The manor had grown unnaturally orderly overnight. Servants no longer whispered in idle corners; their footsteps were hushed, their eyes carefully lowered whenever the young master ryouma or lady akane passed. It was not discipline born of training - but of fear. A single glance from Ryouma was enough to silence conversations that had not even begun.
Yet within this heavy quiet, rumors still crawled. Not spoken aloud, but carried in the shifting of eyes, the stiffness of shoulders, the way the guards held their breath when he walked by. Something had changed. The boy was no longer the boy they thought they knew.
The mansion itself felt different, as if its walls strained to hold something far greater than a child within. And those who lived inside knew - though none dared to speak - that the silence surrounding Ryouma was not his. It was theirs.
Ryouma, however, seemed unbothered. Seated cross-legged on the polished floor of his chamber, eyes half-lidded, he traced the current of mana coursing through his veins. Each pulse from his core resonated with the rhythm of his heartbeat - steady, sharp, disciplined. At last. Stage One has settled…...peak. He exhaled slowly, a whisper barely escaping his lips. But I must not rush…..
His gaze lifted, lingering on the walls that encased him. They fear me already. Good. But fear alone is fragile. If another hand reaches for them, if another power whispers in their ears…... their loyalty will waver. I must root them deeper, before the world realizes what I am.
A sudden break in the silence drew his attention. Light, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor- Hana's. Yui followed close behind, careful yet dutiful, balancing a tray in her hands. Their voices, soft and tinged with worry, slipped through the heavy air.
"Young Master….. you skipped your morning meal again," Hana said, her tone more pleading than reprimanding.
For a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered in Ryouma's eyes. His lips curved faintly - neither a smile nor a warning, but something caught in between.
"Then stay," he said quietly. "Share it with me. A meal is wasted if eaten alone."
The words were simple, almost childlike. Yet as they settled in the room, both maids found themselves momentarily frozen, struck not by warmth but by the quiet authority woven within the kindness. It was a command disguised as care - one they could neither refuse nor ignore.
Breakfast finished. The simple meal barely stirred his appetite.
Ryouma's eyes, normally calm and unreadable, flickered with a rare spark of calculation.
The body…... weak.
No matter how strong the mana core, without a vessel capable of wielding it, progress would stall.
He rose from the floor, brushing a stray petal from his sleeve. Each movement precise, deliberate. Today marked a new beginning - not of spells or threats, but of flesh and sinew.
The mana core's power was formidable, yes. But raw strength, endurance, and control over his own limbs were lacking. Without that foundation, even the smallest obstacle could prove fatal.
Step by step, his thoughts raced ahead. Stage One mana stabilized. Core energy flowing evenly. Yet the body…... fragile, untested. Swordsmanship, endurance, agility - all basic yet essential. I must forge them before venturing further.
The doors opened silently behind him. He stepped into the corridor. His own footsteps echoed softly against the stone walls.
Servants paused in the distance, sensing his movement. Heads bowed instinctively. The air carried the residual tension of yesterday - but Ryouma paid them no mind. His focus was singular: the training ground.
Each step measured, a silent cadence matching the pulse of his core. His mind cataloged every weakness, every tremor in his limbs, planning a regimen to shape him into a weapon as flawless as it was lethal.
Outside, the courtyard awaited. Sunlight gleamed off polished wooden dummies and neatly arranged swords. The space was one of discipline, a crucible where warriors were forged.
Today, he would enter it not as a child playing with toys, but as a warrior of combat - the first step in mastering the vessel capable of holding his power.
A quiet breeze carried the scent of gardens, mingling with the faint tang of metal. Peaceful…...almost serene. Yet beneath it simmered the latent danger of a young master intent on reshaping himself.
Ryouma's eyes narrowed. The body must obey before the mind commands. Weakness is a liability. Pain is the tutor. And I…...will not fail.
At the edge of the courtyard, his small frame cast a long shadow across the stone. The training ground welcomed him like a silent judge.
Each stride forward was a promise. Trials awaited- and he would face them without hesitation.
Ryouma stepped fully into the training ground.
