The sun had already passed its midday, but it still hung high in the sky.
The heat hadn't fully taken hold yet, but the air was heavy, thick with the smells of dust, manure, and distant smoke. The village moved in its usual rhythm: footsteps, voices, the creak of cart wheels along the road. Everything went on as it always did.
But I wasn't paying attention to any of that.
I was sitting on the fence. Waiting.
Paul had left in the morning. Or was it at night? I'd lost track. All I knew was — he'd been gone all day.
Strange. Really strange.
He never missed training. Not once. Even when he'd drunk so much the night before he could barely find his sword in the morning, even when he looked like he was about to puke out his soul from exhaustion — he still showed up. But today he wasn't here.
A breeze swept across the clearing, brushing through my hair. I remembered our last session — the stance drill. Muscles burning, arms aching, breath all over the place — and still Paul wasn't satisfied. I was sure he'd show up again, smirk, and throw out something like: "What's wrong, brat? Ready for another round of pain?"
But it'd been an hour. And nothing.
I sighed and stretched, feeling a dull ache in my arms. Was I actually waiting for him now? Paul was never punctual, but training? He didn't skip that. That... was worrying.
My fingers tightened without thinking. I glanced down at my hand — scars. Still there. Still reminding me of that day. Thin ones, deep ones, old but visible. One time I messed up a Wind Scythe cast so badly I nearly lost a limb. Now the marks are with me for good.
Turns out magic isn't just recite-a-spell-get-a-fireball. You have to control the mana inside your body, guide it, then say the right ancient words — which sound like someone forgot how speech works.
No fireballs or water serpents — just weeks of mana control and rote memorization. Would've been easier if my mana didn't behave like a goddamn ocean current. Is it like that for everyone, or am I just lucky?
Roxy said I'd skipped steps. But honestly, it doesn't feel that way. Still a mess. Always has been.
Sigh.
Time to start. No point waiting any longer...
I just wanted to sit and not think about anything. But my fingers closed around the wooden sword's grip.
One. Two.
One. Two.
***
Walking down the street toward his house, Paul was already at the front gate when his eyes landed on a small figure.
The boy moved smoothly, but his steps carried exhaustion. Short, sharp movements. Sword in hand. Practicing something? Or just trying not to collapse?
Paul smirked — but something in him stirred, uneasy. He's pushing too hard.
"Getting warmed up?"
Rudeus stopped, looked up. A flicker of irritation in his eyes, tangled with fatigue.
"Waiting."
"Waiting?"
Paul glanced around, as if someone might be standing behind him. No one.
"Waiting for training. You told me not to skip."
Paul blinked. Something hazy slid through his mind.
Training... Shit.
He slapped his forehead.
"Ah. Completely forgot..."
"Seriously? Forgot about training?" Rudeus tilted his head, voice dry, touched with sarcasm. "What's next? Forget where your sword is? Forget you're even a swordsman?"
Paul opened his mouth to answer — then closed it.
"I... got caught up in something," he muttered, rubbing his face again.
"Of course you did." Rudeus squinted. "Let me guess — goblins?"
Paul snorted.
"They really are to blame. Filthy bastards pouring in from god-knows-where"
Rudeus sighed and shook his head.
"Fine. If you still remember how to hold a sword, let's just get on with it."
Paul rolled his eyes, but as he looked more closely at his son, he noticed something he hadn't before.
Shadows under the eyes. Tension in the shoulders. His legs were holding him up, but not for much longer.
A prick of guilt landed in his chest. This couldn't go on.
"Rudy, you're still doing half a day of magic training with Roxy, right?"
Rudeus nodded.
"And you still want to keep going with sword work on top of that?"
"Why not?"
Paul snorted.
"Heh!"
Pride in his son filled him for a moment, but the worry didn't fade.
On one hand, it was right. That kind of drive, that kind of will. On the other... He's still a kid. Even if his mind's got adult corners in it.
Paul had seen how drained Rudeus became. Sword drills wrung him out. Lessons with Roxy finished off what little energy was left.
And only now did the frightening thought finally occur to him.
"Listen, Rudy. You're not made of steel."
"What? No way!" Rudeus spread his eyes wide and began theatrically patting himself down.
Paul crossed his arms.
"Rudy."
"What?"
"At this pace, you're going to bury yourself."
Squatting down beside him, he looked directly into his son's face.
"You can't do everything at once."
"Why not?"
"Because it doesn't work that way." Paul nodded. "You can't walk two paths at the same time. You've got to choose something."
Rudeus said nothing, but there was defiance in his eyes.
"If I push hard enough — it'll work."
Paul closed his eyes and exhaled sharply.
"Yeah. Push hard. Then one day your body gives out and you die from it."
Rudeus shrugged.
"Hasn't happened yet."
Stubborn little idiot.
"If you're so damn determined, then figure it out. What's more important to you — the sword or magic?"
Rudeus blinked.
