The old master—whom Nathaniel still referred to simply as "the old man"—walked back to his humble wooden hut on the edge of the forest. Each step was deliberate, silent, almost weightless, as if the ground itself yielded to his presence. Moss and fallen leaves barely stirred beneath his feet. Inside the hut, the towering lizard-man awaited, leaning against the rough timber wall, his emerald eyes following every movement with unwavering focus.
"So?" the lizard-man asked, his deep, gravelly voice tinged with curiosity.
The old man lowered himself onto a flat stone that served as a seat, exhaling slowly as if the weight of the forest and its unseen energies passed through him. "The boy… he came to me with a serious request," he said calmly. "He asked me to become his master."
The lizard-man's slit pupils widened slightly, reflecting a rare flicker of surprise. "And what did you tell him?"
"I postponed my answer until tomorrow," the old man replied, his voice neutral, almost detached. There was no impatience, no hurry—only measured calm.
A hissing chuckle escaped the lizard-man's throat as he shook his head. "You are always the same—always testing limits. But be careful. That boy's heart is fragile. You cannot push him too far too quickly."
The old man's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Gentle, you say? I want to see the depth of his determination. Strength without willpower is nothing but an empty shell."
---
Meanwhile, Nathaniel was already back at home, head buzzing with excitement and trepidation. The words he had dared to speak lingered in his mind—the audacity of asking the old man to take him as a student. His heart raced as he replayed the moment, and the memory of the old man's inscrutable gaze made his chest tighten.
Inside the house, Eddy sat calmly at the table, cleaning a weapon with meticulous strokes. The older man's usual serenity seemed to radiate reassurance, though Nathaniel could see the subtle lines of concern etched across his face.
Nathaniel rushed forward, voice brimming with anticipation. "Eddy! I did it! I actually… I asked him! I asked the old man to train me!"
Eddy set the blade aside and regarded him carefully, expression unreadable. After a moment, a faint smile touched his lips. "You did the right thing, Nathaniel," he said quietly. "I'm proud. It takes courage to speak your desire so openly, especially to someone like him. You've taken the first step, and that is the hardest."
Nathaniel's smile faltered. "But… he didn't accept me yet. He didn't even give me an answer. What if he's saying no in his own way?"
Eddy shook his head slowly. "A true refusal is sharp, unambiguous, leaving no room for doubt. Delaying an answer is not a denial—it's a test. Men like him, those who have walked far beyond ordinary strength, never act without purpose. You must learn patience, Nathaniel. Strength is meaningless without it."
---
The next morning, Nathaniel returned to the riverbank before the sun had fully risen. Dew clung to the grass, sparkling in the first light, yet he barely noticed. He trained with relentless fervor, swinging his sword, punching the air, slashing the water, repeating each movement until his muscles burned and trembled with exertion.
Yet the old man did not appear. Nathaniel's eyes constantly flicked to the trees, searching for that familiar silhouette, but the branches remained empty, and the wind whispered with indifferent calm.
"Maybe later…" he muttered, hope mingling with frustration. Hours passed, shadows lengthened, and finally, disappointment gnawed at his chest. Night fell, and Nathaniel trudged home, body weary and spirit weighed down by unanswered questions.
At home, Eddy noticed immediately. "What's wrong?"
"He never showed up," Nathaniel admitted, slumping onto his bed. "Not once. Doesn't that mean he rejected me?"
Eddy placed a firm hand on his shoulder, eyes steady. "No. That means he is watching you. True strength isn't given—it is earned. Insist, Nathaniel. If you genuinely desire this, you cannot falter just because he did not appear the first time. Patience and persistence are as vital as skill itself."
---
Meanwhile, in the forest, the old man sat cross-legged beside the lizard-man, gazing at the star-strewn sky. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of moss and damp earth.
"Why didn't you go to him?" the lizard-man asked. "He deserves at least an answer."
The elder crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the heavens. "I wish to measure his patience. Many desire strength, but few understand the virtue of waiting—of enduring, of persisting when the world offers no sign of reward. If he gives up now, he is not ready for what lies ahead."
The lizard-man tilted his head. "So you have already accepted him… in your heart, but you pretend otherwise to see how far he will go?"
A faint, knowing smirk touched the old man's lips. "Exactly."
---
Days blurred into weeks. Each morning, Nathaniel rose before dawn and returned to the riverbank. Each evening, he left exhausted, disappointed, yet never defeated. His body ached; fatigue gnawed at him, and his spirit wavered on several occasions, but each sunrise found him back in his place, eyes scanning the trees, waiting for the old man.
Eddy supported him, bringing food and offering encouragement. "Hold on, Nathaniel. The greatest masters test their disciples in ways that go beyond mere combat. Patience, resilience, humility… these are lessons just as vital as skill."
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, the old man appeared. Nathaniel's heart leapt; the familiar aura of power settled around him like a tangible weight. The elder's expression remained unreadable, and instead of a greeting, he set down two massive, iron-bound weights with a dull thud that resonated through the riverbank.
"If you wish to be my disciple," he said flatly, "start with this. Your endurance is pathetic. Show me you can handle these. Your body must keep pace with your will, or you are not ready to learn."
Nathaniel's face lit up with a mix of joy and determination. He clenched his fists, feeling the surge of adrenaline once more. "Yes, sir!" he shouted, voice ringing across the river.
The old man's brow furrowed slightly. "Don't call me 'old man' anymore."
Nathaniel smirked mischievously. "Alright… old man."
The elder let out a quiet sigh, as if the boy's insolence were the final test of patience. "My name is Reich," he said deliberately. "But you may call me Master Reich."
Nathaniel's laughter burst forth, clear and ringing, startling even the nearby birds into flight. "Master Reich? Why… why Reich?"
"Because I like how it sounds," the old man replied with absolute seriousness, his gaze unwavering.
At that moment, Nathaniel realized that beneath the stern exterior, there was subtle humor hidden in the old man, a humanizing facet to the relentless challenge. He felt a mixture of relief and admiration—this was someone who could push him to his limits, yet still possess a spark of character.
And so, after weeks of testing and countless days of waiting, Nathaniel was finally accepted. Master Reich had taken him on as his disciple, not merely because of his skill, but because of his unyielding patience, his resilience, and his indomitable spirit.
For Nathaniel, the world seemed to shift in that instant. The river, the forest, the very air around him felt charged with possibility. The next chapter of his life—one of sweat, discipline, and relentless growth—was about to begin.
Master Reich's eyes, piercing yet distant, met Nathaniel's once more. "Strength," he said, "is meaningless without patience. And patience without resolve is nothing. Remember this, always."
Nathaniel nodded, determination blazing in his eyes. "I will remember. I will not fail."
The riverbank echoed with the boy's promise, the rustle of leaves, and the faint murmur of the river. In that quiet, a bond was forged—a bond not of words, but of will, perseverance, and the unspoken promise of growth under the guidance of one who had mastered the impossible.
And thus, beneath the fading light and rising stars, Nathaniel's journey with Master Reich began.