Lord Alaric stood before his children, a training sword in his hand. In his grip, it seemed to hum with a latent, formidable power. He handed the training sword to Elias, then turned to Aina, who simply formed one from the metallic particles in the ground, practiced motion.
'Show off.' Elias thought as he inspected the sword in his hands.
The dawn air, cold and crisp, seemed to hold its breath.
"The art of the sword is more than just swinging a piece of steel," Alaric began, his voice low and serious, cutting through the silence of the yard.
"It is an extension of your will, your mind, and your Flow. In the world, there are four great sword styles, each forged to be a perfect complement to one of the four main Trait Classes. And just as there are four classes, so too are there four approaches to the blade."
He began to pace, the sound of his boots on the cobblestones the only break in the quiet. "The first is the 'Stellar Aegis Style'," he said, his hand moving in a slow, elegant arc.
"It is the style of the Cosmic Class, a discipline of defense and counter-attack. A swordsman of the Stellar Aegis Style does not seek to overwhelm their opponent, but to find the rhythm of the fight itself. You parry, you evade, you redirect your foe's momentum, and you wait for the perfect, infinitesimal moment to deliver a precise counter-strike. It is the style of balance, mirroring the ebb and flow of the universe."
He stopped, his eyes glinting with a fierce pride.
"Then there is the 'Devouring Edge Style', the style of the Existential Class. It is aggression made manifest. A practitioner of this style does not parry or feint; they attack, relentlessly, with overwhelming power. They seek not just to cut flesh, but to break their opponent's spirit and will. Every strike is a promise of destruction, a relentless assault meant to dismantle a person's fighting ability."
Alaric's expression shifted, a subtle, almost imperceptible change.
"The third is the 'Phantom Blade Style',the style of the Cognitive Class. This is the sword of trickery and illusion. It is a style of feints, misdirection, and impossible movements. The wielder's true power lies not in their blade, but in their ability to manipulate an opponent's perception of the fight. They are there and then they are not, forcing their foe to strike at empty air while their true attack is already on its way."
Finally, Alaric's eyes seemed to burn with a contained, focused intensity.
"And last is the 'Sunbreaker Style' , the style of the Soulfire Class. This is a style of unceasing, explosive attacks. It is a relentless barrage of strikes, each one a flash of strength meant to overwhelm an opponent's senses and defenses. The goal is to incinerate a foe's guard through sheer intensity and volume of attacks, leaving them no time to think or react."
He paused, letting the information sink in. "These are the four foundations. From them, countless variations and techniques have sprung. But a true warrior must master their foundation before they can build upon it."
"There are also levels of mastery," he continued, raising a finger.
"You are all 'Beginners' now, learning the fundamentals. Then comes the 'Intermediate' rank, where you have a solid grasp of your style. After that is the 'Elite' rank, a true warrior with refined technique. A swordsman who has mastered their style and can use it instinctively before reaching the level of a 'Master' , a rank where one can now teach his style and easily create their own styles and variations. A swordsman who has ascended beyond that, a living legend whose mastery is absolute, is a 'Grandmaster'. And at the very pinnacle, a rank so rare it has only been achieved a handful of times in our history, is the 'Monarch'—a swordsman whose skill can bend the very rules of combat."
Alaric's gaze returned to Elias, and a hint of a smile touched his lips.
"I am a formidable fighter, as you will soon learn. I am of the Cosmic Class, and a practitioner of the Stellar Aegis Style. Well I'm high up enough to teach you so what level do you think I am?" Alaric asked.
Aina raised her hand.
"Yes Aina?"
" You are most likely of the grandmaster class given that you have string control over your Flow and the fact that you are a high ranking noble."
Alaric scratched his cheek.
" I appreciate your confidence but I'm not really that high up. I'm ranked high enough to teach so that makes me a Master. No your right, confidence is key." He puffed out his chest a bit.
"Though I am only at the Saint stage, I would still consider myself quite a match for anyone in Aerthos."
Elias's mind reeled.
' Saint stage?'
He had always assumed his father, the revered head of House Dukker, would be at the Praetorian level, among the pinnacle of Flow-users of the current era. But his father was a Saint, an incredible feat for a noble, yet a stage still far below the very top. He had heard nobles were often stagnant in their advancement due to their administrative and political duties, but hearing it from his father himself was a different matter entirely. Elias wondered if his father's words were a sign of disappointment in himself, or if the nobles were simply not built for the higher stages of the Ladder of Ascension.
Alaric, as if reading his mind, chuckled. "What is it, son? Are you disappointed that your old man isn't some world-shaking Powerhouse?"
Elias stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"No, Father! It's just... I always thought..."
Alaric laughed heartily, cutting him off.
"It is not a secret, nor is it a weakness. It is a simple matter of love, really."
His laughter faded, and a fond, almost wistful expression crossed his face.
"The reason I am unable to progress past the Saint stage or the Master level is because of your mother. When the Mellou's agreed to let me marry her into our family, they had many conditions. One of them was that I had to agree to keep my stage of ascension lower than hers."
Aina, her face now a mixture of surprise and concern, bowed her head.
"I am sorry, Uncle," she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
"Nonsense, child," Alaric said, patting her on the head.
"You were not even born yet, so how could it be your fault?" He muttered under his breath, "If anything, I have a problem with your father."
Aina's head shot up. "Did you say something?"
"I didn't say anything," he said with a wink, the playful twinkle back in his eyes. Just then, a door opened at the far end of the yard, and Lady Elara stepped out. She was dressed in a simple, elegant gown, and her beautiful face was tired, though a gentle smile was on her lips. Alaric's expression softened completely, and he walked over to greet her, pulling her into a warm embrace.
"Just returned from the Northern District of our region, darling," she said, her voice as sweet and soothing as a spring breeze.
"The trade negotiations were a bit more difficult than I had anticipated."
"I am sorry you had to deal with that, I also know you don't like late night travels." Alaric said, his brow furrowed with concern.
She patted his cheek, a loving, reassuring gesture.
"It is no problem at all. I would do anything for my husband."
Elias watched them, a profound thought striking him. He watched his mother, a woman who acted so submissive and supportive, a perfect partner in every way, and realized the truth. His mother, the gentle, soft-spoken Lady Elara, was a being on a higher level of existence than his formidable father. The thought was staggering.
Elara pulled away, a hint of a blush on her cheeks.
"I'm going to freshen up and put together my report," she said.
" Rest first,you can put the report together once you are fully energized." She nodded and walked back towards the keep, her form disappearing into the shadows of the doorway. Alaric turned back to the training yard, his attention now focused on a man who had been standing patiently in the corner, a knight in the house's livery. It was Sir Eddie Gable, a man with a quiet, dignified demeanor who had been accompanying Lady Elara in her travels.
"I know you're tired Eddie ,but if you would," Alaric said, beckoning him over.
"It's best to be prepared for anything, so I am going to give my children a quick exhibition of what true swordsmanship looks like."
Sir Eddie bowed, his movements fluid and respectful, and walked to the center of the yard. He drew his sword, a blade that gleamed with the light of the morning sun, and took a ready stance. Alaric did the same, his training sword now held with a terrifying grace.
Elias watched, his mind racing with everything he had just learned, a new, nervous energy coursing through him. The first lesson was about to begin.