Three days passed since Richard met Manuel, and the young swordsman had become part of every training session. Quintin now acted mostly as a quiet observer, stepping in only to offer guidance or correction. Manuel, however, took a leading role, teaching Richard how to refine the skills he already possessed.
Their routine fell into a rhythm. They opened by mirroring movements, followed by Richard demonstrating techniques on the practice dummy. Then came their sparring, where Richard measured his growth against Manuel's strength.
Richard's skill rose quickly. Each fight showed small but real progress. After their third bout, he managed to force Manuel to adjust his tactics and even push him back a few steps. He didn't expect to win, but the improvement thrilled him. He knew he was getting stronger.
At the end of one training session, the two sat together catching their breath. A question had been tugging at Richard's thoughts for days.
"What's your power?" he finally asked.
"Quintin told me not to talk about powers," Manuel replied. "He said it distracts you."
"It used to," Richard admitted. "But not anymore. You can tell me."
"I don't think it's a good idea."
"Then… can you at least tell me about the Order of Condor?"
Manuel relaxed. "Sure. What do you want to know?"
"What's it like? How was your first day?"
Manuel looked around to make sure Quintin wasn't nearby. Richard was still young and hopeful, but Manuel had started to grow fond of him. Maybe preparing him would help.
"It's aggressive," Manuel said. "The Order is kind only to the strong. The weak struggle… and making friends isn't easy."
"Is it hard for you?" Richard asked. "Are you strong?"
"I'm not the strongest," Manuel admitted. "But I'm not the weakest either. I still face challenges. I still suffer under people stronger than me."
Richard frowned. Manuel had always seemed unbeatable. The idea of him being a target felt wrong.
"I think you're strong," Richard said brightly. "Maybe you just need to fight those bullies."
"I'm great with a sword," Manuel said, lifting his training weapon. "If every conflict used swords, I'd win most of them. But that's not how the Order works.
"Most people stop training with weapons once they unlock their powers. The only reason I still use my sword is because my power works well with it."
"Is your power strong?" Richard asked.
"It is. Not the strongest, but strong enough to make people think twice about fighting me. It grows every day. Maybe one day I'll be strong enough to help people weaker than me… and teach some humility to the ones who weren't kind."
"I know you can't talk about your power," Richard said. "But how did you unlock it?"
Manuel hesitated again, scanning for Quintin. "I had to act through fear. I had to be courageous."
"That's it?" Richard asked.
"It's not as simple as it sounds," Manuel said. "When fear crushes your will, acting feels impossible. When you believe death is standing beside you… and you act anyway… that's courage. And that's what awakened my power."
Richard's shoulders slumped. "I have no idea how to unlock mine. I wanted to awaken before joining the Order, but I don't think it's going to happen. Everyone else already has theirs."
"Focus on strengthening what you already have," Manuel told him. "If you go to the Order with no power, no skill, no confidence… you'll suffer every day.
"But if you arrive without your power, but with real skill, people will still respect you. Not everyone. But enough that you can make friends—friends who will defend you when the stronger students test you."
"I don't want anyone to fight for me," Richard said. "That's not what a hero would do. That's not what my parents would do."
"They're powerful," Manuel said calmly. "They're experienced. You're their son, but that won't help you with the students. Use every advantage you can."
Manuel clapped Richard's shoulder. Richard reached up to adjust his arm—and felt something solid beneath Manuel's sleeve. Curious, he lifted the fabric and saw an unusual arm guard with a glowing bar across it.
"What's this?" Richard asked.
Manuel gently pulled his sleeve back down. "It's a mana bar."
"Sounds like candy," Richard joked. "What's it for?"
"When you unlock your power, you also awaken your mana. Mana fuels your ability. The Order gives everyone a mana bar at first so they can see how much they have left. The more you use your power, the lower the bar goes."
Richard blinked. "What happens when it hits zero?"
"You can't use your power," Manuel said plainly. "Eventually, you'll feel your mana without needing this, but for now, it helps me know my limits."
