"Who are you choosing?" Benjamin asks Mathew as the Grand Holy Knights stand idly.
"Not sure. If anything, I'd choose Edric. I don't see myself working with Charles, and I doubt Miseria would take me as a pupil after our bet. Lilith is too sword-focused for me," Mathew replies, thoughtful.
"I'm going with Lilith. After that battle with the drake, I realized my swordplay is actually kind of lackluster," Benjamin sighs.
"Speed this up, would you?" Edric grumbles.
"Hmm," Lilith grunts.
"It'd be wise to see who everyone else picks first." Mathew glances around. "It's obvious who Lelovia is going with—I doubt Miseria would even give her a choice."
Across the room, Kessia strides toward Charles, Lara following close behind.
"Well, that settles it. Palio and Malcolm will go with Miseria, and the rest to Lilith," Mathew muses before walking over to Edric, Helar trailing behind.
"Disperse!" Miseria commands, her voice cutting through the air as the groups dissolve.
The Forest
A forest?
"Why here of all places?" Derrick mutters, glancing at the towering trees around them.
Mathew, however, ignores the setting entirely. "Hello, sir," he says, addressing Edric.
"Drop the formalities," Edric says lazily. "Call me whatever you want. Now—by now, you've probably noticed where we'll be training for the next few weeks. But do you know why I chose this place?"
Mathew stays silent.
"I was surprised to see you here," Davil interjects, placing a hand on Mathew's shoulder. "Someone as frail as you—"
Mathew shrugs his hand off with a glare. "We'll see who's fragile after these next few weeks."
"Feisty, huh?" Davil smirks.
"Shut up, brother," Metrelar snaps.
"Enough," Edric cuts in. "The reason we're here is simple. I don't believe in training inside some posh, tailor-made facility. My lessons will be hands-on. The environment itself will toughen you up. You'll train here, forage here, make shelter here. That includes me."
Edric steps forward, his bored tone shifting just slightly. "First, I'm obligated to give you an example of what our training will be like."
He scans the group before pointing lazily. "You. Come."
Davil steps forward, hand on his sword. "What now?"
Edric turns to the group. "What's the first thing you notice?"
Mathew hesitates before answering. "That he's armed. And you're not."
"Something like that," Edric rolls his eyes before slowly stepping toward Davil.
The moment Edric is within striking range, the fight is already over. In a single, fluid motion, he disarms Davil, twists the sword from his grip, and points it at his throat.
"Now, the situation Davil has found himself in would normally mean certain death," Edric states, lowering the weapon. "My goal is to teach you how to fight when you're disarmed. How to fight without relying on a blade."
He stabs the sword into the wet dirt.
"Holy shit. You're fast," Davil mutters in awe.
"For educational purposes, I'll let him try again—with his sword," Edric says, stepping back.
"Your choice," Davil growls, gripping his weapon tightly before launching into a flurry of attacks.
But Edric barely moves. Every strike misses, each swing cutting only through air.
"Is this all you can muster?" Edric taunts, side-stepping another attack.
"Argh!" Davil growls, striking faster—harder. But none of it lands.
Then, in an instant—
"Raging Torrent!"
Davil twists his blade into an arcing slash, aimed for Edric's arm.
Edric moves to block—
But the blade slices clean through.
For a split second, the world stills. Shock ripples through the group as Edric's severed arm falls to the ground.
"What—" Davil stares, barely believing it.
Edric blinks at the wound. Then, without so much as a grimace, something unnatural happens.
Before their eyes, his flesh pulses. Bone knits together, muscle and sinew weaving seamlessly as if time itself reversed. In mere moments, his arm is whole again.
Davil stumbles back. "How did you—"
"Crazy," Mathew murmurs.
Edric flexes his newly regenerated hand, rolling his wrist as if testing it. "You know, injuring a Grand Holy Knight like that is usually an executable offense." He grins. "But I'll let this one slide."
Before Davil can react, Edric is already moving.
A blur of motion—Davil barely registers the grip on his collar before he's hurled to the ground, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.
Edric pins him effortlessly, one knee pressing into his chest. "Another thing you swordsmen rely on too much—stance." His grin widens. "Take it away, and suddenly, you're no better than a commoner."
Davil grits his teeth, struggling under Edric's weight. But it's useless.
"Right now," Edric continues, "not only do I have you pinned, where I could snap a bone—or kill you—but I could also easily disarm you again. Or tie you up."
After a long moment, he releases him, stepping back.
Davil gasps for breath before scrambling to his feet, his pride visibly wounded.
"Hmm," Mathew grunts.
Edric dusts off his coat. "Now that I've made my point—let's get to the actual training." A sharp grin spreads across his face. "Try to keep up."
