After Lue had dismissed Vera and her accomplice in arrogance, Lucy, he returned to training. His movements were sharper than before, and his control was more refined. As if the satisfaction his recent actions had brought him boosted his training morale. Every swing and every breath carried proof that he was making progress.
The improvement was so great that Elder Popas finally decided to teach him a secret move, a technique he claimed few in history had ever mastered. He was trusting Ramsey once again to do the impossible.
Lue stood before a candle set on a stone in the middle of the clearing. The small flame trembled against the afternoon air. He clenched his makeshift blade, every muscle in his body taut with focus, and listened carefully to the instructions.
The older man suddenly knocked the back of his head with his knuckles.
"Focus," Popas barked. "You are thinking again. Stop thinking. Feel. Your muscles must remember the precise speed and strength you need to strike."
Rubbing his head, Lue gritted his teeth and swung the blade. Sunlight caught the edge, blinding in its brilliance. The air split cleanly as the blade passed, but the candle's flame sputtered out.
Popas knocked him again.
"Ouch! My head, damn it!" Lue cried out in frustration.
"This technique is called the Falling Precision Strike."
Popas said, ignoring his complaints. His voice was low and deliberate.
"It is an unnatural power, a sword strike without aura. By combining perfect strength and perfect speed, it produces something beyond comprehension. Even I, a seasoned warrior, cannot fully grasp it."
Popas sighed deeply, his expression one of resignation.
"I do not know why I thought you would."
Lue stared at the extinguished candle in confusion. His grip tightened around the hilt.
"This strike is really that powerful? I don't understand. How can I cut through fire without putting it out? And I have to be so precise I cannot miss the flame and hit the candle itself."
Popas interrupted his thoughts before he could say more.
"I know what is running through that mind of yours, young master. Trust me. If you just apply your genius… I mean effort"—he cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing sideways to see if Lue noticed the slip—"you might learn it."
Popas still needed Lue to believe he was lagging way behind and only making meager advancements; that way he would give him all.
He straightened his back.
"The technique would be of immense help. That way you will not need to burn through the little cosmic energy you have gathered every time you face a beast."
"How many cosmic particles do you have now?" Popas asked.
"Just six hundred," Lue answered.
Cosmic particles were the measure of cosmic energy. In the short time since he had become a martial artist, Lue had already condensed six hundred. The number was impressive for someone so young, though still too little for the trials that lay ahead.
Popas's old eyes lingered on the boy he had been training for nearly two months. He knew the day was coming soon when Ramsey would have to depart.
The elder extended his hand. Light rippled in the air, and a long sword appeared, materializing as though it had been pulled from another world.
Lue did not react with shock. He had witnessed this before. Popas drawing weapons and objects from his dimensional storage ring. Still, the sight always filled him with quiet awe.
"This will be our last training session," Popas said. His tone carried the weight of finality. He looked at his young master, and a bit of reluctance could be seen in his wrinkled eyes. He wanted nothing more than to train his young master into a great warrior, especially since he was so talented.
"But I have one more instruction for you, and a gift."
He tossed the sheathed sword toward Lue. The boy caught it carefully, his heart suddenly racing.
"I crafted that blade myself," Popas explained.
"It cannot channel cosmic particles, but it was forged from the finest materials I could obtain. It will serve you well."
Lue drew the blade from its sheath. It was simple, with a plain handle and no guard. Its beauty lay in its steel, not its design. The edge shimmered dangerously under the sunlight, sharper than anything he had ever held. The long, one-sided katana seemed to hum faintly with its own presence.
"Wow," Lue whispered. "It feels so smooth."
He brushed a fingertip along the edge and pulled back quickly, nearly cutting himself.
"Respect the blade," Popas warned. "It is unforgiving."
Lue nodded solemnly, unable to take his eyes off the weapon.
"Finally, my last instructions today are simple. You must master the falling precision strike and use it to its full capabilities. Trust me, young master, that strike could be the reason behind your life or death."
Lue nodded absentmindedly to the words of Elder Popas, lost in the magnificent reflection of the sun on his blade.
He rubbed it once more and decided to name it Daylight.
When he finally looked up to thank his teacher, the clearing was empty. Popas had vanished without a sound.
"Typical Elder Popas," Lue muttered, though the words were half a smile and half a sigh. The sudden absence felt heavy, as though a chapter of his life had closed in an instant.
He sheathed the sword carefully and walked back to his quarters. His body ached from exhaustion, yet his thoughts would not settle. He lay down on his bed, the blade resting at his side, and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow his mission would begin. Tomorrow he would step into the forest where countless others had failed.
What dangers waited there? Why had so many before him perished? What qualities kept one person alive while another fell? Strength alone could not be the answer. Nor talent. Perhaps it was willpower. Perhaps luck. Perhaps something else entirely.
He asked himself again and again—did he have those qualities?
The questions swirled like storms in his mind, but even as doubt gnawed at him, a stubborn spark of determination remained.
He thought of the candle flame, fragile yet resilient.
He had failed to master it today, but he would not give up. Just as that flame fought against the wind, he too would fight against whatever the forest held.
Tomorrow would decide his life and death.
Tomorrow would be one hell of a day.