The next morning, Aria woke us up earlier than before. Our bodies still ached, but the soreness had dulled to a manageable throb.
When we arrived at the training ground, she was already waiting, her white robe catching the dim twilight. Her expression was focused—the instructor version of Aria, not the gentle one from yesterday's dinner.
"Today, we work on coordination," she announced. "Sir Kaito, Grey, grab your training weapons."
Grey looked at his enchanted spear longingly, then picked up the wooden practice version instead. "Why the training weapons? Yesterday we used the real ones."
"Magic weapons create recoil when they clash with magical barriers," Aria explained. "The feedback can injure both the attacker and the caster. For coordination training, we need repetition without that risk. Training weapons are safer and more practical."
I grabbed a training sword, the weight familiar after yesterday's drills. It felt almost disappointing after holding the holy sword, even if that blade had been useless in my hands.
Aria positioned herself in the center of the training ground, hands relaxed at her sides. "Grey, attack me with everything you have."
Grey blinked. "What? Again?"
"Yes."
"Why is it always me?" Grey's voice carried a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Am I your personal punching bag now?"
Aria didn't respond. Didn't smile. Didn't acknowledge the question at all.
Her expression remained completely neutral, but something shifted in her posture—a subtle tension, a coiling of energy.
Grey raised his training spear, taking his stance. "Alright, but don't blame me if—"
He didn't finish.
Aria sidestepped so fast she blurred. One moment she was directly in front of him, the next she was to his left. Before Grey could adjust, a yellowish barrier materialized like a wall directly in his path.
Grey's momentum carried him forward. He slammed face-first into the magical wall with a loud thud that echoed across the training ground.
His body bounced off and he crumpled to the ground like a reptile sliding down glass, arms and legs splayed awkwardly. The training spear clattered beside him.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard, trying desperately not to smile. My shoulders shook from the effort of holding back laughter.
Grey groaned from the ground, not moving. "...I think I saw stars."
Aria dismissed the barrier and looked down at him with that same neutral instructor expression. "That's what happens without coordination."
She turned to face me, and I quickly composed my face, though my lips still twitched.
"No strategy," Aria continued, her tone clinical. "No awareness of your teammate's positioning. No communication." She gestured to Grey, who was slowly pushing himself up, rubbing his nose. "Grey attacked without considering where I might move. Sir Kaito stood and watched without supporting him or anticipating my counter."
She was right. I'd just stood there like a spectator.
"In real combat, that gets you killed," Aria said flatly. "Either the enemy exploits the opening like I just did, or your teammate gets overwhelmed while you watch."
Grey finally got to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. "Point taken," he muttered, still rubbing his face. "Ow..."
"Again," Aria said. "This time, both of you. Together."
Grey and I exchanged glances. His expression said here we go while mine probably said please don't let me slam into a barrier like that.
We spread out instinctively, trying to flank her from different sides. At least that was some kind of strategy.
"Better positioning," Aria acknowledged. "Now attack."
Grey moved first, thrusting with his training spear from the right. I circled left, waiting for an opening.
Aria deflected Grey's attack with a small barrier panel, then immediately created another one to block my approaching strike. She moved between our attacks like water, never wasting motion, always one step ahead.
"You're still thinking individually," she called out while effortlessly defending. "Two separate attacks, not one coordinated assault."
Grey swung again. I tried to time my strike with his.
Another barrier. Another deflection. She wasn't even breathing hard.
"Closer," Aria said. "But your timing is off. And Grey, you're telegraphing your strikes. Sir Kaito, you're hesitating."
She was right. I kept second-guessing myself, waiting to see what Grey would do instead of committing.
We tried again. And again. Each time, Aria's barriers stopped us cold. Each time, she pointed out what we'd done wrong.
No coordination. Poor timing. Predictable patterns. Hesitation. Over commitment.
After the seventh or eighth attempt, we were both breathing hard, sweat dripping despite the cool twilight air. Aria looked barely winded.
Grey and I collapsed onto the ground, gulping air. My arms felt like lead.
Aria stood there for a moment, clearly thinking about what to say next.
"The key to coordination is..." she paused, her brow furrowing slightly. "You need to... synchronize your movements while maintaining spatial awareness of your teammate's positioning and..."
She trailed off, looking between us with an uncertain expression.
Grey and I exchanged confused glances.
"So... we just need to know where each other are?" I tried to clarify.
"Yes, but also—" Aria gestured vaguely with her hands, trying to illustrate something. "The timing must align with the tactical opportunity window, and your attack vectors should complement rather than interfere with each other's strike trajectories..."
More silence.