His eyes scanned every inch of the space. Open areas for running, marked dueling zones, and rows of wooden dummies lined meticulously for sword practice. Wooden swords rested nearby, worn smooth from countless strikes. The air carried faint scents of polished wood, metal, and the subtle sweat of soldiers already training.
He paused, taking it all in. Every section had a purpose: endurance, precision, form. His gaze flicked to the soldiers, who froze mid-strike, whispering among themselves.
"Why…...why is Young Master here?" one murmured.
"His body…..how is he supposed to keep up?" another asked, disbelief in his tone.
Ryouma heard them perfectly, though they thought him too distant to notice. A faint smile touched his lips - amusement tinged with calculated composure. They doubt rightly. The body is small, weak - but temporary. Observation alone will not save them from underestimating me.
He moved slowly, deliberately, towards a clear stretch of ground. Open space for running. The dummy row…..perfect for sword precision.
The soldiers stepped aside instinctively, respect or fear holding them back. Curiosity burned in their eyes. A mere child, scarcely seven, surveying the training ground like a seasoned warrior. The contradiction was sharp.
They doubt the vessel. Strength is built, not born. Speed, endurance, swordsmanship - forms to discipline the body. Mana alone is not enough. Once the body obeys, power follows.
He took careful steps, feeling the weight of his limbs and the pull of his mana core. It hummed faintly beneath his robes - a quiet reminder of the potential within.
First, the basics. Run. Strengthen. Form. Only then….. the next stage.
His eyes settled on the running stretch. He drew a deep breath, morning air filling his lungs, and crouched slightly, tension coiling in his legs. I will begin here. Small steps. Precise movements. Endurance first.
As he started forward, each stride deliberate and measured, soldiers watched, awe and skepticism intertwined. A child - so small, so fragile - moving with intent far beyond his years.
Let them doubt. Let them watch. Let them witness the beginning of what they cannot yet comprehend.
The soldier who had been warned by ryouma stood quietly at the edge of the training ground, watching every movement. His eyes followed Ryouma's small frame as it moved with deliberate precision.
Legs pumped steadily, muscles taut beneath the morning sun. Each step, each bend, each careful shift of posture carried intent. Fragile as the boy seemed, every motion whispered: I am aware. I am deliberate. I am growing stronger.
From a distance, the soldier could feel it - the weight of purpose behind each stride. No childish recklessness, no impulsive haste. Only control, focus, and a raw, awakening power.
A faint nod escaped him. This..… this child is no ordinary master. Years of service, experience with countless young lords and prodigies, had never revealed someone who could wield presence, awareness, and strength in perfect harmony at such a tender age.
Ryouma moved to a row of wooden dummies. His fingers brushed the swords on the rack, checking their smoothness, the alignment, the grip. A subtle smile flickered across his lips.
He picked up a wooden sword. Small arms swung with meticulous timing, striking the dummy not with force, but with exact precision. Each hit taught his body coordination, rhythm, and control.
The soldier felt a cold certainty settle in his chest. To challenge him would be futile. To protect him….. I am already too late. His strength surpasses what I can comprehend.
Every movement spoke of discipline. The stance, the weight distribution, the flex of his fingers - everything honed to exactness. A mere child was building muscle, endurance, and skill with a purpose that overshadowed seasoned warriors.
And yet, Ryouma's demeanor remained calm, controlled, almost elegant. No rush. No panic. No brashness. Only focus.
The soldier's earlier doubts - those tiny thorns of suspicion - vanished. Replaced now by respect, caution, and the undeniable truth: the child before him was a force unto himself.
The soldier exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from his shoulders.
Every lingering doubt, every fleeting thought of defiance or questioning, vanished like mist under the morning sun. I will serve him faithfully.
No hesitation. No mistake in judgment. No wavering obedience. This….. this was no ordinary child to challenge. Only a fool would dare.
He watched silently as Ryouma moved with measured steps across the training ground. Each motion deliberate, each glance calculated, every breath aligned with the pulse of his mana core.
Even in the quiet, the air seemed heavier around the boy, as if the manor itself acknowledged his presence. The soldier understood now: what he was witnessing was not the growth of a child, but the forging of a master unlike any other.
With steady eyes, he followed every stride, every swing, every calculated movement. The realization settled deep in his chest: Ryouma was destined for something far greater than any ordinary master could hope to become.
