Chapter 27: A Familiar Blade

The training yard smelled like dust and steel.

It felt strange being back here.

My body was healed—mostly—but I could still feel the faint pull in my mana veins whenever I flexed them. Not pain. Not weakness. Just a reminder.

Students around me stretched and loosened up for the first combat class of the week, the morning air cool against my skin. I rolled my shoulders, the leather grip of my sword familiar in my hand, but my focus wasn’t on the warm-up.

It was on the man walking toward us.

At first, I thought I was seeing things. The broad shoulders. The messy brown hair. The old leather coat patched in places that could have been replaced years ago.

Then he turned, and the scar along his jaw caught the light.

“Stewart…?” I muttered.

He grinned like we’d just run into each other at the market. “Arthur. Been a while.”

The class murmured as he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chatter.

“Alright, form up. We’ll start with a ten-minute warm-up—jog the yard, swing your blades, get the stiffness out. I want to see if you’ve all been slacking.”

Students shuffled into motion. I was halfway through a stretch when Stewart called out, “Arthur. With me.”

I followed him to the edge of the yard, away from the others. He leaned against the wooden railing, arms folded.

“How’s the body?” he asked, looking me over like he was inspecting a blade for cracks.

I exhaled slowly. “Functional. Can use magic again. That’s… something.”

He caught the tone in my voice. “But not enough, huh?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

His gaze softened just slightly. “You’re still chewing on it, aren’t you? What happened.”

My jaw tightened. “I should have done more. I—”

“Stop.” His voice was firm, not unkind. “Not everything in life bends to the way you think it should go. You fought someone far above your level and lived to tell about it. You kept that girl alive when she’d have been dead in seconds without you. And that stunt you pulled at the end?” He raised an eyebrow. “Could have killed you outright. That’s not cowardice, Arthur. That’s sacrifice.”

I looked away, watching the students in the yard. “Didn’t feel like enough.”

“It never will,” he said simply. “That’s the thing about this life—we always think we could have swung harder, run faster, bled more. But there’s a line between bravery and throwing your life away. You walked that line, and you’re still here.”

His words settled like a weight in my chest.

“Sacrificing your future for someone else’s… it’s a noble thing to do,” he continued. “But don’t make a habit of it. You don’t get to help anyone if you’re dead.”

I finally met his eyes. He wasn’t judging me. Just… reminding me.

The training yard smelled like dust and steel.

It felt strange being back here.

My body was healed—mostly—but I could still feel the faint pull in my mana veins whenever I flexed them. Not pain. Not weakness. Just a reminder.

Students around me stretched and loosened up for the first combat class of the week, the morning air cool against my skin. I rolled my shoulders, the leather grip of my sword familiar in my hand, but my focus wasn’t on the warm-up.

It was on the man walking toward us.

At first, I thought I was seeing things. The broad shoulders. The messy brown hair. The old leather coat patched in places that could have been replaced years ago.

Then he turned, and the scar along his jaw caught the light.

“Stewart…?” I muttered.

He grinned like we’d just run into each other at the market. “Arthur. Been a while.”

The class murmured as he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chatter.

“Alright, form up. We’ll start with a ten-minute warm-up—jog the yard, swing your blades, get the stiffness out. I want to see if you’ve all been slacking.”

Students shuffled into motion. I was halfway through a stretch when Stewart called out, “Arthur. With me.”

I followed him to the edge of the yard, away from the others. He leaned against the wooden railing, arms folded.

“How’s the body?” he asked, looking me over like he was inspecting a blade for cracks.

I exhaled slowly. “Functional. Can use magic again. That’s… something.”

He caught the tone in my voice. “But not enough, huh?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

His gaze softened just slightly. “You’re still chewing on it, aren’t you? What happened.”

My jaw tightened. “I should have done more. I—”

“Stop.” His voice was firm, not unkind. “Not everything in life bends to the way you think it should go. You fought someone far above your level and lived to tell about it. You kept that girl alive when she’d have been dead in seconds without you. And that stunt you pulled at the end?” He raised an eyebrow. “Could have killed you outright. That’s not cowardice, Arthur. That’s sacrifice.”

I looked away, watching the students in the yard. “Didn’t feel like enough.”