I blinked, trying to process what she'd just said. Attack vectors? Strike trajectories? I'd read plenty of books back in my world—adventure stories, some history, even a few military chronicles—and those terms sounded familiar, like something from a tactical manual. But hearing them spoken out loud, in the middle of actual training, while my body was screaming and my brain was fried? It was like she was speaking a different language entirely.
"Uh... what?" Grey said flatly.
Aria's hands dropped to her sides. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. "What I mean is... you attack together, but not the same way, and you have to think about where the other person is attacking so you don't... collide or create openings for the enemy to—" She stopped herself, looking frustrated.
I could see her struggling. She clearly understood what she was trying to teach—her movements during the drills proved she knew exactly how coordination worked—but putting it into words we could actually understand seemed to be an entirely different challenge.
She's like those scholars I used to read about, I thought, watching her fumble for words. The ones who could write brilliant treatises but couldn't explain basic concepts to apprentices. All the knowledge in their heads, but no bridge to get it across.
It was kind of... relatable, actually. I'd spent countless hours reading at my food cart during slow periods, absorbing stories and information. But when customers asked me to explain a recipe or why I chose certain ingredients? Half the time I just said "it tastes better this way" because I couldn't articulate the reasoning I'd read about flavor combinations and cooking techniques.
"Ay," Grey said slowly, realization dawning on his face. "Have you ever... taught anyone before?"
Aria froze.
The question hung in the air.
For the first time since we'd met her, Aria averted her eyes, looking anywhere but at us. A bead of sweat formed at her temple despite the cool twilight air. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her white robe.
Oh, I thought, the pieces clicking together. She hasn't. All that time alone in this sanctuary, training by herself, reading those books in the holy library...
"I... I've studied many battle strategies," she said quietly, her usual composed instructor tone cracking slightly. "The holy library has extensive texts on combat theory, tactical coordination, formation fighting..." Her voice grew smaller. "I've read them all multiple times."
Of course she has, I realized. She's like me. A reader. Someone who learns from books.
But there was a crucial difference—I'd had customers, had Grey, had people to talk to every day. Even if I wasn't great at explaining things, I'd at least practiced talking to people. Aria had been alone here, with only books and training dummies for company.
"But you've never actually explained them to someone else," Grey finished gently.
Another beat of silence.
Aria's cheeks flushed slightly. "No," she admitted, still not meeting our eyes. "I've always trained alone. Applied the theories myself. But teaching them..." She finally looked up at us, and there was genuine embarrassment in her expression. "I don't know how to make it... simpler. Clearer."
It suddenly made sense—why her explanations sounded like she was quoting from a textbook, why she seemed more comfortable demonstrating than explaining, why she'd immediately jumped to "just attack me and I'll show you what you're doing wrong."
Because that's how she learned, I thought. Reading the theory, then practicing alone until she figured it out. No one to explain it to her in simple terms either.
"That's why you keep making us just do it," I said, understanding now. "Instead of explaining first."
"It's easier to show you what's wrong than to explain what's right," Aria said, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked genuinely distressed. "I'm sorry. You both deserve a better instructor—"
"Hey, no," Grey cut her off, sitting up straighter despite his exhaustion. "You're doing fine, Ay. We're learning, aren't we?"
"But I should be able to explain—"
"Look," Grey said with a slight grin, "I used to pull carriages for a living. You know how I learned? Someone told me 'pull here, don't let it tip' and then I just... did it. Over and over until I figured it out." He gestured at the training ground. "This isn't that different. You show us, we try, we fail, we try again. It's working."
Aria looked at him, then at me, uncertainty still written across her face.
I thought about all those books I'd read—the adventure stories where heroes had wise mentors who always knew exactly what to say, exactly how to guide their students. Those mentors made teaching look effortless, natural.
But those were stories. This was real.
"Grey's right," I added. "Besides, those 'tactical opportunity windows' and 'attack vector' explanations?" I smiled slightly. "Way over our heads anyway. We're just two guys who got pulled into this world a few days ago. Simple works better for us."
Even if I understand the terms from books, I thought, that doesn't mean I can apply them while I'm exhausted and trying not to get smashed into a barrier.
I paused, then added more gently, "I used to read a lot back home. Adventure stories, some military histories. I recognize some of those terms you're using—they sound like stuff from tactical manuals." I met her eyes. "But there's a big difference between reading about 'complementary attack vectors' and actually doing it while someone's trying to knock you down."
Aria's expression shifted slightly—surprise mixed with something that might have been relief. Like she'd found someone who at least partially understood where her explanations were coming from.
"You read military texts?" she asked quietly.
