The days blurred into a relentless cycle of training. My body, now an Apprentice-level Sword Knight, felt like a finely tuned machine, responding to Herald's commands with increasing precision. The D-tier techniques were ingrained in my muscle memory, flowing from me with an effortless grace that would have been unimaginable just weeks ago.
Herald's teaching methods remained brutal, but effective. He pushed me to my absolute limits, then pushed me further. He would often spar with me, using only a fraction of his power, yet still overwhelming me with his sheer skill and mastery. He would point out every flaw, every hesitation, every wasted movement.
"Your Mana Sheath is strong, Disciple," he stated one morning, after I had effortlessly sliced through a thick, reinforced target. "But it is still a conscious effort. It must become instinct. A part of your blade, not just an aura you project."
