Why is Background Character the Strongest Now?

A crescent sword slash flew in from behind—silent, sharp, and deadly.

Ezra, blindfolded, didn't flinch.

He turned at the last moment, sensing the air shift with his refined insight, narrowly dodging the blow. But even before he could breathe, another strike came—this one head-on.

He raised his sword just in time.

Steel met steel, the shockwave of the clash rattling the trees, splitting bark and sending leaves spiraling.

Ren stood in front of him, smirking.

"Not bad."

Then—he vanished.

Suddenly, a dozen clones emerged around Ezra. Each one wielded a blade.

Ezra exhaled, tightening his grip.

The forest blurred.

Blades rained from all directions.

Ezra danced.

He weaved, dodged, blocked. A blade came from the front—he leapt, kicking the attacker with both feet. Another lunged from behind—Ezra twisted mid-air and stabbed backwards, impaling the clone. One charged from the left—

Ezra's foot slammed the ground, purple mana erupting beneath him. A glowing tree branch shot upward, entangling the clone.

"Now."

Ezra invoked his clone technique—multiple shadows of himself burst forth, each one clashing with Ren's copies.

The forest became a blur of flashing swords and scattered mana. Clones clashed. Dust clouds erupted. Ezra and Ren's real bodies blurred across the battlefield, moving too fast for any untrained eye to follow.

Ezra charged mana in his palm—a condensed orb of purple light formed. He flung it forward with force, and followed it up with a sweeping crescent slash. A second. A third.

Each blade of mana carved through the air like a storm.

Ren didn't panic.

He sliced the orb in half mid-flight, ducked under the first crescent slash, twisted, and cut through the others with clean arcs.

"Too slow."

Ezra's eyes narrowed behind the blindfold. He fired one last crescent slash—but this one shifted in mid-air, bending unnaturally, aiming for Ren's blind spot.

But even that—

Missed.

Before Ezra could react, he felt it:

Cold steel pressed against his neck.

He froze.

Ren's voice came from behind him.

"You lose again."

Ezra pulled off the blindfold, blinking in disbelief.

"H-How…? You were right in front of me."

Ren stepped back, sheathing his sword.

"No. I was behind you the entire time. You were fighting illusions."

"You sensed well—but you didn't trust yourself enough to know the difference."

Ezra clenched his fist, frustrated.

Ren raised an eyebrow.

Then smirked.

"Don't make that face. As punishment—"

"Swing the 1,000 kg training sword. Ten thousand times."

Ezra groaned slightly, already moving toward the massive metal slab that stood embedded in the training field.

"But Master, how does blindfold training, clone fighting, and lifting oversized slabs help me awaken my aura?"

Ren crossed his arms.

"Aura isn't a spell or a reward. It's the voice of your soul."

"You want to hear that voice? Then fight. Fail. Fall. Rise."

"Only in the middle of endless battle can you understand yourself."

Ezra didn't argue.

He walked to the embedded sword, gripped the hilt with both hands, and heaved.

It rose.

And so he began.

One slash.

Two.

Three…

"One… Two… Three…"

His body moved like a machine. Muscles ached. Sweat poured. But his eyes—calm.

⸻

15 days passed.

Ezra's Advanced Swordsmanship had risen to 90% mastery.

Yet… his aura had not awakened.

He kept swinging.

Counting.

Breathing.

Each slash, a question:

"What… is my Aura?"

"What does my sword fight for?"

"Who am I… with a blade?"

But still, the answer eluded him.

—————————

Two moons hung high in the night sky, casting their silver glow across the forest and the river that cut through the mountainside.

There, on a rocky slope beside the roaring river, two figures clashed under the pale light.

One blade shimmered with a black aura—not mana, not elemental energy—something deeper.

It was Ren Kurogane's aura.

His sword radiated such overwhelming force that even the space around him seemed to tremble. The earth bowed. The air thickened. Every object in his path yielded to the will of the blade.

And facing him—

Ezra Celestrian.

His body surged with violet mana, his movements sharp, controlled. He met Ren's blows head-on, parrying, blocking, striking back with everything he had. Yet with each exchange, Ezra's mana flickered—his strikes growing weaker, his aura still missing.

Ren's aura never faltered.

Ezra gritted his teeth, pressing harder. He roared, unleashing a wild flurry of attacks. One hundred slashes in the blink of an eye.

Ren's eyes narrowed.

He moved like a ghost, blocking dozens, dodging the rest, his sword singing through the air like thunder.

Then came the cuts.

One across Ezra's cheek.

Another across his arm.

Then his ribs. His thigh. His back.

Blood poured. His body, trembling. His breaths, short and shallow. Still—

He did not fall.

But Ren—without mercy—struck again.

One final slash.

Ezra's sword flew from his hands, clattering against the stone. His body slammed into the mountain wall with a violent crack, rock and debris exploding around him. Trees shattered. Water from the river surged upward, forming a crashing wave that slammed into him, soaking the earth with his blood.

