During breakfast, the atmosphere was different from usual.
There was no mocking laughter, no contemptuous stares—
only the scent of food and a silence that felt strangely calm.
"It seems you've begun to use the power you received more properly,"
Richard said in a flat tone after watching Ryn for a moment.
"After you nearly died that night, I brought you to undergo the Rite of Tyra's Blessing."
He continued calmly.
"In the ritual, the participant must mix Calami blood with two specific herbs,
and choose one additional herb of their own.
All three are then combined… and consumed."
He paused briefly before speaking again.
"After that, they lose consciousness.
And the ones who awaken… receive Tyra's power."
Richard's gaze settled on Ryn.
"And you are one of them."
Ryn remained silent.
Not because he wasn't listening—
but because he was shocked.
The ritual that so many dreamed of,
the ceremony spoken of as a great honor,
was in fact so dangerous that it required one to gamble with their life.
He thought of his friends.
The boys in the village who would turn eighteen in three years.
What would happen to them?
A thought rose in his mind.
"Master…"
He looked up at Richard.
"At that time, I was on the verge of death.
I didn't choose any herbs at all.
So why did I survive?"
Richard gave a faint smile.
"Edrin Vale's granddaughter—the village chief's granddaughter—was the one who chose it for you."
Ryn froze.
"She insisted…
that if it were you, this would be the flower you'd choose."
Liora… was the one who chose it?
The thought surfaced in Ryn's mind without warning.
"And what kind of flower was it?"
he asked softly.
Richard answered at once.
"White dandelion."
Ryn fell silent.
The name of the flower seemed to stir something deep within him—
a vague sense of familiarity.
Yet no matter how hard he tried to recall it, the image in his mind remained blurred,
as if something was lodged in his memories,
but always just out of reach.
Richard continued,
"Once someone has undergone the rite and received power, their body changes.
They recover faster, possess greater physical strength than ordinary people,
and are able to use magic."
His gaze shifted toward Ryn,
who was lifting his shirt to examine the scars on his own body.
"The wounds from the Calami during the festival night…"
Richard said calmly.
"They've completely healed."
"What you did yesterday was basic control of your power."
"Power is connected to imagination.
The more focused you are, and the clearer your imagination becomes,
the more precise the results will be."
Richard spoke in a calm, steady voice.
"Controlling power is the most fundamental skill…
and also the hardest."
His eyes drifted to the glass of water in front of him.
"Many Arch— even the truly skilled ones—
still can't do it."
He raised his hand and placed two fingers on the rim of the glass.
"Because most training focuses on using power."
He poured his energy into the glass.
The water surged violently, splashing over the edge and spilling across the table.
"Strong. Destructive. Effective in battle."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"But the power is wasted—
just like the water that spilled from this glass."
Richard slowly adjusted his breathing.
His movements became steady.
The water inside the glass calmed, its surface smooth as a mirror.
"If you can control it," he said quietly,
"you get to choose."
He gently turned the glass upside down.
Not a single drop fell.
Then—
one drop of water descended onto the table.
But it didn't spread.
It didn't soak in.
It remained a perfect droplet.
Still.
Dense.
Compressed with power.
Richard picked it up between his fingers,
as if lifting a tiny glass marble.
"The power is fully preserved.
Not dispersed. Not wasted."
He flicked the droplet away.
BANG!
The sound echoed thunderously.
A tree as thick as an arm snapped in half,
the break clean—
as if sliced by a blade.
Richard placed his hand back on the table and looked straight at Ryn.
"That's why I made you scoop water with a basket."
He smiled—
no longer playfully.
"Because someone who can truly control their power
doesn't need a perfect weapon."
After his first proper meal in four days, Ryn could barely taste anything.
All he knew was that his body was finally coming back to life.
Richard said nothing more. He simply nodded toward the hut.
"Go sleep. Wake up whenever. The next phase of training begins after that."
Ryn lowered his head in acknowledgment, staggered back to the hut,
and collapsed almost instantly.
Deep…
Silent…
As if his body had flipped its own switch off.
By evening, orange sunlight filtered through the trees.
Ryn woke up feeling energy coursing through him—
a stark contrast to the past three days.
He stepped outside.
Richard was already waiting at the table, dinner prepared.
"Eat first. Today's training… will be long."
The tone told Ryn one thing clearly:
'Long' never meant 'easy' when it came from Richard.
After the meal, Richard led him to the edge of the forest behind the training grounds.
Before them stood a massive tree—
its trunk so thick it would take two people to wrap their arms around it,
branches spreading densely overhead.
Richard bent down and picked up a dry branch from the ground.
It was about the length of an arm, rough, dull, light—
no edge, no weight.
He handed it to Ryn.
"Use this to cut it down."
He pointed at the giant tree.
"…Sir?"
Richard tilted his head slightly, as if the question itself puzzled him.
"When you succeed, you can eat."
Then he walked over, sat beneath another tree,
leaned against the trunk comfortably,
and left Ryn alone with the branch in his hand
and the towering tree in front of him.
After Richard wandered off,
Ryn stared at the branch.
Then at the tree.
Then the branch again.
Then the tree.
If a stick like this could cut down a tree,
the entire forest would've been wiped out by now.
He took a deep breath, raised the branch, and swung it at the trunk.
Thud.
Nothing happened—
except the recoil jolting painfully through his wrist.
Ryn frowned and tried again, this time with more force.
Thud!
Still nothing.
The tree stood unmoved.
His hand, however, was starting to go numb.