Kale was inside the same room as before except this time he was alone with Mr. Daniel as part of his training.
He stood inside, sweat already trickling down his temple though they had barely begun.
His sword felt heavier than it had yesterday, as though the weight of Mr. Daniel's words had settled into the steel.
Mr. Daniel circled him slowly, his steps measured, his single eye unreadable. "Grip."
Kale tightened his fingers around the hilt.
"Too stiff." Mr. Daniel tapped the blade with his own, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"Loosen your wrist. A rigid hand will break before the blade does."
His eye darkened. "A broken hand is equivalent to death."
Kale adjusted. The sword wobbled in his hands.
"Better," Daniel said, though his tone carried no praise. Only acknowledgement.
Then he struck with a simple downward slash that was controlled, deliberate, but with enough force that Kale barely lifted his guard in time.
The impact rattled his bones, yet Daniel was already moving again.
"Your stance collapses with every block," Daniel said, stepping past Kale as if the boy were made of air.
"You lean back when you should step forward. The sword is not a shield to hide behind, but your lifeline. Use it or die."
Kale gritted his teeth and swung. The motion was wild, fueled by frustration more than technique.
Mr. Daniel's blade slid against it and flicked it aside effortlessly, the clash let out a ring.
"You think the sword is a burden," Mr. Daniel said, closing the distance.
His blade hovered at Kale's neck, then lowered. "Stop thinking, just move."
They went again. And again. Every exchange ended with Kale staggering, his footing breaking, his strikes parried with the ease of swatting flies.
His breath became ragged, his arms trembled, and his shoulders and eyes burned.
The former from stress and the latter from sweat.
Yet each time Daniel corrected him not with comfort, but with direct words and cold steel.
Finally, when Kale's legs nearly gave out, Mr. Daniel stopped.
His blade dissipated into a black gas that dissipated in an instant.
"You are clumsy," he said, echoing in the empty room.
"But clumsy can be corrected. What matters is that you raise the sword every time it falls. That is the difference between dying with it and living through it."
Kale bent forward, gasping, sweat dripping onto the floor. His sword shook in his hands, but he refused to let it drop.
Mr. Daniel's single eye glinted. "Good. Come back later, and we will begin footwork. If you cannot stand, you cannot fight."
As Kale staggered out of the room, he caught Ming watching him from the hall, her knives were spinning idly in her hands.
Ian leaned on his hammer beside her with a blank look on his face.
The two just stared at him as he walked out.
"I guess you have started learning properly." A small smile tugged on Ming's lips.
He looked at his slightly swollen wrists. What he was doing was difficult and painful but he wasn't about to quit.
Heading to his room, he made light conversation with both of them until he got to his door.
"Aren't you going to invite us in?" Ian was direct.
Kale shifted uncomfortably, "Umm… sure? Yeah, I guess." He pressed his watch on the door and opened it.
The three entered, and Kale lay on his bed. He didn't care that he was sweaty, he just needed to rest.
"I still need to go back for another lesson." He groaned.
"So this is your battle suit?" Ming muttered as she stared at the capsule in his room.
Kale, on the other hand, didn't hear her as a light snore left him. He was fast asleep.
_______
"Kale. Kale. KALE!!!!" Kale stumbled out of bed and fell on the floor.
Ming and Ian stared at him. "You said that you had another lesson to attend."
He looked at Ian and nodded.
"Yeah, sorry." Kale chuckled before heading back to the class, leaving Ming and Ian alone in his room.
He stopped in front of the class door. His eyes steeled as he turned the handle and entered.
Mr. Daniel weaved another sword into existence and began his training as soon as Kale picked up his sword.
"Earlier, you gripped the sword like a dying man," Daniel said, pacing in a slow circle.
His eyepatch glinted beneath the ceiling lights. "Now, we fix your feet. Without them, your sword is already lost."
Kale tightened his grip on the sword. He didn't understand why he was being taught to use a sword with an actual sword.
A slight mistake would leave him seriously injured or even dead but when he had asked, all he had gotten as a reply was:
'Using a real sword creates fear of error, thus eliminating unnecessary and avoidable mistakes.'
"Your arms carry the blade," Daniel said, planting his own sword into the ground and snapping him back to the present.
"But your feet decide whether you live or die."
Before Kale could ask, the ground beneath him rippled and shifted.
Blocks of uneven stone appeared across the room floor. All of them were jagged, unstable platforms with barely enough space for a stance.
Kale stared at the stones in shock at what had just happened.
"Stand on them," Daniel ordered.
Kale frowned. "That's-"
"Stand."
He obeyed, stepping onto the first block and his legs wobbled instantly.
The stone felt slippery even though it wasn't. He raised the sword, trying to center himself, but the platform tilted under his weight.
Daniel stepped lightly onto another block as if it were solid ground and his balance never faltered.
"Those beasts will never fight you on a flat earth," he said.
"Mud, rubble, blood-soaked grass. It won't wait for you to plant your feet and trust me, tarred roads aren't a common terrain."
He lunged without warning.
Kale yelped, barely swinging his wooden blade up in time.
The clash sent him stumbling, and his foot slid off the block. He hit the floor hard, back-first.
"Up." Daniel's voice carried no sympathy.
Kale forced himself up, cheeks burning, sweat already stinging his eyes again. He climbed back onto the block.
Again, Daniel's strike came. Again, Kale fell.
It repeated, over and over. Kale's knees scraped, his breath turned ragged, and his arms trembled from catching blow after blow. His balance betrayed him every time.
At last, Daniel halted. He rested his sword against his shoulder and stared at Kale, who lay on the floor, gasping.
"You think of balance as standing still," Daniel said. "Wrong. Balance is motion. Stone may stand, but water never falls."
He tapped his blade against one of the blocks.
"Flow. Shift your weight like it's already moving to the next step. Stop clinging to the ground."
Kale forced himself up again.
His legs shook, but this time he shifted his weight before Daniel struck.
When the blow came, he didn't hold still. Instead, he slid, letting his feet adjust mid-motion.
The block wobbled, but Kale didn't fall.
Daniel's strike stopped inches from his cheek. For the first time, his lips curled into the faintest smile.
"Better."
Kale panted, drenched in sweat, but a spark lit in his chest.
He hadn't won. He hadn't even lasted long. But he hadn't fallen. Not this time.