: learn more about the world, join the academy, and chase knowledge. The idea of following his father's footsteps and joining a guild had never crossed his mind.

But everything had changed.

His father was dead. Killed by someone even a group of elite fighters couldn't stop. What good would a couple years of safe classrooms and quiet theory do?

He wanted to get stronger. His preferences could wait.

"Isn't that the same thing?" Ares asked—not out of confusion, but to understand the weight of his decision.

Nicholas didn't hesitate.

"No."

"One month in the wilderness is worth more than a year in the academy... if you survive, that is."

"One month worth more than a year..."

The words echoed in Ares' mind.

That was what he needed. Real danger. An opportunity for real growth.

A slight smile crossed his face—tired but determined.

"How do I join a guild?"