Morning light filtered through the high windows of the Korvath Training Hall, catching drifting motes of dust and laying them across the worn wooden floor. The hall was quiet—not the silence of peace, but the silence of preparation. Weapons hung along the walls, polished and orderly. The air smelled of oil, iron, and old sweat.
Yoshiya and Omina entered together.
Guildmaster Yaguro Aka was already there. She stood with her arms folded, posture steady as carved stone. There were no greetings, no smiles, no unnecessary words. Only the recognition of warriors who lived through something that should have killed them.
Her eyes moved to Omina.
"Good. You survived. Now show me what that means."
Omina nodded once. She stepped into the center of the hall.
Yaguro did not hand her swords.
"Parrying only," she said. "No counterattacks. No forward momentum. You will not fight back. Not yet."
She moved. No warning. No drawn weapon—only her hand extended like a blade. The strike came fast. Omina blocked, but too wide, too forceful. The recoil threw her balance off.
Yaguro stepped behind her in the same motion and tapped the flat of her palm to Omina's spine. A gentle touch—but Omina knew that if this were battle, she would already be dead.
"Again."
Omina reset her stance. Breath in. Breath out.
Yaguro struck. Omina parried—cleaner this time, but her eyes squeezed shut in the moment of impact. Instinct. Fear. Habit.
Yaguro's voice cut sharp.
"Don't close your eyes.
Look at the sword. Observe the flow."
Omina forced them open. Again. Again. Again.
The pattern became rhythm. The rhythm became awareness.
Her movements stopped being reactions and became choices.
Yaguro adjusted the exercise.
"Now—dual blades."
Two wooden practice swords were tossed at Omina's feet.
She lifted them.
At first, she used the left as a guard, the right as a weapon—old habits.
Yaguro's heel snapped forward, kicking the left blade out of position.
"Both hands are your offense. Both hands are your defense. Think of them as one."
The next exchange changed everything.
Omina moved differently.
Not two swords clashing independently—but two arcs, one continuous motion, like the swing of a pendulum.
Balance. Timing. Breath.
Her body remembered darkness in Giggleburg.
But now, it moved for the sake of control, not survival.
A step forward.
Blade turned.
An opening seen—not created.
Yaguro spoke:
"You've crossed the threshold. From skill to mastery."
Dual Wielding Proficiency → Dual Sword Mastery
Sword Parry → Parry Mastery
Omina exhaled.
She did not celebrate.
She simply accepted it.
But Yaguro was not finished.
"Now," she said, "we add intention."
She attacked again—faster, sharper.
Omina parried clean. The counter was instant—blade rising beneath the opening Yaguro had deliberately left.
The strike halted a hair's breadth from the guildmaster's throat.
New Skill: Riposte
A lethal strike immediately following a perfect parry. Precision damage. No wasted movement.
Yaguro nodded once.
Then she circled. "Again. But this time—press the field."
Omina inhaled, then spun—swords sweeping outward in a controlled arc of motion, the air around her vibrating with the force of movement.
A rotational clearing technique.
New Skill: Blade Whirlwind
An area-clearing maneuver. Must not be used lightly.
Yaguro held up her hand.
"That one kills everything around you. Use it only when death is the only answer."
Omina lowered her swords. Her chest rose and fell with heat and exhaustion, but her eyes were steady now. Focused. Different.
She had changed.
---
Yoshiya had been silent the entire time.
He sat near one of the side benches, surrounded by scrap iron, splintered kobold spears, and fragments of damaged armor. He sorted metal by weight and grain, tapped edges with a craftsman's ear, tested joints for hidden weakness. Not repairing. Not improvising.
Studying.
He hammered a small blade to adjust its balance.
Adjusted the tang of a grip.
Filed bevels until the weight distribution matched Omina's footwork.
He watched how she moved.
He shaped metal to match that movement.
Not as support.
Not as assistance.
As an equal.
The training hall air settled into a familiar quiet.
Yaguro dismissed them with only a single sentence:
"The battlefield is changing. Change with it, or die with those who will not."
Then she left.
---
Later, the two walked through Korvath's recovering streets, lanterns flickering against evening stone. A new restaurant had opened near the southern bridge, its sign painted with a stylized flame and boar—charred meat specialty.
They sat at a small wooden table near the window. Plates arrived—thick slices of roasted meat, savory broth, fresh bread warm from the oven.
They ate in silence at first. Not uneasy silence. Honest silence.
Omina set her fork down.
"We're stronger now."
Yoshiya nodded, gaze calm and clear.
"We have to be."
Outside, the city breathed—slow and steady, unaware of the tremors pulsing beneath distant earth.
The world moved forward.
And they moved with it.