He coughed, barely conscious, his back torn, his ribs fractured.

Through blurred vision, he saw Ren standing above the riverbank.

Unmoving. Watching.

And in that instant—Ezra snapped.

He forgot Ren was his teacher.

Forgot this was training.

All he saw…

was a wall.

A wall that said: You can never win. You will never be strong enough.

And Ezra—

Refused to accept that.

His hand reached for his sword, trembling fingers wrapping around the hilt. He coughed more blood, his legs wobbling, but he stood.

One more time.

Neither of them spoke.

Ezra charged.

Ren didn't even draw his blade. He simply knocked Ezra aside again. Effortless. Like a child being pushed away.

⸻

Twenty-five days.

That's how long Ezra had fought.

How long he had been broken.

How long he had bled.

How long he had wondered who he was…

And why he fought.

And finally—he understood.

⸻

"I was thrown into this world without my will… again."

"I don't want to be used. Not by fate. Not by gods. Not by anyone."

"I want to be strong… so strong that no one can ever control me again."

"In my past life, I had nothing. But I never gave up."

"Now, I'll forge a path that even the heavens cannot bend."

⸻

His will solidified.

His path, clear.

And as his thoughts sharpened—his mana vanished.

Replaced by something… deeper.

A faint glow covered his sword—dark violet, like the night before a storm.

The glow grew stronger.

Stronger.

Until his blade blazed with unrelenting force—not chaotic, but resolute.

This was no longer mana.

This was Aura.

An aura that grew stronger the longer the battle continued.

An aura that surged when hope died.

An aura born from a man who never, ever gave up.

The Aura of the Indomitable Blade.

Ren's eyes widened… and then he smiled.

"Finally… you found it."

He vanished and reappeared behind Ezra in an instant.

Thwack.

A clean strike to the neck.

Ezra collapsed.

Unconscious.

Ren caught him before he hit the ground.

"You stubborn fool…" he whispered, pulling out a small glass vial.

"You'd really fight to the death just to prove yourself."

He opened Ezra's mouth and gently poured in the healing potion.

"Your body's Rank 4 now… your healing's impressive. But your mind still needs rest."

Ren looked up at the moonlight, letting out a long breath.

"He's finally done it. He's awakened it… the sword that won't fall."

——————

The morning sun peeked through the gaps in the trees, casting golden rays over the quiet forest clearing.

Ezra slowly opened his eyes.

Surprisingly… there was no pain. No soreness. No stiffness in his muscles.

He sat up, flexing his fingers.

"Master must have healed me…" he muttered softly.

Despite the brutal battle the night before, he felt no resentment toward Ren. Not even a trace of it.

Because last night—he had awakened his Aura.

A power born not from talent, but will.

A blade that grows stronger the longer he fights.

Ezra's gaze sharpened.

With this aura, he was certain—

"I can hold my ground against even a mid Rank 5… and maybe even kill them."

⸻

Across the clearing, Ren was calmly roasting a whole chicken over a firepit.

As he heard Ezra stir, he glanced over with a rare smile.

"Congratulations," he said. "So… the stubborn kid finally found his Aura."

Ezra stood, bowed slightly, and said politely,

"It's all thanks to you, Master."

Ren chuckled.

"Don't flatter me too much. Now sit. Eat before you fall again from hunger."

Ezra joined him, sitting opposite his teacher. Ren handed him a plate with roasted chicken—crispy and steaming hot.

"So," Ren said, watching him eat. "How do you feel?"

Ezra replied between bites, his tone respectful but confident:

"Stronger. Before, I believed I could defeat a newly advanced Rank 5. But now… I feel like I could go head-to-head with even a mid Rank 5."

Ren nodded, pleased.

"Good. That means our time hasn't gone to waste."

He leaned back, tossing a chicken bone into the fire.

"To be honest, you've progressed faster than I expected. So fast, in fact, I wasn't sure how to train you anymore."

Ezra blinked in surprise.

Ren grinned.

"So I've decided… I'll teach you a Domain technique. It's a Rank 7 ability—far beyond your current level."

Ezra's eyes widened, but he nodded seriously.

"Understood, Master."

Ren took another bite, chewing slowly before continuing.

"But before that, there's one more thing… a final test."

"It's a surprise. You'll see soon."

Ezra raised an eyebrow, curious.

Ren waved a hand dismissively.

"Until then, I'll teach you one technique from each major rank—4, 5, 6, and 7."

"That's all you'll need. The rest… you'll create yourself."

He looked Ezra dead in the eye.

"The stronger you grow, the more useless most techniques will feel. True masters don't follow—they forge."

Ezra smiled slightly.

"Then I'll forge a blade that cuts through fate itself."

Ren grinned back.

"Good. Now eat faster. Training resumes in one hour."