CH: 6

After the long and eventful day, Leon retired to his room. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as his mind processed the whirlwind of events. The awakening ceremony, the celebration, the unexpected assignment as Elaine Novaris' retainer—it was all happening so fast. But despite everything, he was resolute.

Taking a deep breath, he willed his status screen to appear before him. Though he wasn't expecting much, curiosity gnawed at him. The screen manifested in front of his vision, lines of text glowing softly.

STATUS SCREEN

Name: Leon VarianAge: 5Race: HumanAffiliation: House Varian (Affiliate of Novaris)Rank: G

TALENTS

Officially Recorded: S-Rank | Lightning Affinity ⚡

Hidden: SSS-Rank | Chaos Affinity ☠️ (Undetected by others)

ATTRIBUTES 

Strength: G 

Agility: G

Endurance: G 

Mana Capacity: G 

Mana Control: G

Intelligence: G 

Willpower: D 

ABILITIES

None 

SKILLS

Swordsmanship: G

Leon sighed. No skills, no abilities. It was to be expected. He had just awakened and all his stats were at G-rank. To be worthy of his new talent training alone wouldn't be enough. He needed experience that would shape him into a warrior.

Determined, he closed the screen and rolled onto his side. Tomorrow would be another important day.

The next morning, Leon awoke early and dressed in his training attire. As he entered the training room, he was surprised to find his father already there, standing next to a woman clad in a black combat uniform.

Her silver hair was tied into a tight ponytail, and her piercing golden eyes studied him with sharp intensity. A katana hung at her waist, its ornate sheath decorated with engravings that hinted at years of experience.

"Leon," Garrick said, motioning him forward. "This is Instructor Lyra Varian. She's one of the finest katana users in House Varian."

Leon's gaze flickered to the woman. She was lean yet well-built, her stance radiating controlled power. The scar running along her right jaw only added to her intimidating presence.

"Hello master." Leon said with a bow.

Lyra gave a curt nod. "A katana is not just a blade—it is an extension of your will. Let us see if you are worthy of wielding it."

Leon swallowed his nervousness and stepped forward. A wooden practice sword was tossed at him, and he caught it with both hands, feeling the weight settle in his grip. It was lighter than expected, but still foreign in his hands.

Lyra wasted no time. "First, your stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, left foot slightly forward. The katana is not meant for brute force but precision. Balance is key."

Leon adjusted his posture, mimicking her movements. Lyra circled him, eyes sharp as she corrected the angle of his stance. "Bend your knees slightly. Keep your center of gravity low. The moment you're off-balance, you're dead."

She demonstrated a simple downward cut. "Raise your blade above your head in the high stance, called Jōdan-no-kamae(upper stance). When you strike, let gravity assist you. Do not rely solely on your arms. Feel the motion through your entire body."

Leon raised his practice sword above his head and brought it down in a straight arc. The movement was clumsy, lacking fluidity.

"Again."

He struck again.

"Again."

Hours passed as he repeated the same movement. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his arms burned, but Lyra was relentless. She corrected every mistake—the angle of his wrists, the shifting of his weight, even his breathing.

"Breathing is everything," she said as she adjusted his grip. "Exhale when you strike. Draw in air as you reset. Control your breath, control your blade."

Leon focused on her words, syncing his strikes with his breathing. Slowly, the awkwardness faded. His body began to understand what his mind struggled to grasp.

After what felt like an eternity, Lyra stepped back. "Enough for today."

Leon exhaled heavily, his arms trembling from exhaustion. He had barely scratched the surface, yet he felt like he had run a marathon.

Garrick, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. "Not bad for your first day. But you are far from competent. The Novaris family expects nothing less than excellence from those who serve them. If you wish to stand beside Elaine, you must become a blade sharper than any other."

Lyra nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow, we begin footwork. Without it, your blade is useless. Rest well, boy. You will need it."

Leon bowed, his grip tightening around the wooden sword. He had a long road ahead, but he felt something stir within him—a hunger to improve, to prove himself. He may not have been the protagonist of the novel, but he refused to be just another minor villain destined for failure.

He would carve his own fate, one strike at a time.

The next morning, Leon awoke sore from the previous day's training. His arms and shoulders ached, but he forced himself out of bed, knowing that weakness was not an option. A quick breakfast later, he made his way back to the training hall, where Lyra was already waiting.