“It never will,” he said simply. “That’s the thing about this life—we always think we could have swung harder, run faster, bled more. But there’s a line between bravery and throwing your life away. You walked that line, and you’re still here.”

His words settled like a weight in my chest.

“Sacrificing your future for someone else’s… it’s a noble thing to do,” he continued. “But don’t make a habit of it. You don’t get to help anyone if you’re dead.”

I finally met his eyes. He wasn’t judging me. Just… reminding me.

“Now,” he said, pushing off the railing, “let’s see if you’ve still got some fight in you.”

I frowned. “You mean—?”

“You’re sparring with me,” Stewart said, already stepping toward the center of the yard. “Class, we’ve got a demonstration. Gather up.”

The students formed a loose ring as I walked in, sword in hand. Stewart didn’t even draw his blade right away—just rolled his neck and gave me that same cocky grin from when we first met.

“Rules are simple,” he said. “Come at me however you like. Don’t hold back.”

I took my stance, muscles tense. “You sure about that?”

He laughed once. “Try me, boy.”

I lunged first, testing my footing. My sword arced toward his side, but he caught it with the flat of his own blade in a single, effortless motion.

The clash rang in my ears.

Before I could reset, he stepped in and shoved me back with his shoulder. I stumbled, caught myself, and pushed forward again—this time mixing a short burst of flame with my strike.

Stewart turned with it, letting the fire pass harmlessly by. “Better,” he said. “But your wrist is still giving away your swings. Fix that or you’ll be on your back before you blink.”

I grit my teeth and came again, feinting high before going low. He caught that too, steel-on-steel, his strength overwhelming mine. My boots scraped against the dirt as he pressed forward, forcing me back until my heel hit the edge of the ring.

I blasted him point-blank with a fireball, the heat rippling between us. It staggered him a half-step—enough for me to break away.

“That’s it,” he barked. “Don’t let them dictate the pace—make them react to you.”

I moved faster this time, chaining feints and strikes, but Stewart’s guard was like a wall. He finally caught my blade, twisted, and in the same motion swept my legs out from under me.

I hit the ground hard, staring up at him as he leveled his sword at my chest.

“You’re quicker than last time,” he said, “but you’re still thinking too much. Out there—” he jerked his chin toward the training yard gates, “—you hesitate, you die. You’ve got instinct, Arthur. Trust it.”

He offered me a hand and hauled me to my feet. “Class dismissed. Except you, Arthur—you’re running drills with me after lunch.”

A part of me groaned, but another part—buried under the guilt and doubt—felt… lighter.

The rest of the class paired off for drills, their footsteps crunching in the dirt. Stewart, however, motioned for me to follow him toward the far edge of the training field.

“I’ve been wondering,” he said, keeping his voice low, “what exactly happened during your fight with Kael?”

I shrugged, my grip tightening on my sword. “There was really nothing I could do against him.”

“Be more specific,” he pressed.

I exhaled slowly. “I cast a fireball—put everything I had into it—and he just let it hit him. Didn’t even flinch. It did nothing.”

Stewart stopped, studying me like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. Then he nodded. “There. That’s the part you’re missing. Remember when I told you that Enhancement gets stronger the more mana you pour into it?”

“Yeah…?”

“That’s what he was using. His enhancement was stronger than your spell, so it simply shrugged it off. But…” Stewart’s mouth curved slightly. “When you used your last resort—you caught him off guard. The amount of mana in that attack was so great that even his enhancement couldn’t withstand it. That’s why he burned.”

I didn’t reply. The memory of that night still clawed at my mind.

“Now,” Stewart said, stepping back, “I want to see something. Try the Bender technique I taught you before. Create the biggest pillar of dirt you can manage.”

I knelt and placed a palm on the ground, letting my mana seep into the earth. My veins ached almost immediately, a deep throb running through my forearms. The dirt beneath me shuddered… then rose.

A single, massive column of stone and soil tore free from the ground—four times the size of my last attempt months ago. The effort stole my breath, but I didn’t let it collapse until I heard Stewart speak.

“There it is.” He walked around the base, inspecting it like a craftsman appraising his work. “When you destroyed your body with that final spell, your mana veins were pushed beyond their limits. When they healed, they didn’t return to their old state.”

I stared at him, sweat dripping down my temple. “What are you saying?”

