The Last Paragon in the Apocalypse Chapter 2: Klaus

A slender youth with dark locks wielded a mop along an extensive hallway within an opulent edifice. Headphones rested on his ears, likely playing some melody. His sweeps with the mop flowed with poise and fluidity—suggesting prolonged practice had honed a personal method, a cadence entirely his creation.

In a flash, the doors flew apart, and a throng of youngsters surged from the classrooms, inundating the passage. The youth hastily shifted aside, clearing a path for their passage.

"Damn it, all that work for nothing," he grumbled, scowling at the grime now smeared over the surface. His two decades of minutes of meticulous cleaning had been wrecked in an instant by the frantic herd of pupils.

"Hey Klaus! What's the deal? It's not your birthday; why are you just standing there, keep mopping?" a voice shouted from several paces distant, causing him to scowl.

This youth, named Klaus, was on the verge of turning 16, a school dropout employed as a cleaner to aid his household. He resided with his mother, a delicate lady who toiled relentlessly to sustain them. Klaus's father had vanished five years prior, carving a void in their existence.

Seeing his mother's dire straits, Klaus chose the harsh path of quitting education to seize any employment that could buoy their finances.

Jointly, they scraped by—just. Both pouring their utmost to bolster one another in an increasingly unforgiving world.

Half a century back, Earth stepped into an era of metamorphosis. Mankind, bugs, beasts, and flora started mutating in manners reminiscent of cinematic fantasies. This alteration ushered in profound shifts.

During the initial ten years, the globe faced adjustment. Though myriad lives perished, numerous survived. The subsequent decade witnessed leaps in might and governance. Entering the third decade, another evolution commenced—one destined to mold the forthcoming lineage.

When spiritual Qi arrived 50 years past, a select portion of humans acquired phenomenal powers to combat the mutating beasts. Yet, three decades on, this gift halted for infants. Rather than gaining such gifts, fresh humans emerged ordinary, albeit sturdier than ancestors.

Nevertheless, this balance endured briefly. Across the last two decades, researchers unearthed a unique gene in every newborn. This gene, once triggered, could rouse concealed aptitudes and skills. Spurred by this finding, physicians and gene experts labored, and soon crafted an innovative elixir.

This elixir had the power to ignite these concealed genes, releasing the slumbering potentials in people.

Yet this elixir functions solely on those aged 16. Due to this, schooling was revamped to incorporate fighting and endurance drills, readying these fresh humans for their impending power surge.

Klaus, enduring harsh times over these five years, has labored without cease to amass funds for the Celestial Water prior to his nearing birthday. Though existence has proven arduous, he stays resolute and optimistic for an imminent leap forward.

He swiftly re-cleaned the spot and traversed the expansive grounds, adeptly evading notice. Minutes later, he arrived at a lofty barrier. Extracting a cord from his pouch, he fastened it to a clasp and hurled it upward, latching it firmly.

With a silent ascent, he gained the summit and flattened himself, gazing downward. "Day #655, what are we learning today?" Klaus whispered to himself while observing a meadow where youths wielded timber blades.

Klaus retrieved a compact ledger from his satchel and started jotting observations, recording his sightings.Klaus observed keenly as the learners drilled with their timber blades beneath. He murmured quietly to himself, noting and illustrating in his petite ledger.

"Alright, let's see… First, it's all about stance." Klaus sketched a hasty outline of a fundamental combat pose. "Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Balance is key."

He peered back at the meadow. "That's right, keep your weight centered. It makes it easier to move and strike." He illustrated a form with indicators revealing weight placement.

"Now, the basic strikes. Overhead chop, sideswipe, and thrust." Klaus outlined the varied motions, tracing arcs for each blow's trajectory. "The overhead chop should be powerful. The side swipe needs to be fast and clean."

He recorded how the learners rehearsed their blows sequentially. "Timing is important. You need to be quick but precise." Klaus depicted a learner executing a series of blows.

"Breathing. Don't forget to breathe. It helps with control and focus." Klaus inscribed a basic chart displaying a respiration cycle beside the blade motions.

Klaus examined the learners' hand placements closely. "Grip is crucial. A firm grip without being too tight." He illustrated a palm clasping a blade, indicating the proper hold.