"Not really military texts," I admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. "More like... adventure novels that happened to include battle scenes with fancy terminology. I ran a food cart, so I had a lot of downtime between customers." I smiled. "Spent most of it reading whatever I could get my hands on. But reading about tactics and actually using them? Completely different things."
Just like reading recipes and actually cooking, I thought. The knowledge helps, but it's not the same as experience.
"That's... exactly my problem," Aria said softly, and for a moment she looked almost vulnerable. "I've read so much, studied every strategy and formation in the library. But I've never had to translate that knowledge for someone else. It all makes perfect sense in my head, but when I try to explain..." She gestured helplessly.
"Then maybe stop trying to explain like a book," I suggested carefully. "When you demonstrate and tell us what we did wrong, that actually helps more. Like—'Grey, you attacked too early.' That's clear. 'Your timing doesn't align with the tactical opportunity window'? That just confuses us."
Grey nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly! Simple words, Ay. We're simple people."
The tension in Aria's shoulders eased just a fraction. She took a breath, composing herself, though the embarrassment still colored her cheeks.
"Then... I'll continue with demonstrations," she said, her voice steadier but still quieter than her usual instructor tone. "And I'll try to... simplify the explanations. Use fewer technical terms."
"That'd be great," Grey said warmly.
"And hey," I added, trying to lighten the mood, "at least you're not trying to teach us magic theory or whatever. I read a book once about a mage explaining spell matrices to an apprentice. Twenty pages of pure confusion. Made my head hurt just reading it."
That got a small, genuine smile from Aria. "Spell matrices are actually quite logical once you understand the fundamental principles of—" She caught herself, then laughed softly, embarrassed. "My apologies. You see? I do it without thinking."
"It's fine," I said, grinning. "Just maybe save the advanced lectures for after we can actually land a coordinated hit."
Aria nodded, then straightened her posture, clearly trying to regain her instructor composure. But I could see her hands still fidgeting slightly with her robe.
She's nervous, I realized. Not just embarrassed—actually nervous about teaching us. About failing us.
It made sense, in a sad way. She'd been alone here for years, training by herself, answering to no one. And now suddenly she had two people depending on her to teach them how to survive in this world. That was a lot of pressure, especially for someone who'd never taught anyone before.
"Well then," she said, her voice deliberately firm now, pushing past the awkwardness. "Let's continue. Both of you, take your positions again."
"Already?" I groaned, my muscles screaming in protest.
"Yes. We still have time before lunch, and this repetition is important." She raised her hands, ready to create barriers again. Her face was carefully neutral now, but there was a slight defensiveness to her posture—like she was trying to distract us from what had just happened by throwing us back into training.
Grey caught my eye and gave me a knowing look that said she's definitely trying to change the subject.
But we both got to our feet anyway, picking up our training weapons.
She's doing her best, I thought as I adjusted my grip on the training sword. Just like we are. We're all figuring this out together.
As we took our stances, I noticed Aria's shoulders were still slightly tense, her movements just a bit more rigid than before. The confident instructor facade had a crack in it now.
"Ready?" she called out, but her voice was just a touch too loud, too forced.
"Ready," we answered.
"Then attack!"
We moved together—still poorly coordinated, still mistimed—but as we did, I saw Aria's expression shift. The embarrassment faded as she fell back into the familiar rhythm of combat, deflecting our strikes with those effortless barriers.
This is her comfort zone, I thought, watching her move with that fluid grace. Not explaining, not teaching with words, but showing through action.
And somehow, knowing that made her feel more human. More real.
Not just the mysterious, powerful support mage, but someone who had spent years training alone, learning from books, never needing to share that knowledge with anyone else until now.
Just like I spent years reading alone at my food cart, I realized. Never needing to explain my thoughts to anyone except Grey.
We weren't so different, Aria and I. Both bookworms in our own ways. Both more comfortable with knowledge than with people.
Maybe that's why, despite her awkward explanations, I felt like I could trust her.
"Your timing is still off!" she called out, and her voice was stronger now, back in familiar territory. "Grey, you're attacking too early. Sir Kaito, you're compensating for his timing instead of finding your own rhythm!"
We adjusted. Tried again.
Failed again.
But this time, when Aria corrected us, her explanations were simpler. "Grey, wait one more second. Kaito, attack when you see his spear move, not before."
Basic. Clear. Effective.
She's learning too, I thought with a small smile, even as another barrier knocked my strike aside.
Maybe we were all students here.
We tried again. And again. Each attempt slightly better than the last, though still far from good.
After several more rounds, Aria finally called, "Break."
Grey and I collapsed back onto the ground, even more exhausted than before.