And in that silent morning, the soldier knew—he was witnessing the birth of a force that would one day reshape the world around him.
Ryouma's small body ached. After a long stretch of running and practicing sword swings against the wooden dummies, fatigue crept into his legs, his arms trembled, and even his steady breaths reminded him that a young master needed pause.
He stepped into the shade of a large tree at the edge of the training ground. The breeze brushed against him, a cool relief from the morning sun. His eyes scanned the field, noting the movements of soldiers continuing their drills- unaware of the sharp focus and quiet intensity radiating from the boy beneath the tree.
From a distance, murmurs spread among the soldiers, low and cautious.
"Is that…..really the Young Master?" one whispered, eyes wide.
"How can a child….. endure like that?" another muttered, disbelief coloring the words.
The soldier who had been warned earlier approached cautiously, head bowed. His steps were deliberate, careful- aware that he faced more than just a child. He faced someone who commanded reverence, even fear.
"Pardon…..Young Master, may I offer water?" the soldier asked, voice low, threaded with awe.
Ryouma's gaze softened, recognizing him immediately. The memory of the telepathic warning resurfaced - the invisible weight, the understanding that the boy was no ordinary master. A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips.
"You…..are the one I warned," Ryouma murmured, calm, measured, yet carrying that unyielding authority. "You remember well."
The soldier's throat tightened, but he nodded without hesitation. "Yes, Young Master." His hands remained steady as he offered the cup of water, respect and awe clearly etched into his posture.
Ryouma accepted it with a small, deliberate movement, lifting it to his lips. Even in this simple act, the weight of his presence pressed subtly against the field. Soldiers continued their drills, but every so often, eyes flicked toward him- whispering quietly about the child who was anything but ordinary.
He drank slowly, savoring the moment of calm. Around him, the world moved, yet his mind was already calculating the next stage of training. And the soldier who had received his warning? His loyalty was cemented now - born of awe, respect, and the quiet understanding of the lethal force that was Young Master Ryouma.
Ryouma sipped the water slowly, feeling the cool liquid slide down his throat. The brief respite beneath the tree offered a moment of clarity, but the training ground hummed with quiet tension. Even the wind seemed to pause, aware of the silent presence he carried.
Footsteps shifted with measured precision. The soldier who had been warned earlier approached, head lowered in respect. Every step deliberate, every motion disciplined. Ryouma's eyes lifted to meet him - curious, cautious, calculating.
"Young Master," the soldier began, voice steady, weighted with sincerity, "I am Toshi Takahashi. I….. wish to dedicate my life as your loyal subordinate. I will serve faithfully, for as long as I live. Please…..accept me."
The words hung in the air, deliberate, unwavering. Ryouma's gaze sharpened, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his face. He had not expected such forthright devotion -from a soldier of skill, discipline, and reputation.
Toshi Takahashi was elite, capable of feats even seasoned guards could scarcely match. Yet here he was, offering himself completely - not out of fear, but from respect and loyalty.
Ryouma's lips curved into a faint, measured smile, testing the truth behind the words.
"Well, well, well..…" he said softly, letting each word linger. "You carry hope..… and a will strong enough to back it. Very well, Toshi Takahashi. I accept your loyalty. But remember- obedience alone does not guarantee survival. You must prove your worth at every step. Never mistake devotion for weakness."
Toshi's eyes burned with determination, unwavering beneath the piercing gaze of the young master. "Understood, Young Master. I will serve with all my strength and skill. I will not fail you."
For a brief heartbeat, Ryouma's eyes softened, a trace of approval shining through the cold precision. Then it receded, leaving the poised, calculating boy once more. A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips - a smile that promised opportunity and challenge to anyone walking beside him.
The wind rustled through the training ground, carrying away the last remnants of tension but leaving an invisible bond forged in respect, understanding, and the acknowledgment of power yet untested.
Ryouma set the cup down with careful precision. "Good. Let us begin the next stage of training. Stand ready, Toshi. I expect nothing less than your best."
Toshi bowed deeply. Around them, soldiers continued their drills, awe-struck and silent. It was clear to all who watched: this child was no ordinary master, and the bond just formed with one of his elite subordinates would shape the course of events to come.