The wind rustled through the ancient training grounds—high stone pillars casting long shadows over the marble floor. Chris stood silently, a wooden training sword in hand, facing his grandfather, the man known across the Empire as the "Unbroken Blade."
Lionheart Originus.
His presence alone was enough to make seasoned generals bow their heads. And yet, at this moment, he looked only at his grandson—not as a noble, not as a child—but as a seed of something far greater.
"Chris," the old lion began, voice like gravel beneath steel, "you are about to walk a path soaked in blood, honor, and silence. Before I teach you the blade, you must understand the Knight Realms—for each step is a mountain, and few ever climb past the foothills."
Chris listened intently.
Lionheart raised a single finger.
"1. Knight."
"The first realm. This is when a mortal becomes something more. Body and mind synchronize. The bones harden. Muscles refine. Reflexes sharpen. Most soldiers never step beyond this."
A second finger.
"2. Novice Knight."
"Beginners who can circulate a thread of mana through their limbs. They are faster, stronger, more aware—but still bound by the flesh."
"3. Soldier Knight."
"True martial discipline begins here. Your body learns to withstand mana surges. You fight without fear, you react without thought."
A pause.
He added a fourth finger.
"4. Captain Knight."
"Leaders on the battlefield. They can control mana outside their body to some extent. Empower weapons. Shatter defenses. Many noble heirs stop here and grow old fat."
Chris's eyes didn't waver. Lionheart continued.
"5. Spirit Knight."
"Your mana fuses with your spirit. You grow faster with age. You feel the rhythm of battle—every breath, every twitch, every killing intent becomes clear."
"6. Soul Knight."
"Only a few reach this. You can leave echoes of your will in the world. Your blade remembers. Your presence distorts lesser men's courage."
Chris could feel it now—the weight of the legacy ahead.
Lionheart's expression hardened.
"7. King Knight."
"Not a title. A reality. When you can dominate a battlefield alone. Command the flow of war. Empires crumble before one King Knight."
"8. Emperor Knight."
"The realm of monsters. You can tear armies in half with one strike. Cast techniques that warp space, silence magic, burn fate itself. I stood here once. Barely."
Then he stopped. The air grew cold.
"9. Demi-God Knight."
"Almost myths. Their existence alone breaks the rules. Gravity bends. Time flickers. Their steps echo for generations. Only three known in history reached it. One vanished. One turned traitor. One... became the blade that broke the Demon Sea the first time."
Chris asked quietly, "What's the final one?"
Lionheart stared at the sky.
"10. God Knight."
"No one has ever achieved it. Not truly. The world resists it. The laws break. The stars burn away those who try."
He looked down, face grave.
"Some say the first Emperor tried. He vanished. Others say he succeeded—and is watching from beyond."
Silence returned.
Then, Chris opened his palm. "What if... someone went beyond mana?"
At that moment, he tried to call his mana like he'd practiced the night before.
But what responded was not mana.
It was something purer. Denser. Ethereal. Like threads of starlight and fire.
Even Lionheart stepped back, eyes narrowing. "That's... not mana. What are you?"
Chris looked up at his grandfather and said quietly,
"Someone who promised to bring freedom to a broken world."
Great! Here's the next part: Chris's first real training session begins, with the mysterious power inside him awakening. It continues from the moment where Lionheart sees something beyond mana in his grandson..
Chris lowered his hand, confused but calm. "It answers when I focus... but I don't understand it."
Lionheart approached. "We'll not call it mana then. This—this thing inside you—might be higher than what this world understands." He took a deep breath. "But power without discipline is ruin."
He turned to the rack of training weapons, selecting a plain blackwood sword.
"No glowing blades. No fancy techniques. If you wish to wield that power, you'll master the basics a thousand times over."
Chris nodded and took position. His body remembered—or maybe his soul did.
Lionheart raised his weapon. "First stance: Iron River. Deflect and flow."
The moment they clashed, the old lion was taken aback.
Bang!
Chris's sword met his like stone striking steel. No recoil. No stumble. Only calm movement and unnatural clarity. As if he had done this before.
Strike.
Parry.
Twist.
Spin.
Again.
Lionheart pushed harder, and Chris matched. His body was too small for real power, but every motion was precise—preternaturally so.
"Your instincts," Lionheart growled, "they're too sharp for your age."
Chris smirked. "I was once called the deaf king of boardrooms. Maybe some of it followed me."
Lionheart blinked. "Boardrooms?"
Chris froze. "Ah. Slip of the tongue."
The old knight chuckled. "You'll tell me that story one day."
Hours passed.
By sundown, Chris's body was drenched in sweat. He'd stumbled, bled from a few grazes, and his arms ached.
But his eyes still burned with focus.
Lionheart finally raised his hand.
"Enough for today."
Chris collapsed to his knees, panting, but smiling.
Lionheart looked at the boy—not as a child now, but as a seed of something the world hadn't seen in centuries.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we train spirit movement."
Chris looked up.
"And after that?"
Lionheart narrowed his eyes.
"We make you into a sword this world isn't ready for."
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