"You're late," she remarked, arms crossed. "Good. I was worried you wouldn't be sore enough to learn properly today. Pain means your body is changing."

Leon winced as he stretched, gripping the practice sword again. "What's today's lesson?"

"Footwork," Lyra stated firmly. "Without proper movement, you will never master the katana. If your foundation is weak, everything else collapses."

She demonstrated a series of fluid steps, her feet gliding across the ground effortlessly. "The key is to never be caught flat-footed. You must always be ready to strike or evade. Move with intent, but never waste motion."

Leon mimicked her steps, stumbling at first. Lyra sighed and corrected his posture again. "Small, controlled movements. Do not overextend. Every inch of movement must serve a purpose."

Hours passed as they drilled footwork. Side steps, pivots, controlled retreats—each movement had to be deliberate. By midday, Leon was panting, but he refused to stop.

Garrick observed from the side and finally spoke. "You're improving, but you still hesitate. Confidence is as important as skill. If you falter in battle, you are already dead."

Leon wiped his brow and nodded. He would not let hesitation be his downfall.

Lyra smirked. "You're stubborn. Good. Stubborn students make strong swordsmen. Now, again!"

After hours of footwork drills, Lyra finally stepped back, arms crossed. "You're picking it up faster than I expected. But proper technique means nothing if you freeze under pressure."

Leon straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. His muscles burned, but his eyes remained determined. "What do you mean?"

Garrick, who had been silently watching, gestured to the far end of the training hall. A section of the room suddenly shifted, revealing metallic platforms embedded into the floor. With a low hum, mechanical dummies rose from the platforms—sleek humanoid constructs forged from reinforced alloys, their joints designed for swift, precise movement.

"These training dummies are programmed for combat drills," Garrick explained. "Their strength is adjusted to match yours, but they are faster and tireless. Their purpose is to force you to apply what you've learned in a real fight."

Leon's grip on his wooden sword tightened. The dummies stood still for now, their glowing eyes inactive, but he could already feel the tension creeping into his body.

Lyra stepped beside him. "This will be a controlled drill. The dummies are set to react only when you strike. Your goal is not to win but to practice your technique under real conditions. If you panic or swing wildly, they will punish you for it."

Leon swallowed and nodded. He stepped forward, planting his feet firmly as Lyra had taught him.

With a sharp whirring sound, the first dummy activated. Its glowing eyes flickered to life, and in an instant, it moved.

Leon barely had time to react as the dummy lunged forward with a swift, precise strike. His instincts screamed at him to retreat, but he forced himself to follow his training. Instead of blindly dodging, he stepped back smoothly, keeping his stance balanced. The dummy's strike passed inches from his ribs.

He countered with a downward slash. The dummy reacted instantly, parrying with its reinforced arms. The impact sent a jarring vibration up Leon's arms, but he grit his teeth and adjusted his grip.

Lyra's voice cut through the tension. "Faster! Read your opponent! Don't just react—anticipate!"

Leon exhaled sharply, resetting his stance. The dummy struck again, and this time, he sidestepped rather than retreating, bringing his blade down in a diagonal cut. The strike connected with the dummy's shoulder, causing it to reel slightly.

"Good," Garrick murmured. "Again."

A second dummy activated, joining the first.

Leon's heartbeat quickened as both constructs moved in tandem. He was forced to rely on everything he had learned—the footwork drills, the precision of each strike, the controlled breathing. His movements were still rough, but with each exchange, he adjusted.

The first dummy attacked low, and he jumped back, pivoting on his heel before countering with a quick thrust. The second dummy capitalized on his opening, swinging for his ribs. He barely deflected it in time.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity. His limbs screamed in protest, but he refused to give in.

Then, suddenly, the dummies froze, their eyes dimming as the drill ended.

Leon staggered back, panting. Sweat dripped down his brow, but despite his exhaustion, a fire burned in his chest.

Lyra nodded approvingly. "Sloppy, but you lasted longer than I expected."

Garrick stepped forward. "You're learning, but you still hesitate. That hesitation will get you killed." He placed a hand on Leon's shoulder. "Tomorrow, we refine your counterattacks. Rest while you can."

Leon nodded, tightening his grip around his sword.