"I thought once you gain your power, you can use it whenever you want."
"That's not how power works. The stronger your ability, the more mana it consumes."
"How do you recover mana?"
"Rest," Manuel answered. "Meditation. It comes back slowly—faster for some than others."
Richard leaned in again. "Will you tell me your power? Please?"
"Maybe before I leave," Manuel said. "If you can beat me at least once… I'll show you."
"Deal!" Richard said, shaking his hand.
Quintin approached. "It's getting late. We'll continue tomorrow. Let your body recover."
Richard pointed at Manuel with determination. "Tomorrow is my day. I'm going to beat you."
"We'll see," Manuel laughed. "You have more sword skill than I do, you just haven't learned how to use it all correctly. You might beat me tomorrow… but I doubt it. Prove me wrong."
Richard pumped his fist and ran toward the manor.
Once he was gone, Quintin asked quietly, "What have you done?"
"He's obsessed with unlocking power," Manuel said. "So I gave him motivation."
"You've opened Pandora's box," Quintin sighed. "He'll push himself to the edge now. You should train more yourself."
Manuel smirked. "I can handle it. I'd like to see him master the sword before I return to the Order."
Later that evening, Richard ate quickly and headed to his chambers. When he pushed the door open, he froze. A large box with a bow sat waiting on his bed.
"I love surprises," he whispered, lifting the box. It was heavy.
Before he could open it, a familiar voice spoke.
"Before you look inside," his father said, entering the room with Richard's mother, "remember—it's not a toy."
Richard dropped the box, ran across the room, and threw his arms around his father. The man laughed and hugged him tightly.
"When did you get home?" Richard asked.
"A little while ago."
"You missed so much! I've gotten good with a sword, and I'm training with someone from the Order!"
"You've always trained with someone from the Order," his father said. "Everyone in this house has served. Quintin was a general once."
"Quintin?" Richard stared, imagining the old man in armor.
"He was famous in his time," his father continued. "A great many victories."
"Come watch me train tomorrow," Richard said. "I'm going to beat Manuel."
His father chuckled. "I love your fire."
His mother kissed his forehead. "Open your gift."
Richard quickly unwrapped the box. The moment he saw the weapon inside, he froze. His eyes widened.
"Is this really for me?"
"It's not a toy," his father repeated.
Richard lifted the sword. The metal gleamed, perfectly balanced, crafted with care. His family's name was etched into the hilt.
He gave a few slow swings. The blade cut cleanly through the air. It felt perfect.
"Thank you!" he said, unable to look away.
"Shield your blade," his father said.
Richard slid the weapon into its beautiful ivory sheath, then set it gently on the bed.
"It's a weapon, boy," his father laughed. "Not a crystal ornament. Respect it, but don't baby it."
Richard nodded.
"When I was your age," his father said, "before the Order took me, I felt just like you. I'm glad you love your gift. It cost a great deal."
"Thank you," Richard repeated.
"It's meant to keep you safe," his father said. "But you're still young. I don't want you using it for training yet. And there's one lesson you must understand before I let you carry it."
"What lesson?"
"You draw your weapon only if you're prepared to kill."
The room fell silent.
Richard had never truly thought about killing anyone. Training was about beating an opponent—never ending one.
"A sword is a weapon," his mother said. "And you're joining an army. Armies fight in real war."
"If it comes down to your life or your enemy's," his father said, "you strike them down. Do you understand?"
Richard swallowed. "I think I do."
"I don't think you do," his father answered. "You're almost seventeen. Soon the world will see you as a man. When we aren't there to protect you, this sword will be. You must be willing to defend your life."
Richard hesitated. "If my power was unlocked… maybe I wouldn't have to kill anyone."
"In battle," his mother said gently, "the most effective path to survival is often the deadliest."
"Draw your weapon only if you have the will to take a life," his father said again. "Do you understand?"
Richard breathed in slowly. "Okay. I understand."