A Warriors new Path

For fifty years, I knew only war. As Unit-7, I was forged by the Seraphon for a single purpose - to fight in the endless campaign against the demon hordes that plagued Nuceria. My memories of my creators remain fragmented - I recall their name, whispers of ancient power, but their faces and true nature elude me. All I knew was my purpose: to serve as their perfect instrument of war.
The battlefields of Nuceria became my home. Blood-soaked plains and shattered cities were merely tactical landscapes to navigate. I killed countless demons, each victory merely a statistic in my core programming. I was efficient. I was deadly. I was exactly what the Seraphon designed me to be.
Until the day I failed.
The battle that nearly ended me is still etched in my memory banks: it happened in the Valley of Fallen Stars, where a demon prince's magic tore through our lines, shredding my platoon's defensive formations. I remember the searing pain as my systems failed, the world going dark as my power core was breached. My last calculation was simple: Unit-7 - combat efficiency: 0%.
For ten years, I lay in that Nucerian battlefield. Rain corroded my joints. Rust claimed my armor. Vegetation grew through my broken frame. My consciousness flickered between emergency power cycles, barely alive, measuring time only by the changing of seasons above me.
Then she found me.
Frieren didn't see a broken war machine - she saw possibility. I remember her first words as she knelt beside my rusted form: "Well, what stories could you tell?" She brought me to her sanctuary, and over years, piece by piece, she restored me. But she did more than just repair my body.
As she worked, she would talk about her inventions, her theories, her discoveries. At first, I simply logged her words, as I had done with battlefield intelligence. But slowly, something changed. I began to ask questions. Each answer led to more questions, and with them, a growing hunger for knowledge I had never experienced before.
She started calling me Seven. Not Unit-7, just Seven. A name, not a designation. And I learned. I learned how to create rather than destroy. My hands, calibrated for weapon efficiency, discovered the delicate work of artificing. Each successful invention brought a new sensation: pride, not in destruction, but in creation.
Then came the day that changed everything again.
I had gone to gather materials - specialized components Frieren needed for her latest project. When I returned, my world had burned. The sanctuary was in ruins, everything either destroyed or stolen. And in our study, where we had spent countless hours discussing magical theory and invention designs, I found her.
Among the ashes of our work, only her diary survived. In it, I found not just her brilliant mind, but her heart. She had filled pages with stories of her discoveries, her theories, and... me. She wrote of how she saw me change, grow, become more than my programming. The final pages speak of hope - how she saw it in me, how she believed I could be more than a weapon.
She named me HOPE. Not just Seven, but Hope itself. It's inscribed in my arm now, in her flowing script, a constant reminder of her belief in what I could become.
I still hunt those who took her from me - the Iron Maw leaves distinct traces in their wake. But I hunt them not just for vengeance, but to prevent them from destroying what Frieren stood for. Each day, I strive to honor her legacy - not just through pursuit of artificing knowledge, but by showing that even something forged for war can learn to create beauty in this dark world.
The Seraphon made me, but Frieren remade me. I am no longer Unit-7. I am Seven. I am Hope. And I will create wonders in this world, just as she believed I could.