The sun had just breached the eastern horizon, but the mist still clung stubbornly to the gaps between the giant roots that gripped the earth.
Beneath the treehouse, Bebegig's silhouette stood tall, a wooden sword resting on his shoulder, radiating an aura as calm as marble.
The morning silence was shattered by his sharp shout.
"You foolish boy! Get up now, or this sword will wake you in the next life!"
Up above, inside his treehouse, Rian jolted awake. The threat crept into his half-asleep consciousness, sending a cold jolt of adrenaline through him.
"Whoa, he could actually kill me," he muttered, leaping from his straw bed.
Without a second thought, he shot to the window and jumped. He channeled a bit of wind magic to the soles of his feet, slowing his descent until he landed perfectly before his master, kicking up only a faint puff of dust.
"I'm ready, Gramps," he said, out of breath and his face slightly pale with fear.
"You little…" Bebegig grumbled, his tone sharp, but his eyes couldn't hide a flash of amusement. "How can you inherit my knowledge if you can't even wake up on time?"
WHACK!
The wooden sword landed on Rian's head, leaving a throbbing lump.
"Oww! Sorry, Gramps. I was having a great dream about being a hero, so I didn't feel like waking up, hehe," Rian said with a goofy grin, ignoring the pain for the sweet memory of his dream.
"That foolish dream of yours will never come true if you're a slacker," Bebegig lectured, pointing to a wooden sword leaning against a tree. "Take your sword. We're starting the training."
Bebegig took his stance, his footing firmly rooted to the ground. He swung his sword straight down from above, a simple movement that pivoted at his waist. Yet, each swing created a powerful gust of wind that sent dry leaves scattering and startled a flock of birds from the branches. The wind wasn't dangerous, but its force was palpable.
"Do this warm-up a thousand times. Call me when you're done. I'll be watching you from above," he said, pointing to the treehouse. "If you're short even one swing, I'll stop teaching you."
Rian swallowed hard at the demonstration.
"Did you use wind magic, Gramps?" he asked, amazed.
"No. I simply channeled a bit of mana through the muscles in my arm, then swung with all my might. Every swing infused with stable mana will produce an effect like this," Bebegig explained, repeating the motion once more.
"If I were to use wind magic, it would look like this."
Instantly, the blade of Bebegig's wooden sword was enveloped in a bright green light. The air around him grew cool, and a gentle whirlwind formed at his feet. He slashed with the same motion, but this time, a crescent-shaped blade of wind shot from the tip of his sword. The blade flew silently, striking a large tree across the field.
There was a moment of silence before the giant tree toppled with a cracking groan, cleanly severed by a smooth, slanted cut.
"That was a swing infused with wind magic," Bebegig stated flatly.
Rian gaped, his eyes fixed on the power he had just witnessed.
"Whoaaa…"
"I'll teach you that after you're able to defeat me," Bebegig promised.
"How am I supposed to defeat you?" Rian complained, feeling hopeless.
"Just do as I instructed," Bebegig replied, turning and walking toward the treehouse.
"Okay, fine," Rian muttered to himself, a little cocky. "I'll just do what he wants. Besides, I can already use blue fire magic."
After a thousand swings that drained his energy, Rian collapsed on the ground, drenched in sweat. Soon after, Bebegig came down to meet him.
"A thousand times, Gramps," Rian reported.
Bebegig stood in the middle of the field.
"Now, try to defeat me. Use all the swordsmanship you know, without magic. There's only one condition: if your sword so much as touches my skin, I'll consider it your victory."
Rian's eyes lit up.
"Ah, if that's all, it'll be easy!"
He got up and approached Bebegig, who had already taken his stance.
"When do we start?"
"Attack," Bebegig said firmly.
Enthusiastically, Rian charged. He swung his sword brutally—right, left, up, down, a series of wild, random thrusts. But not a single one of his attacks touched Bebegig. The master moved like a shadow, dodging with minimal movement. Then, with a single swift counterattack, Rian was sent flying several meters and fell in a heap.
"Weak. Slow. Your attacks are easy to read," Bebegig said, his voice cold. "Strengthen the mana flow to your arm and swing with all your strength. Predict my movements and aim your sword according to your prediction. Do that until you hit me. Get up and do it again."
"Yes, sir!"
Rian got up and attacked again, this time with more focus. But the result was the same.
"Keep your breathing stable!" Bebegig reprimanded. "Focus the mana flow to your arm like we practiced. If you've forgotten, we'll start over from scratch."
"Yeah, yeah, I remember! You're such a nag. Let's go again!"
The battle continued. Rian failed, fell, and got back up again and again. His head was covered in lumps, his arms were scratched, and his palms stung. Strangely, though his body screamed in pain, his spirit never wavered.
"Again!" he shouted after being thrown back. He rose, only to be defeated again. "Come on, one more time!"
"What even are you, old man? You're as nimble as a possessed squirrel!" Rian yelled in frustration, but his eyes were still blazing.
"I won't stop until you defeat me," Bebegig challenged.
"Fine! Just you watch, I'm going to beat you!"
The training continued without a break, from morning until dusk.
As the sky began to turn orange, Rian lay on the ground, gasping for breath, his body battered and bruised. He could no longer even lift his wooden sword.
"Training is over for today," Bebegig said as the sky darkened. "You are still very weak and slow. Your mana flow is unstable. Fix it tomorrow. I will not move on to the next lesson until you can touch me."
That night, Rian stared at the wooden ceiling of the treehouse, every inch of his body screaming in pain. He felt small, weak, and far from his dream of becoming a hero.
But amidst the pain, a seed of stubborn determination began to take root. This was no longer about becoming a hero from a comic book. This was about conquering the mountain that stood before him, an old master named Bebegig.