Morning came without mercy.
"Up."
Kael's eyes snapped open. Before he could fully process it—THUD. A wooden staff struck his side, sending him rolling across the ground.
"Too slow," a voice said.
Kael coughed, forcing himself up, breath uneven. His body screamed in protest.
Every muscle ached from the previous day's training. "…I was awake," he muttered.
"Then you should have moved."
The knight stood before him, already in position, weapon lowered but ready. "No warning. No preparation. That is how the world works."
Kael tightened his grip on the training sword beside him and stood. "…Again."
The knight didn't respond. He moved. Fast.
Kael barely raised his blade in time. CLACK. The impact numbed his arms instantly. He stepped back—then again—then again—barely holding on.
Too fast. Too precise.
Kael gritted his teeth. Think.
The knight's strikes weren't random. Each movement flowed into the next—controlled, efficient, deliberate. Kael shifted his stance. Watched. Waited.
The next strike came—and Kael moved slightly earlier. CLACK. Still pushed back—but not as much.
"…Better," the knight said.
Kael didn't respond. He focused.
Again. And again. And again.
By the tenth exchange, his arms felt like they would give out. By the twentieth, his legs trembled. By the thirtieth—CRACK. His guard broke. The wooden blade struck his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground.
Kael lay there, breathing hard, staring at the sky. "…Why?" he muttered.
The knight stepped closer. "Why what?"
Kael clenched his fists. "…Why can't I keep up?"
Silence. Then—"Because you are still thinking like before."
Kael frowned slightly, turning his head. "…Before?"
"You react," the knight said. "You don't decide."
Kael's grip tightened. "I am deciding."
"No," the knight replied calmly. "You are surviving."
That hit harder than the strike.
Kael slowly pushed himself up. "…What's the difference?"
The knight looked at him directly. "Survival is instinct." A pause. "Decision… is control."
Kael stood still, breathing steady. "…Then how do I control it?"
The knight turned, walking a few steps away. "Fight again."
Kael exhaled slowly, then stepped forward.
This time—he didn't rush.
The knight moved first. As always. But Kael didn't immediately block. He watched. Tracked the movement. Measured the distance. Then—he moved.
CLACK. The impact still pushed him back—but his stance held.
Another strike. Kael shifted sideways instead of blocking head-on. The blow grazed past him. A small opening. He swung. THUD.
The knight blocked it effortlessly—but didn't counter immediately. "…Good," the knight said.
Kael's breathing steadied slightly. His eyes sharpened. For a moment—everything slowed. Not physically—but in his mind. Distance. Timing. Movement.
He wasn't just reacting anymore. He was… choosing.
The moment broke. The knight struck again. This time—Kael lasted longer. Not equal. Not close. But longer. And that… was enough.
Hours passed. Then more.
Kael collapsed onto the ground, exhausted beyond words. His entire body felt like it had been torn apart and put back together wrong. "…Again tomorrow," the knight said.
Kael didn't even have the strength to respond. He just stared at the sky. "…I'll surpass this," he muttered weakly.
Later that night—
Kael sat alone again. The same spot. The same sky. But something felt… different.
He raised his hand slightly, staring at it. "…Decision…" he whispered. Images flashed through his mind—the demon's movement, the knight's strikes, the openings.
"…If I choose right… then I won't fail."
His hand slowly clenched. The feeling returned. Faint. Subtle. Like something aligning. Not power. Not strength. Just a quiet… certainty.
Like a scale, tipping ever so slightly.
Kael frowned. "…What was that?"
No answer came. The wind passed again—soft, fleeting. And whatever it was—faded.
Kael lowered his hand. "…Doesn't matter."
His gaze hardened. "I'll get stronger."
No matter what.