"You're improving," Aria said, and there was the slightest hint of approval in her voice. "Your last three attempts showed better awareness of each other. You're starting to read Grey's movements, Sir Kaito. And Grey, you're adjusting your attacks based on where Sir Kaito positions himself."
She knelt down to our level, her white robe pooling around her. "Coordination isn't something you learn in a day. It takes trust. You need to know instinctively where your teammate will be, what they'll do, without needing to look or ask."
Her eyes moved between us. "That trust is built through repetition. Through failure. Through getting knocked down—" she glanced at Grey with the faintest hint of amusement, "—or slammed into barriers."
Grey groaned. "Still too soon, Ay."
This time, she did smile. Just a little. "The goal isn't perfection today. It's understanding what coordination means. Feeling the difference between fighting alone together versus fighting as a unit."
I rolled onto my back, staring at the sky. My body ached, but differently than yesterday. This was the exhaustion of thinking and moving simultaneously, of trying to predict and adapt.
"Tomorrow," Aria continued, "we'll drill specific coordination patterns. Synchronized attacks. Covering each other's openings. Fighting while I maintain barriers around you." She stood up gracefully. "But for now, you both need to rest and process what you've learned."
Grey sat up slowly, stretching. "So basically, we got our asses handed to us for educational purposes?"
"Precisely," Aria said without missing a beat.
I couldn't help it this time—I laughed. Grey joined in, and even Aria's lips quirked upward.
For a moment, the weight of being the "hero" lifted. We were just three people training together, learning, failing, improving.
"Come on," Aria said, offering her hand to help me up.
I blinked in surprise at her suddenly offered hand. She'd always been polite, formal—but this felt different.
I hesitated for just a moment before taking it. Her grip was firm as she pulled me to my feet with surprising ease.
"Let's get some food. You've earned it."
Grey got up on his own, stretching his sore muscles with a groan.
As we walked back toward the canteen, I glanced at Grey. He caught my eye and gave a small nod—that knowing look that said he'd noticed the gesture too.
We were getting better. Slowly. Painfully. But better.
And somehow, that was enough for now.
After lunch, Aria walked us back to our room.
"That's enough for today," she said, her instructor tone softening. "We only trained for a few hours, but coordination drills are mentally exhausting. Your bodies need rest to recover properly."
"Already?" Grey asked, surprised. "We can keep going—"
"Tomorrow," Aria continued, "we'll drill specific coordination patterns. Synchronized attacks. Covering each other's openings. Fighting while I maintain barriers around you." She stood up gracefully. "But for now, you both need to rest and process what you've learned."
Grey sat up slowly, stretching. "So basically, we got our asses handed to us for educational purposes?"
"Precisely," Aria said without missing a beat.
I couldn't help it this time—I laughed. Grey joined in, and even Aria's lips quirked upward.
For a moment, the weight of being the "hero" lifted. We were just three people training together, learning, failing, improving.
"Come on," Aria said, offering her hand to help me up.
I blinked in surprise at her suddenly offered hand. She'd always been polite, formal—but this felt different.
I hesitated for just a moment before taking it. Her grip was firm as she pulled me to my feet with surprising ease.
"Let's get some food. You've earned it."
Grey got up on his own, stretching his sore muscles with a groan.
As we walked back toward the canteen, I glanced at Grey. He caught my eye and gave a small nod—that knowing look that said he'd noticed the gesture too.
We were getting better. Slowly. Painfully. But better.
And somehow, that was enough for now.
After lunch, Aria walked us back to our room.
"That's enough for today," she said, her instructor tone softening. "We only trained for a few hours, but coordination drills are mentally exhausting. Your bodies need rest to recover properly."
"Already?" Grey asked, surprised. "We can keep going—"
"No." Aria's voice was firm but gentle. "Overtraining will only injure you and slow your progress. Rest is part of training too." She gave us both a serious look. "I mean it. Don't push yourselves too hard. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
With that, she left us alone in our room.
Grey and I stood there for a moment, then looked at each other.
"Rest, huh?" Grey said, sitting on his bed.
"Yeah..." I sat on mine, trying to relax.
Silence filled the room.
I stared at the ceiling. My body was tired, sore from this morning's drills, but it wasn't the bone-deep exhaustion from yesterday. My mind kept replaying the training—how easily Aria had deflected every attack, how fast she'd moved, how we couldn't coordinate even basic strikes.
I closed my eyes, trying to sleep.
Couldn't.
The image of Grey slamming into that barrier kept playing in my head. Then it shifted—what if that had been a real enemy? What if Aria hadn't been there to protect us? What if—
"You awake?" Grey's voice cut through the silence.
"Yeah."
"Can't sleep?"
"No."
Another stretch of silence.