"You're the one who taught me swordplay."
"I did. And I don't regret it. But you're not just swinging a stick around anymore. You're casting spells. You've already seen how dangerous that is." Paul nodded at his hand. "And now you've realized it can be hard too."
Rudeus stayed silent.
"Lilia said you've already mastered everything I taught you. You've got the basics. You've got talent for magic too. You don't have to go all out every single session. Train for the joy of it — before you burn out completely..."
Rudeus looked down at the sword in his hand.
"I don't want to choose."
"You'll have to."
Silence.
"No."
Paul raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Because I want more."
"Are you stupid?" Paul shook his head. "No. That's not how this works. Sword or magic."
"What if I need the sword?"
Paul looked at his son.
"You really think you will?"
Rudeus nodded.
Paul stayed quiet for a few seconds.
"But you understand that an advanced school isn't just swinging a stick around?"
"I understand."
Something warmed inside Paul, unexpected.
He let out a heavy sigh.
"One condition... Training three times a week. No more than five hours each."
"Isn't that too little?"
"It's enough! Or we don't do it at all. On the other days, you can stretch and drill your forms, but no more of the old sessions."
Rudeus didn't say anything.
"Three times a week," Paul repeated.
"...Alright."
Paul nodded.
"Then let's not waste time. I'll show you something new."
Rudeus lifted his head, interest flaring in his eyes.
Paul smirked.
***
"There are three main sword schools."
Paul picked up a wooden sword and moved through a few slow motions, like stirring up old memories.
"Water School." He shifted to the side, suddenly changed stance, as if deflecting an invisible strike. "It's about defense and counterattack. You wait. You watch. And then strike when your opponent opens himself up."
I nodded. I'd seen something like that when sparring with Lilia.
"North School." His rhythm changed. The steps turned uneven, the strikes — erratic, sharp. "No clear patterns. You do whatever it takes to survive. Use the terrain, trick your enemy, strike from behind if needed. The goal is to win."
Paul paused, smirked, and suddenly stepped forward.
"And finally, the Sword God School." The wooden blade lunged so fast I couldn't even react. "One strike. One corpse. If you didn't win with the first blow, chances are you're the one already dead."
He straightened, spun the sword once, and tossed it to me.
"Sword God School?" My eyebrow rose on its own. "What, the founder wasn't big on humility? Why not just 'School of the Supreme, Undisputed, One-and-Only Lord of Blades'?"
Paul snorted.
"He wanted that, but there wasn't enough space on the plaque."
"So which one's the coolest?" I tilted my head.
Paul gave a dry chuckle and folded his arms.
"It's not the schools that make the swordsman strong. It's the swordsman that makes the school strong."
I frowned.
"But they all have their pros and cons, right?"
"Of course." Paul shrugged. "But it doesn't matter in the end. It's not the style that wins the fight. It's the one holding the sword."
"Wise words..."
Paul smirked, clearly proud of himself.
"See, Rudy — a fight's a bit more complicated than rock, paper, scissors."
"…"
"Each school has strengths and weaknesses, sure. But this isn't some kid's game where one move always beats the other. What matters isn't the style you pick — it's how well you use it."
I turned the sword in my hands.
"But if one style's built for killing, and another's for defense, doesn't that mean they're not equally effective?"
Paul nodded.
"Yeah. But if a Sword God-style fighter makes a mistake and doesn't kill with the first blow, he gets carved up like a pig. If a Water-style swordsman takes a hit but can't counter — he gets trampled. And if a Northerner can't adapt to the fight — he's useless."
I nodded, thinking it over.
"So it's about using the school that fits your own style?"
"Exactly." Paul smirked. "But first you need to figure out what your style even is."
The memory of sparring with Lilia flashed through my mind.
Those smooth movements. That perfect defense. The feeling that her sword wasn't a weapon — it was part of her. She didn't strike. She didn't press the attack. She just moved. Precise, light, flawless.
Every thrust I made was met by her blade before I even realized where I was aiming. Every swing veered off-course with the smallest effort. And then, when I lost my balance — the counter. Just fast enough for me to realize I'd messed up, but not fast enough for me to fix it.
Water School.
Back then I hadn't even understood how she did it. She wasn't stronger. Wasn't faster. But I couldn't break through. She just slipped past every move — like water, accepting every strike but never taking any damage.
I blinked.
"I think I know what suits me."
"Really?"
"Water School's the perfect fit."
Paul raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.
"Oh, right, of course. The prettiest one. Elegant, flowing... Lilia impressed you, huh?"
I shrugged, saying nothing.
"You know what the problem is with that school?" Paul tilted his head. "It takes patience."
"And?"
"Are you patient?"
I hesitated.
Well... considering how many weeks I've been suffering through magic training — maybe. Even if I don't always like it.
"I think so."
"We'll see." Paul snorted. "Alright. Let's start with the basics. I'll show you the stance—"