Asher's POV
Darek didn't sleep that night.
Not because he couldn't, but because his body refused to stay still.
By morning, he looked exhausted—and strangely energized at the same time.
I found him at the school training grounds just after sunrise, pacing in a slow circle like a caged beast. His spear rested against his shoulder, but he wasn't holding it tightly. His hands flexed every few seconds, as if he was still testing whether they belonged to him.
"You look like you're waiting for something to bite you," I said.
He stopped pacing and shot me a glare. "My body feels wrong."
"Good wrong or bad wrong?"
He frowned, considering it. "Different wrong."
"That'll pass."
He scoffed. "Easy for you to say. You already went through it."
"Yeah," I replied. "And you complained less than I expected."
"That's because I didn't know what was happening," he muttered. "Now I do."
The training grounds were empty at this hour, wide stretches of reinforced earth and stone surrounded by low barriers designed to absorb stray impacts. It was one of the few places we could actually push ourselves without someone yelling at us to stop.
Darek stepped onto the central platform and planted his feet.
"I want to try moving," he said. "Properly."
"Then move," I replied, leaning against one of the pillars.
He inhaled deeply and began.
At first, it was awkward.
His steps were slightly too long. His turns are a fraction too sharp. His spear moved with power but lacked precision, overshooting targets that weren't there. Rank 1 had finished his body—but his habits hadn't caught up yet.
"You're overcompensating," I said.
"For what?"
"For not trusting it."
He grimaced but adjusted. Slowed his movements. Shortened his steps.
That helped.
Gradually, the roughness faded. His stance stabilized. His spear no longer dragged him forward—it followed him. Every motion carried intent instead of force.
After a while, he stopped and exhaled sharply.
"I feel like I'm wearing someone else's body."
"You're wearing your body," I said. "Just… the final version of this stage."
"That's unsettling."
"Give it a few days," I replied. "You'll miss this feeling when it's gone."
He stared at me. "Why would I miss this?"
"Because it's the last time everything feels new."
He didn't respond, but his grip on the spear tightened slightly.
After a short break, he looked up.
"Fight me."
I raised an eyebrow. "I already did that yesterday."
"That wasn't real," he said. "That was before."
I pushed myself off the pillar and stepped onto the platform.
"Rules?" I asked.
"Full power," he said immediately. "No holding back."
I studied him for a moment. His posture was solid. His breathing controlled. There was excitement in his eyes—but not recklessness.
"Alright," I said. "But we stop if things get stupid."
He grinned. "You're already stupid. That's not fair."
We took positions.
The air felt different this time.
He moved first.
The spear shot forward like a bolt, faster than before, the tip cutting cleanly through the space between us. I twisted aside, the wooden sword snapping up to deflect the shaft with a sharp crack.
The impact traveled up my arm.
Not painful.
Solid.
"Oh," I said. "That's new."
He didn't reply.
He pressed forward aggressively, spear moving in rapid succession—thrust, sweep, reverse strike. Each attack carried real weight now, not just momentum. The ground cracked faintly beneath his feet as he advanced, forcing me back step by step.
I adjusted my stance.
Centered.
Grounded.
Then I stepped in.
The sword moved without hesitation, intercepting the spear's shaft at the midpoint. I redirected the force sideways instead of meeting it head-on, slipping inside his range and striking toward his shoulder.
He barely managed to pull back in time.
We disengaged, circling.
Darek's grin was wide and unrestrained. "That's it," he said. "That's the difference."
"Don't get distracted," I replied.
He lunged again.
This time, I didn't retreat.
I advanced.
Our weapons collided repeatedly, the sound sharp and echoing across the empty grounds. His spear gave him reach and raw power. My sword gave me precision and control.
Neither of us dominated.
That alone was new.
He forced me back with a heavy sweep that cracked the stone beneath my feet. I responded with a series of rapid strikes that targeted his grip and stance, forcing him to adjust on the fly.
Mana stirred faintly around us, reacting to intent rather than command.
"You're smiling," he said suddenly as we clashed again.
"So are you," I replied.
He laughed mid-attack, the sound wild and unrestrained. "I finally got it!"
"Get what?"
"This is what it's supposed to feel like!"
He pushed harder.
So did I.
I let the Sword Path guide me—not pushing, not restraining. Every movement was clean. Efficient. The blade followed my will like it always had, cutting through openings instead of forcing them.
Darek adapted quickly.
Too quickly.
He shortened his strikes. Changed rhythm. Used his body instead of relying entirely on the spear. A knee strike slipped through my guard, forcing me back half a step.
I chuckled. "Learning fast."
"You don't get to say that!" he snapped, grinning.
The spar escalated.
Not dangerously—but undeniably.
The ground beneath us cracked in spiderweb patterns. Shockwaves rippled outward with every heavy exchange, absorbed by the reinforced barriers surrounding the platform.
We moved faster.
Struck harder.
Neither of us held back now.
Finally, I saw the opening.
Not a flaw.
A choice.
I stepped into his attack instead of away from it, letting the spear slide past my side as I twisted, blade flashing toward his chest.
He reacted instantly—twisting his body, knocking the strike aside with the haft of his spear.
We froze.
Weapons inches apart.
Breathing hard.
Then we stepped back at the same time.
Silence settled over the training grounds.
Darek dropped to one knee, laughing breathlessly. "That… was insane."
I leaned on my sword, exhaling slowly. "You're solid."
"You didn't win."
"I didn't lose."
He looked up at me, eyes bright. "Next time."
"Next time," I agreed.
As we left the grounds together, the air felt charged—not with danger, but with possibility.
Rank 1 wasn't the peak.
It was permission.
Permission to truly begin.
And somewhere beyond the walls of Greenwood, the world was already preparing to test that permission.
End of Chapter 3: "Tested Ground"