The morning sun barely touched the shattered horizon, yet the training hall already echoed with the sharp ring of metal. Five days. Five long, grueling days of repetition. Loryn's blue hair clung to his forehead, sweat stinging his golden eyes as he swung the sword in the same practiced arcs over and over.
"I already know this…" he muttered, each word laced with frustration. "I already know these moves. Why am I wasting time?"
Alther stood in the shadows, silent and composed. The silver and black robe he wore seemed to absorb the light around him, his presence alone grounding the hall. Patience, he thought. Talent without temperance is worthless.
"You are tense," Alther said finally, his voice calm yet firm, breaking Loryn from his muttering. "Precision cannot exist in frustration."
Loryn slammed the sword into the practice dummy, the force sending splinters flying. "Tense? I'm bored! I want to learn weapon mastery, not spin in circles with the same moves!" His golden eyes flashed, his frustration boiling over.
Alther's expression remained calm, almost imperceptibly amused. "You misunderstand, Loryn. Weapon mastery is not about how quickly you swing. It is about understanding, reacting, flowing. Today, we begin the true lesson."
Before Loryn could protest, Alther's hand moved, and a series of weapons materialized in the air: a spear, twin daggers, a short sword, and an axe. They hovered, suspended by a faint shimmer of magic, each weapon moving with subtle, predatory motions.
"Your sword," Alther said, "must now face them all. Learn to adapt. Learn to react. Do not rely on what you know — discover what you can do."
Loryn's hands gripped the hilt tighter. He lunged, and the first weapon, a spear, thrust toward him. He parried, stepping back with controlled precision, but the twin daggers struck from his flank. He pivoted, blocked, and swung, only to be met with the axe from above.
The hall erupted into motion. Loryn ducked, rolled, spun, and slashed. Every move he had thought mastered was challenged in a new combination. Each weapon demanded different timing, different angles, different reactions. He faltered, staggered, and even hit dummies accidentally, but he pressed on.
Minutes stretched into hours. His arms ached, his muscles screamed, and yet he refused to stop. Slowly, something inside him shifted. He began to feel the rhythm — how the sword could flow around other weapons, how the momentum of an attack could be redirected, how a single motion could counter multiple threats. The mastery wasn't in memorized swings; it was in understanding the essence of combat.
Alther watched silently, occasionally nodding. He did not intervene, letting Loryn learn the hard way, forcing him to discover his limits and push beyond them.
Finally, sweat-soaked and exhausted, Loryn staggered to the floor. The weapons vanished at Alther's command, and a heavy silence fell over the hall. Alther knelt beside him, his gaze piercing yet calm.
"You have skill," Alther said softly. "But skill alone does not make mastery. Humility, focus, and adaptability — these are the pillars. Even the greatest swordsmen, those who have conquered kingdoms and challenged gods, still practice every day. The Omni King, your elder sister… they did not become legends by rushing through basics. They became legends because they mastered the smallest details, the essence of their craft. And you, Loryn, must learn the same."
Loryn's chest heaved, his sword lying across his knees. He felt the weight of Alther's words, heavier than the heaviest weapon he had ever lifted. Mastery was not speed, not strength, not even talent. It was patience, discipline, and understanding.
A soft noise drew Alther's attention. He glanced toward the shadows outside the training hall. Someone—or something—watched silently, hidden in the gloom. Loryn did not notice, lost in his own exhaustion, his thoughts already drifting toward tomorrow, toward the next challenge, toward the path ahead.
The path ahead would be harder than he imagined.
And somewhere in the darkness, a pair of eyes gleamed, observing the young swordsman's every move, calculating, waiting, intrigued by the potential that even Loryn himself had yet to fully understand.