A week had passed since I began training. Just one week—yet that was all it took for me to completely master the first three forms of the sword art.
The movements that once demanded focus and precision now flowed like instinct. I no longer needed to think about stances or breathing—just a single thought, and my body responded.
During this time, the commander hadn't come to check on me even once. But now, it was time to show him my progress.
Earlier today, I went to his office and asked him to come to the training ground. I half-expected him to question me, maybe even scold me for arrogance—but to my surprise, he simply agreed without pressing further.
And now, here I stood in the center of the training ground, waiting.
The heavy doors creaked open, and right on time, Commander Arvel stepped in.
He walked toward me with calm, unhurried steps, as if nothing in the world could disturb his composure. When he reached me, his gaze was steady, unreadable.
"So," he said, voice plain yet carrying weight, "what is it you want to show me, Kael?"
I met his eyes for a moment before nodding. Without answering, I turned to the side, gripping the sword I had picked up earlier. The weight felt natural now, almost as if it belonged to me.
A slow breath. My body tensed, then released.
With a single motion, I drew the blade through the air.
Iron Tempest Sword Art — First Form: Steel Gale Slash.
A purple arc of aura surged from the blade, cutting across the training ground and slamming into the far wall. The ground trembled faintly.
But I didn't stop.
Horizontal, vertical slashes poured out of me one after another, arcs of aura slicing through the air in relentless rhythm. I wasn't consciously pushing aura into the blade anymore. It flowed naturally, instinctively, as if my body had finally remembered something long forgotten.
My stance shifted.
Second Form: Iron Breaker Thrust.
The sword lunged forward, and a beam of condensed aura roared out, tearing through the air like a spear of light.
Still, I pressed on. My grip tightened, my breathing steady, as I spun the blade around me.
Third Form: Raging Tempest Guard.
The air howled. Aura revolved in a storm around my body, forming a fortress of spinning blades. The tempest held steady, unyielding for what felt like an eternity. A minute passed, and then, slowly, I let the storm fade.
The training ground fell silent again, save for the faint hum of dissipating energy. I lowered my sword, chest rising and falling, sweat beading on my forehead.
Kael looked toward the commander, but the man's face remained composed, betraying not a single flicker of emotion. It was as if what Kael had just shown meant nothing as if he had expected it all along.
But what Kael didn't know was that, inside, the commander's mind had short-circuited.
When Kael first asked him to come to the training grounds, he thought the boy would ask for guidance. At most, perhaps, he expected Kael to display a small improvement in the first form. Yet now… Kael had flawlessly demonstrated the first three forms of the commander's own sword art.
And he had done it in just a week.
The commander couldn't even comprehend it. That sword art his life's pride had taken him years of relentless training, countless failures, blood, and sweat to forge into mastery. For Kael to grasp it so quickly was nothing short of monstrous.
A four-star technique was not something that could be mastered by sheer effort alone. No one could achieve such a feat not in the commander's experience, nor in the tales he had heard.
Kael's talent had always been unusual, but this… this was beyond talent. It was as if a monster had been sleeping inside him all along, hidden beneath the shadow of his low potential. And now that his potential had changed, the monster was beginning to bare its fangs.
The commander shook away his wandering thoughts and fixed his gaze on Kael once more.
The boy had already mastered the first three forms of the sword art. The commander knew what Kael was after; he was eager, hungry, wanting to step into the next form.
But it was too soon.
Kael had monstrous talent, that much was undeniable. Yet there was one thing he lacked experience. What use was raw talent if the wielder didn't know how to temper it? Against someone with lower potential but greater battlefield experience, Kael would surely fall.
That was why the commander made his decision.
It was time.
The next stage of training would begin not in a few months as he had planned, but now.
The commander's gaze locked onto me, sharp as a blade.
"You did well, Kael," he said, voice calm yet firm. "To master the first three forms in just a week… that is no small feat."
His words struck me like a hammer. Praise—real praise from him. Before I could breathe it in, he continued, his tone heavier.
"You have talent, Kael. Greater than most I have ever seen. And now… we must sharpen that talent until it blooms."
I swallowed, unsure what he meant, but nodded. Then, without warning, his figure blurred.
Vwoom.
One moment he stood before me, the next he was across the training hall, where weapons lay neatly arranged. My eyes barely followed his afterimage before he reappeared right in front of me sword in hand. His speed was monstrous, almost like teleportation.
A chill crawled down my spine.
The commander lifted his blade, his expression calm yet unreadable.
"Now we spar, Kael."
My eyes widened. Spar? With him? He was an S+ rank Awakened, a man whose very presence pressed on my chest like a mountain. And me? A mere D- rank insect in comparison. The gap was so vast it was laughable.
One swing no, one gesture would be enough to crush me. My body screamed that this was suicide.
As if he read the panic racing through my mind, the commander's lips curved in the faintest shadow of a smile.
"Do not worry. I will not use my full strength. I will limit myself."
His aura flared, the air trembling as if the hall itself feared him.
"The reason is simple experience. And Kael…"
His voice lowered, grave, unshakable.
"Fight me with everything you have. Hold nothing back. Come at me as if you mean to kill me."
Fight him with intent to kill? More like intent to be killed.
That was the only joke running in my head when Commander said those words. Kill him? As if. I'd be lucky to survive a single exchange.
Still… he wasn't going to kill me. Right?
He stood calmly in front of me, sword dangling at his side, no guard up, no stance just pure composure. Yet even like that, sweat ran down my back. My hands shook before the fight even began.
No use overthinking. I had to move.
I raised my sword, forcing air into my lungs, and charged. With all the speed I had, I slashed at his neck—
Clang.
The sword that had been dangling just a heartbeat ago was suddenly in front of his body, catching my strike like it was nothing. Not even a ripple of effort.
Of course I wasn't surprised. There was no way I could touch him.
I sidestepped and swung for his ribs. Blocked again. I tried his shoulder. His leg. His throat. Again and again, I attacked, desperate, my blade flashing in every angle I could think of.
And every single time, his sword was there, waiting. Effortless. Immoveable.
My breath grew ragged, my grip trembling. Sweat poured down my temples.
Commander? He hadn't even moved from the spot he'd started in.
"Is that all, Kael?" the commander's calm voice cut through the tension. His tone never changed calm, collected, as if this was nothing more than a warm-up.
"Now it's my turn," he said.
And then he vanished.
I couldn't see him. Couldn't sense him. It was as if he'd disappeared from existence itself.
A chill shot down my spine. Every instinct screamed at me behind you. Death was closing in.
I poured every ounce of aura into my legs and threw myself sideways.
Swish—
The next instant, a deafening BOOM erupted where I had been standing. The ground cracked and shook as the commander's blade tore into the earth. Dust and fragments flew upward.
If that sword had touched me… it wouldn't just be broken bones. I would've been split in half.
"Good instinct," the commander said, almost like a teacher giving casual feedback.
And then he was gone again.
This time, he appeared in front of me. His sword came down in a clean arc, too fast to dodge.
I raised my blade and coated it with aura, meeting his strike head-on.
Clang!
The impact jolted through me, my arms trembling violently. My grip nearly shattered, and pain raced up to my shoulders.
He wasn't even using aura. Yet the sheer force of his strike overwhelmed me. If not for the thin veil of aura protecting my body, I would've already been crushed.