"Me neither," Grey admitted.
I turned my head to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling too, hands behind his head.
"Keep thinking about today?" I asked.
"Yeah." He let out a frustrated breath. "We were pathetic, Kaito. Completely pathetic."
"We're learning—"
"We're too slow," Grey interrupted, sitting up. "Did you see how fast she moved? That wasn't even her going all out. And those barriers—we couldn't scratch them even when we tried our hardest."
I sat up too. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying..." Grey ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. "I can't just lie here and rest. Every time I close my eyes, I see us failing. See us being too weak. See Aria having to protect us because we're useless."
His words echoed exactly what I'd been feeling.
"She said not to overtrain," I reminded him, but even as I said it, the words felt hollow.
"I know what she said." Grey stood up, pacing. "But Kaito, in three days your customized weapons arrive. Then what? We leave this holy land and face real danger?" He stopped and looked at me. "How many real fights have we been in? Zero. How much combat experience do we have? Zero. How strong are we compared to what's out there?"
He didn't need to finish. The answer was obvious.
I thought about my holy sword, useless in my hands until we faced demons or magic beasts. Thought about being the "hero" who couldn't protect anyone. Thought about Grey being dragged into this world because of me.
"I can't sleep either," I admitted quietly. "Every time I try, I just... think about how weak I am."
Grey's expression softened slightly. "Not just you, bro. We both are."
The weight of it hung between us.
"What if..." Grey started, then hesitated. "What if we just... went to the training ground? Not for long. Just to clear our heads?"
It was a terrible idea. Aria had specifically told us to rest. She'd know we'd overdone it if we showed up exhausted tomorrow.
But my body was restless, my mind wouldn't settle, and the thought of lying here feeling useless for hours made my chest tight.
"Just for a bit," I heard myself say. "To work off the restlessness."
Grey's eyes lit up slightly. "Yeah. Just to tire ourselves out enough to actually sleep."
We both knew we were making excuses, but neither of us called it out.
We grabbed our training weapons—almost unconsciously, like we'd already decided before the conversation started. Moved toward the door. Paused.
"Aria will be upset if she finds out," I said.
"Then we make sure she doesn't find out," Grey replied. "We go, we train until we're tired enough to sleep, we come back. Simple."
It wasn't simple. But I nodded anyway.
We slipped out of our room, moving quietly through the corridors. The sanctuary was peaceful in the evening hours, the distant sound of evening prayers echoing somewhere far off.
The training ground was empty, bathed in the darker shades of eternal twilight. The damaged dummies and equipment looked like silent witnesses.
"So..." Grey said, gripping his training spear. "What now?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I just... couldn't stay in that room."
"Same."
We stood there awkwardly for a moment. Then Grey moved into a basic stance—one of the forms Aria had drilled into us this morning.
"Might as well practice the fundamentals," he said. "Since we're here."
I took my own stance, mimicking the posture Aria had corrected multiple times.
We started slowly. Basic strikes. Footwork. The movements Aria had taught us. Nothing fancy, nothing aggressive. Just... something to do with the restless energy burning through us.
"Your stance is off," Grey said after a few minutes.
"Your grip is too tight," I shot back.
We adjusted. Tried again.
Time passed. Minutes blended together. The repetitive movements started to feel more natural, less forced. Muscle memory beginning to form.
"We should coordinate," Grey said suddenly. "Like she was trying to teach us."
We positioned ourselves like we had during training. Tried a synchronized strike against a practice dummy.
Completely mistimed. We nearly collided with each other.
"Again," Grey said.
We tried again. And again.
Our bodies were tired now, genuinely tired. But something about the failure made us keep trying. Made us need to get it right at least once.
"One more," I said, breathing hard.
This time, our strikes landed nearly together. Not perfect—Grey's hit a half-second before mine—but closer.
"Better," Grey gasped, leaning on his spear.
I looked at him, both of us sweating and exhausted now. "We should head back. Before we overdo it."
Grey nodded, too tired to argue.
As we walked back to our room, the restlessness had finally faded, replaced by the heavy exhaustion we'd needed.
"Don't tell Aria," Grey said as we reached our door.
"Obviously."
We collapsed into our beds, still in our training clothes, too tired to care.
"Same time tomorrow?" Grey mumbled, already half-asleep.
I should've said no. Should've said we'd rest properly like Aria instructed.
Instead, I heard myself say, "Yeah. Same time."
Because the truth was, lying in bed feeling weak and useless had been unbearable. At least when we were training—even badly, even clumsily—we were doing something about it.
Sleep came quickly this time, dreamless and deep.
We'd worry about whether this was a good idea tomorrow.