Seven full days had passed.
What once felt like torment through endless repetition had now become routine for Ryn.
The woven basket that used to leak now held water as if it were a sealed vessel.
The branch in his hands was no longer just a piece of wood—it had become a blade he could command, its edge, weight, and direction moving at his will.
His focus had sharpened.
His breathing settled into steady rhythm.
His thoughts no longer scattered like frightened birds.
Richard barely needed to speak.
He simply stood at a distance beneath the shade of the same old tree, watching in silence.
On the seventh morning, Richard rose earlier than usual.
He walked out to the training grounds, observed Ryn for a moment, then spoke in an even tone.
"Your solitary training ends here."
Ryn looked up at once.
Richard turned his back and reached for his own sword.
"From now on, you train with me."
Without realizing it, Ryn clenched his fist.
They stood facing one another, leaving a measured distance between them.
Richard spoke again.
"There is only one condition.
Use your blade to leave a mark on me."
Ryn's eyes widened.
Before he could ask a single question, Richard continued, as if he had already read the thought forming in Ryn's mind.
"I will not strike back.
I will only defend."
The words brought no relief.
On the contrary, they weighed heavily upon Ryn's heart.
If his opponent would not counterattack, then every failure—
every missed strike—
would belong to Ryn alone.
Richard added calmly,
"Begin whenever you wish.
And remember—
if you cannot touch me, then you are not ready."
The training ground was utterly silent.
Even the wind seemed to have ceased its breath.
Ryn gripped his sword tightly.
A real blade in his hands felt nothing like a wooden branch—
heavier, colder, and utterly unforgiving of hesitation.
He drew in a deep breath, his gaze fixed straight ahead at Richard.
This training was no longer about learning how to wield power.
It was about proving whether he could truly use it.
Ryn held his sword with both hands, assuming a ready stance.
Yet his body refused to move.
Not because the weapon was too heavy.
Not because of fear toward his mentor.
But because his instincts were screaming in warning.
The man standing before him…
was far more dangerous than he had ever estimated.
Richard stood casually, his posture relaxed.
He had clearly stated he would not strike back.
And yet, something invisible was bearing down on Ryn.
It was not physical pressure.
Not a visible force.
It was a threat—
unseen, crushing, and glacial.
The more Ryn tried to move,
the more he forced his foot forward,
the heavier that presence became.
Richard seemed to grow larger.
And larger.
Until he almost blotted out the sky behind him.
Sweat spread across Ryn's back,
sliding down his temples and dripping from his chin,
even though he had not moved a single millimeter.
His breathing grew ragged.
His heart thundered so loudly he could almost hear it.
This was not a duel.
Not a test of swordsmanship.
This was the experience of standing before a man
who had survived countless real battlefields.
And in that moment, Ryn understood.
When Richard said he would "only defend,"
it was not an act of mercy.
It was an invitation—
to face reality in its fullest, most merciless form.
Ryn had no idea how long he had been standing there.
He struggled to keep his mind from shattering.
He forced himself to breathe.
He tried to gather his thoughts.
He kept telling himself, Move.
But his body refused to answer.
Morning passed.
The sun began to soften.
Shadows from the surrounding structures stretched across the ground.
Ryn's awareness started to blur.
The hand gripping his sword began to tremble.
His heartbeat faltered, slipping out of rhythm.
It felt as though the entire world was slowly sinking into darkness,
every sound drifting farther and farther away.
And finally—
He could no longer contain it.
His body began to shake violently.
His consciousness fractured.
The world around him collapsed into blackness.
Just before his mind gave in completely,
a hand touched his arm—light, steady.
"That's enough."
Richard's voice was low,
but clear enough to pull Ryn back from the edge.
Ryn gasped sharply, screaming as if he had been dragged up from a deep abyss.
His body collapsed at once, crashing to the ground.
He lay there, trembling uncontrollably,
like someone who had narrowly escaped death.
Richard stood in silence, watching him.
His eyes were not cold.
They were filled with understanding.
"That's enough for today," he said evenly.
"Go wash up. Then come eat."
Ryn tried to push himself upright.
His legs were weak, barely obeying him.
But in the end,
he forced himself to stand
and walked away.