The morning sun had just begun to cast a golden glow across the training grounds of the Vlorians, the light falling softly upon the neatly kept field, flanked by rows of stone markers from past training exercises. Kaien Vlorian, now eight years old, stood at the edge of the field, his small hands tightly gripping the hilt of a wooden sword. He was dressed in a simple training sleeve, his tunic slightly worn from practice, yet his deep blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and determination.
Before him stood a man who exuded an aura so overwhelming that even Kaien, who had grown up surrounded by strength and noble prowess, felt a tremor of awe. This man was Master Kael Tharion, a renowned swordmaster of unparalleled skill, hired by Kaien's parents to mentor him. His black hair fell in smooth waves over broad shoulders, and his piercing gray eyes seemed to see through everything—the boy, the field, even the future Kaien had yet to carve. Despite his calm, almost casual stance, his presence radiated discipline, centuries of experience, and the subtle hum of latent power.
Kaien's father, Luca Vlorian, had first met Master Kael in the morning hall of their estate. The discussion had been precise and professional.
"My son is eager to learn," Luca had said, adjusting his robe nervously as if aware that words alone could not convey Kaien's potential. "But he is still young, and his rank is E. Will he be able to handle your… intensity?"
Master Kael's expression was calm, almost amused. "An E rank, yes, but the path of the blade is not determined by rank alone. Potential, discipline, and perseverance matter more than the labels that others give. Two years under my tutelage, and he will not only understand the blade, he will command it as if it were an extension of himself. I require his parents' cooperation—his time, his discipline, and their consent that I may push him beyond the limits they deem safe."
Eren Vlorian nodded, her soft voice laced with pride. "We trust you, Master Kael. Kaien is a strong-willed child; he learns quickly. But we understand your methods may be harsh."
Master Kael's lips curled in a faint smirk. "Harshness is a tool. The blade does not reward hesitation. If he is to survive the outside world, he must understand this truth now, while he is young. I will begin his training tomorrow, at sunrise. He must report directly to me at the northern training field."
The next morning, Kaien approached the field with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Master Kael stood at the center, wooden sword in hand, observing the boy as if measuring the weight of his very soul. Kaien's heart beat faster. He had seen swordsmen before, but never one whose aura alone seemed to cut through the air like a blade.
Kael's voice rang clear, firm yet carrying an underlying curiosity. "Kaien, tell me… what is a blade to you?"
Kaien thought for a moment, clutching the wooden sword as though its simple weight carried the answer. "A blade… is a tool to protect oneself," he replied confidently, though his voice trembled slightly.
Master Kael's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head slowly. "No. A blade is not merely a tool. A blade is an extension of your soul. It is a part of you, intertwined with your body, your thoughts, your very essence. To wield a sword is not to strike at your enemy—it is to channel your being through steel, to make it speak, move, and breathe with you. Only then can the sword reach its full potential."
Kaien's eyes widened, absorbing every word. The weight of his master's philosophy settled upon him like a heavy cloak, both daunting and exhilarating. Before the boy could respond, Kael lifted his own sword, a simple wooden training blade, yet in his hands it seemed alive.
"Watch," Kael instructed. His stance shifted, a fluid grace that seemed to defy gravity itself. He infused his mana into the blade, weaving a dense aura around it that glimmered faintly. "First, the Day Strike—First Form."
With a smooth, almost invisible motion, Kael thrust the sword at a nearby boulder. The air seemed to twist around it, the blade moving with impossible speed. The sword pierced the rock silently, leaving a deep crack running through its surface before splitting it into smaller shards. Kaien's mouth fell open. The simplicity of the demonstration belied the sheer precision and control it required.
"Next," Kael continued, the faintest smirk crossing his lips, "the Dark Night Strike—Second Form." His sword's aura darkened, black strands of mana writhing like living shadows. With a sudden downward strike, the blade seemed to cut through the very light, leaving a jagged fracture in the boulder. The impact was precise, deadly, and elegant, leaving Kaien's heart pounding with awe.
"Do not worry," Kael said, noticing the boy's stunned expression. "You will grasp these techniques. Not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but in time, you will make them your own."
Then the real test began. Kael led Kaien to a massive boulder at the far end of the training field. He handed him a wooden sword, its surface worn from use.
"Pierce this boulder," Kael commanded. "You fail, you run 200 laps around the field and fetch water from the mountain stairways. Understand?"
Kaien's eyes widened. "Wha… what? I can't—how can I pierce a rock with a wooden sword?"
Kael ignored the protest, simply demonstrating once more. He infused his mana into the sword, the air itself bending with the energy, the strings of mana channeling through his body into the weapon, striking the boulder with silent, devastating precision. The rock cracked, small shards tumbling to the ground.
Kaien swallowed hard, his tiny hands trembling as he gripped the wooden sword. The first thrust barely grazed the rock, leaving an almost imperceptible scratch. Exhaustion immediately set in; he ran the 200 laps, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow. The mountain stairway awaited for the water fetch, the weight of the bucket crushing against his young arms.
By the tenth attempt, Kaien was panting heavily, cursing silently in his mind. "Blast it… why is this so impossible?! Wooden swords are useless! Rocks are unbreakable! Why did they send me to this… madness?!" He ground his teeth, glaring at the boulder. "I hate you, Kael… you monstrous—!"
Then he paused. He recalled the fluid motion, the elegance, the perfect aura control of his master. The Day Strike, the Dark Night Strike… the precision, the confidence, the power. Kaien's frustration slowly shifted into admiration and determination. If his master could do it, he could too. One day.
He dropped to his knees, placing the wooden sword before him. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, sensing the environment, feeling the density of the mana around him. He allowed it to flow into his body, processing it, channeling it into the wooden sword, mimicking the aura threads he had seen earlier.
He thrust. Not as fast, not as precise, but the tip of the wooden sword sank into the boulder, leaving a shallow crack. He exhaled, disappointment coloring his features, yet satisfaction flickered in his chest. Progress. He had moved forward.
Kael clapped once, the sound echoing through the field. "That is progress. Potential. Well done."
Kaien looked up, relief and joy washing over him. "Hehe… thanks, Master Kael."
Kael approached, rubbing the back of Kaien's neck gently—a rare gesture of encouragement. "Do not be complacent. Tomorrow, we continue. Your limits are far beyond what you realize."
Kaien nodded, gripping the sword tightly, feeling both exhaustion and exhilaration. He left the field with a slow, steady pace, knowing that the road ahead would be merciless—but necessary.
Once the boy was out of sight, Kael's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He had seen the determination, the adaptability, the raw potential. "Within a day," he murmured quietly, "he has replicated even a fraction of the technique I demonstrated. Not even months… yet he understands the principle. This child… he is extraordinary. I will enjoy witnessing his growth."
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field, Kaien rested under a tree, the wooden sword lying beside him. Despite the aches in his muscles, despite the endless repetitions, despite the frustration and curses that had echoed through his mind, a small smile formed. One day, he would command the blade. One day, he would move like Master Kael. And nothing—not exhaustion, not failure—would stop him.