“It’s a more extreme version of the conditioning I was teaching you at the Duke’s mansion,” he said. “Only… yours came with a much higher price. But the effect is the same—you can channel more mana now. Much more.”

The words sank in slowly. I thought back to our spar earlier in class. It had felt no different from before… but maybe that was because I hadn’t tried to push myself.

“You haven’t realized how much stronger you’ve become,” Stewart said, meeting my eyes. “That’s your next step. Learning to use it without killing yourself in the process.”

Stewart smirked and rolled his shoulders. “Alright, let’s put that new mana flow of yours to the test.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean… spar again?”

“Unless you’re scared,” he said with a grin.

I scoffed. “You wish.”

We stepped back into the ring, the other students pausing their drills to watch. Sköll sat by the fence, ears perked, watching intently.

Stewart lowered into his stance, sword loose in his hand. “This time, no holding back. I want to see what happens when you use that strength on purpose.”

I took a breath and let the mana flow. My veins burned in protest, but I didn’t stop—pushing until the ache became a steady thrum beneath my skin. Heat filled my chest, my limbs, my very bones. The ground beneath my boots cracked.

Stewart’s smile faltered ever so slightly.

“Good,” he said. “Now come at me.”

I launched forward, faster than I’d ever moved before. Our blades met with a metallic ring that sent a jolt up my arm—but this time, Stewart actually slid back a step.

His eyes narrowed. “So that’s your real speed.”

I didn’t give him time to recover. I pressed the attack, each strike heavier, faster, more precise. He blocked the first, parried the second, dodged the third—but the fourth forced him to brace with both hands.

The air between us cracked with the force of our swings.

Stewart grunted as I pushed him back toward the edge of the ring. “Much better, Arthur. But you’re still thinking too much about each hit—”

I shifted my grip and brought my sword down with all the mana-charged strength I could muster. The impact rattled his guard, forcing him to dig his heels into the dirt.

For the first time, I saw his grin fade into something else—focus.

He stepped in, matching my speed now, his own mana flaring around him. The next exchange was a blur of steel and dust. My body screamed from the strain, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t the one barely keeping up.

“You’re dangerous now, Arthur,” he said between clashes. “But control it—don’t burn yourself out.”

I caught his blade on mine and pushed with a surge of power, the shockwave scattering dust across the ring. Stewart skidded back several feet before planting his sword in the ground to stop.

Then he laughed. “Yeah… I’m going to have to take you more seriously from now on.”

The dust settled slowly, drifting through the air like lazy snow. My arms felt like they’d been set on fire from the inside, but my heart was still racing, not from fear—exhilaration.

Stewart rested his sword on his shoulder, studying me for a long moment. The grin was back, but this time it wasn’t the same teasing smirk he usually wore.

He meant it.

“Walk with me,” he said, nodding toward the far side of the training yard.

I followed, ignoring the murmurs from the other students. Sköll padded along at my side, tail flicking.

Once we were out of earshot, Stewart stopped and turned to face me. “Arthur, I wasn’t lying earlier—your body’s different now. What you pulled off against me just now wasn’t normal for someone at your rank.”

I frowned. “Different how?”

“You’ve always had good instincts,” he said, “but your mana output was limited before—like a dam holding back a river. When you used that… what do you call it?”

“Ashen Requiem.”

“Right. When you used that, you blew the dam apart. Most people who do that either die instantly or cripple themselves permanently. You somehow survived, and your veins—” He tapped his own arm. “—healed stronger. Not perfectly, but enough that your mana flow is far higher than it used to be.”

I glanced at my hands. “So what does that mean for me?”

“It means if you learn to control it without tearing yourself apart,” Stewart said, “you could hit harder and faster than most B-rank fighters. Maybe even rival an A-rank someday. But right now…” His tone sharpened. “Right now you’re a wild animal with a sharper set of claws. And a wild animal can still be put down if it’s reckless.”

I stayed quiet, letting his words sink in.

“Don’t think this is just about swinging harder,” he continued. “You need endurance, precision, restraint. If you keep flaring your mana like you did today, you’ll burn out before the real fight starts. Control is what separates the dead from the ones who live to see the next battle.”

He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been given a second chance most people never get. Don’t waste it.”

For the first time in a month, I felt a spark of something I hadn’t in a while. Not confidence. Not yet. But the faintest trace of hope.