Aurora scanned her surroundings, her sharp eyes taking in the jagged cliffs and endless sky. "Where are we?" she asked.
Helar coughed, doubling over slightly. "The air is thin…"
"Perhaps a mountain?" Heliop gasped, taking shallow breaths.
Lilith, standing as still as stone, regarded them with an unreadable expression. "We are atop a mountain. Home to the most efficient creatures—at least, resource-wise." Her voice was calm, as if the altitude didn't affect her in the slightest.
She stepped forward, her blank gaze passing over them. "My teachings will focus solely on improving your swordsmanship. I will teach you nothing in the way of hand-to-hand combat or magic."
Benjamin, catching his breath, grinned. "Well, that's why we're here."
Lilith continued, unbothered. "Before we begin, I want each of you to state your preferred sword style."
"Flame," Benjamin answered immediately.
"Preferably water," Aurora said, "though I also know thunder."
"Wind," Helar responded.
"Flame," Heliop echoed.
Lilith's expression remained unchanged. Then, she spoke:
"Forget them."
A tense silence followed.
"What?" Heliop's voice rose in shock. "You want us to stop using our sword styles?"
"Exactly." Lilith's tone remained cold and firm. "No swordsman will ever surpass the creator of their style. You are not them. You never will be."
Helar opened his mouth to protest, but Lilith continued.
"Instead, you will develop your own styles—ones built entirely around you. I do not expect brilliance. I do not expect revolution. I expect a style that only you can wield to its fullest potential."
Benjamin let out a breath, his grin widening. "Damn… that actually sounds fun."
Lilith ignored him. "This setting was chosen with purpose. Training here will force your bodies to adapt. A common weakness among swordsmen is inefficient breathing—taking deep, unnecessary gulps of air that disrupt their rhythm in combat. Here, you will learn to breathe properly."
Then, without warning—
A blur of movement.
Before any of them could react, their swords were gone.
Lilith now held them all in one hand, as if they weighed nothing.
Helar's breath hitched. "M-my sword…"
Lilith barely glanced at him. "You rely too much on these high-quality weapons. You take them for granted."
She turned and, with a single motion, tossed a stack of crude, battered broadswords onto the ground. The metal clanged harshly against the stone.
A beat of silence.
Then, she spoke again.
"Your first task," she said, voice utterly emotionless.
"Is to harm me."Aurora scanned her surroundings, her sharp eyes taking in the jagged cliffs and endless sky. "Where are we?" she asked.
Helar coughed, doubling over slightly. "The air is thin…"
"Perhaps a mountain?" Heliop gasped, taking shallow breaths.
Lilith, standing as still as stone, regarded them with an unreadable expression. "We are atop a mountain. Home to the most efficient creatures—at least, resource-wise." Her voice was calm, as if the altitude didn't affect her in the slightest.
She stepped forward, her blank gaze passing over them. "My teachings will focus solely on improving your swordsmanship. I will teach you nothing in the way of hand-to-hand combat or magic."
Benjamin, catching his breath, grinned. "Well, that's why we're here."
Lilith continued, unbothered. "Before we begin, I want each of you to state your preferred sword style."
"Flame," Benjamin answered immediately.
"Preferably water," Aurora said, "though I also know thunder."
"Wind," Helar responded.
"Flame," Heliop echoed.
Lilith's expression remained unchanged. Then, she spoke:
"Forget them."
A tense silence followed.
"What?" Heliop's voice rose in shock. "You want us to stop using our sword styles?"
"Exactly." Lilith's tone remained cold and firm. "No swordsman will ever surpass the creator of their style. You are not them. You never will be."
Helar opened his mouth to protest, but Lilith continued.
"Instead, you will develop your own styles—ones built entirely around you. I do not expect brilliance. I do not expect revolution. I expect a style that only you can wield to its fullest potential."
Benjamin let out a breath, his grin widening. "Damn… that actually sounds fun."
Lilith ignored him. "This setting was chosen with purpose. Training here will force your bodies to adapt. A common weakness among swordsmen is inefficient breathing—taking deep, unnecessary gulps of air that disrupt their rhythm in combat. Here, you will learn to breathe properly."
Then, without warning—
A blur of movement.
Before any of them could react, their swords were gone.
Lilith now held them all in one hand, as if they weighed nothing.
Helar's breath hitched. "M-my sword…"
Lilith barely glanced at him. "You rely too much on these high-quality weapons. You take them for granted."
She turned and, with a single motion, tossed a stack of crude, battered broadswords onto the ground. The metal clanged harshly against the stone.
A beat of silence.
Then, she spoke again.
"Your first task," she said, voice utterly emotionless.
"Is to harm me."