"Like this."
Reyla demonstrated the motion slowly, her posture firm and balanced.
"The strength of a punch doesn't come from your arm," she explained. "It comes from your hips. Your entire body must move as one."
She rotated her waist sharply and drove her fist forward.
The air itself seemed to snap.
Aleck swallowed.
He stepped forward and mimicked her stance.
Thud.
His fist struck the worn training dummy.
Again.
Thud.
And again.
Thud.
He shifted his footing between strikes, remembering her instructions.
Rotate.
Stabilize.
Strike.
Each motion felt slightly more natural than the last.
Behind him, Reyla watched carefully.
A slow smile spread across her face.
"Good," she said.
Aleck paused, breathing heavily.
Then she added—
"No… better than good."
Aleck blinked in surprise.
"You're adjusting faster than I expected," she continued. "Make sure you change your position after every strike. Real opponents don't stand still."
She stretched her arms casually.
"I'm heading to the market. When I return, we'll spar."
Aleck froze.
His blood ran cold.
Sp—spar…
He knew what that meant.
Another one-sided beating.
His body instinctively stiffened.
He nodded quickly.
He valued his survival.
Reyla smirked faintly, then turned and left the yard.
Aleck exhaled slowly once she was gone.
Then he resumed training.
Punch.
Step.
Turn.
Kick.
He practiced the combinations Reyla had shown him, his movements still clumsy—but improving.
Faster.
Sharper.
More controlled.
I'm getting better…
He clenched his fist.
His body responded smoothly.
Maybe my body was always suited for this…
He focused inward.
Resonance stirred faintly beneath his skin.
He could now activate partial resonance at will.
But maintaining full-body coating still exhausted him within minutes.
It wasn't sustainable yet.
Still—
This alone was progress.
Far more than he had ever known before.
From the nearby porch, Father Lucen sat quietly in a wooden chair, a cup of tea resting in his hand.
A folded newspaper lay open across his lap.
He watched Aleck silently.
His old eyes missed nothing.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"He truly is gifted…"
He lifted the cup and took a slow sip.
The wind passed gently through the churchyard.
And Aleck continued to train.
In the garden of the manor, beneath the fading light of evening, a boy trained alone.
Olric's wooden sword cut through the air again and again.
Sharp.
Fast.
Precise.
His movements were powerful—raw strength carried in every swing.
The blade sliced through the wind with a faint whistle.
But there was something missing.
After several more strikes, his arms trembled.
His breathing grew heavy.
Finally, he lowered the sword.
Then dropped to one knee.
"…I'm still far from it," he muttered.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, frustration tightening his chest.
"I have power. That's all."
His strikes were strong.
But strength alone wasn't enough.
There was no refinement.
No technique.
No control.
And now—
Even his personal training had been suspended.
He couldn't learn new forms.
Couldn't improve.
All because of that… brat.
His grip tightened around the sword.
But then—
Another voice echoed in his mind.
Have you ever tried to understand him?
The words struck harder than any physical blow.
He had heard them earlier that day.
Yet they refused to leave him.
Even at night, when the manor fell silent—
He couldn't sleep.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, those words repeating over and over.
Understand him?
"How am I supposed to understand someone like that?" he muttered under his breath.
"He's just some peasant from a rundown church…"
He frowned.
No.
That wasn't enough.
He exhaled slowly.
If he wanted his father's approval back—
He had no choice.
"I'll talk to him," Olric decided.
The thought felt uncomfortable.
But necessary.
"I'll go to the church."
He stood up slowly, dusting off his clothes.
"If the elders are there, I'll apologize properly."
He straightened his posture.
"I'll show sincerity."
If he acted mature…
If he showed progress…
Then Father would see.
Uncle Ethan would see.
They would understand he was suitable to become a knight.
Yes.
That was the solution.
It wasn't difficult.
He only had to play the part convincingly.
Amber had mentioned the boy lived at the Embrek Church.
Olric looked toward the horizon.
"I'll see it for myself."
His eyes hardened slightly.
Following his thoughts, he made his way toward the church. As he approached, he heard sounds coming from the backyard. Curious, he quietly observed from a distance.
There, he saw a woman in a nun's attire teaching the boy how to train his body. She demonstrated different kicking techniques while correcting his posture and balance.
Olric watched in amazement.
Even though he was still on probation, he couldn't help but feel impressed by the strength of the woman in the nun's attire. He had originally come only to fulfill his obligation and remove his probation, but now, seeing the precision and power behind the kicks she demonstrated, his perspective began to change.
The techniques looked refined and effective.
If he could learn them, they would greatly improve his training and strengthen his body for hand-to-hand combat.
But another question soon rose in his mind.
How was he even supposed to ask… in his current position?
From beyond the wall came the steady rhythm of impact.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Aleck was training again.
Olric exhaled slowly.
How do I even start this…?
Before he could decide—
A voice came from behind him.
"What are you doing here?"
Olric flinched and turned sharply.
Amber stood there, hands clasped behind her back, smiling sweetly.
Too sweetly.
"I'm on probation," Olric replied, straightening his posture. "I can't train right now. So I decided to take a walk."
It took him a moment to steady his breathing.
Amber tilted her head slightly.
"Is that what you're really doing?"
Her tone was innocent.
Her eyes were not.
Olric looked away.
There was no point arguing.
"…I came to watch," he admitted.
Amber hummed softly, then skipped past him.
"Aunt Reyla! I'm here!"
Reyla stopped mid-strike and turned.
Amber entered the backyard in her neat little dress, looking wildly out of place among the dirt and training dummies.
"I'm not old enough to be your aunt," Reyla said flatly. "Call me sister."
Amber giggled. "Alright, Sister Reyla."
She paused, then added casually—
"Oh, and Olric is here too."
Olric, who had been contemplating escape, stiffened.
Now he had no choice.
He stepped into the backyard.
Aleck stood barefoot in the dirt, clothes worn and stained from training. Sweat clung to his skin, but he continued striking the dummy as if the guests were irrelevant.
Punch.
Step.
Turn.
Only after a few more strikes did he stop.
He turned slowly.
Their eyes met.
Olric walked forward.
He made sure his shoulders were straight.
His chin level.
"I came to apologize," he began.
His voice was calm. Controlled.
"For how I conducted myself yesterday."
Aleck said nothing.
Olric continued smoothly.
"I've come to realize that what I did was not befitting of a noble."
He folded his hands behind his back, mimicking the posture he had seen adults use.
"A noble exists to protect the weak. What I did was the opposite."
He lowered his head slightly.
"I was wrong."
He paused.
"So I apologize. I will conduct myself better from now on."
Inside, Olric allowed himself a small, hidden smile.
Perfect.
Father couldn't have said it better.
His face, however, remained serious.
Aleck stared at him in silence.
Then—
He smirked.
"Well," Aleck said quietly.
"I don't accept your apology."
Silence fell across the yard.