"Remember, practice makes perfect. Repetition is how you get better." He inscribed this as a note to self, emphasizing it with an underline.

Following two hours of watching and noting, Klaus descended the barrier, stowed his tools in his satchel, and departed. This pattern had formed his daily habit across recent years—slipping in some education each day prior to returning.

Though his actions broke the law, it suited him ideally. With no discovery thus far, he persisted in observing the pupils' drills covertly and logging all details. Upon arriving home, he would study his records and rehearse with plain timber blades.

Though unpaid for tuition at Ross Academy, his workplace, Klaus invariably returned with novel knowledge. As the adage goes, "Work smart, not hard."

"Out of the way, scum!" As Klaus savored a feeling of victory, a haughty tone rang in his thoughts, prompting an instinctive dodge aside. A swift cycle thundered by, stirring a haze of soil.

The operator, evidently a pupil, spared no backward look or regret. He merely accelerated away. "Ah, why bother," Klaus grumbled, dusting his attire. "Once I awaken, I'll make sure to put all these self-entitled brats in their place."

Klaus pressed on his journey. Soon, he entered a district that sharply opposed the grand structures and sleek paths he'd forsaken.

"There's no place like home," he uttered, shaking his head. His dwelling lay in a shantytown where rules appeared absent. It formed a dilapidated sector of Ross City, a haven for society's rejects and lowlifes. Ross City belonged to the mighty Ross Great family, who dominated enterprises and wielded vast sway over the metropolis.

However, this specific zone lay beyond the Ross family's grasp, a realm of anarchy. It was here that Klaus and his mother had settled three years earlier, evicted from their modest abode after his father's vanishing, deemed a fatality.

"Mom, I'm home!" Klaus announced upon entering their dilapidated flat—a cramped, one-room haven with a faulty entrance and fissured barriers.

"Come and eat," a serene and melodic voice responded from within, brightening Klaus's features. He entered and beheld his mother readying a meal. She faced him with a tender, radiant grin. Despite their trials, her allure persisted. Dark tresses accented her lithe form, and though ordeals had worn her, she retained elegance.

Klaus set down his satchel and approached. "It smells great, Mom," he remarked, his gaze sparkling with gratitude. She extended a hand to tousle his locks softly, her grin unwavering.

"You must be tired, Klaus. Sit down and eat while it's still hot," she urged, placing a dish on their modest shared surface. The fare was basic, yet crafted with affection, and Klaus sensed inner warmth merely viewing it.

As they settled to dine, his mother regarded his consumption with a gentle look. "You've been working so hard, Klaus. I'm proud of you," she expressed, her tone brimming with affection. Klaus halted, met her eyes, and returned a smile.

"It's nothing, Mom. I'm doing it for us," he answered, his words firm yet emotive. She extended to cup his face, her contact soft and soothing.

"I know, my dear. You've grown up so much," she murmured, her gaze growing misty. Klaus gulped, a tightness rising in his gullet, yet he concealed it. He merely nodded and resumed eating, enveloped by his mother's tender care.

"Don't worry, Mom. Once I awaken, our living situation will change. I just need to get a hundred more gold coins, and I can buy the Celestial Water," Klaus declared, eyeing his mother with resolve.

"I know you will, my dear. I know you will," she responded, softly tousling his hair. "Just don't push yourself too hard. Your health is what matters most to me."

Moments later, Klaus completed his meal and cleansed the utensils. He then seized the timber blade he'd fashioned and stepped out to drill the lessons gleaned from eavesdropping on the pupils.

As Klaus exited, his mother observed his retreating form with a burdened spirit. Unbidden tears escaped her. She brushed them off hastily and regarded her left hand, concentrating on her ring digit. "A mother is supposed to take care of her children. I'm sorry, my love, but I can't hold on to this any longer. Klaus needs me, and the only thing I can do is help him."

She rose and summoned Klaus, stating her return within the hour. Klaus assented and persisted in his drills, brandishing his timber blade with utmost concentration.

Ere long, Klaus reentered, bathed, and sank into profound slumber. His frame ached from fatigue, yet his thoughts rested easy, assured of his day's full efforts.

Several hours on, his mother came back. In her grasp lay a petite container, her countenance grave but determined.