Chapter 20 – The Unforgiving Blade

The morning air was crisp, the training yard silent except for the rhythmic clash of wood against wood. Adrian's breath came in steady draws, but his muscles burned. He adjusted his stance, gripping the practice sword tightly.

Across from him, Cedric Zenith stood firm, his own wooden blade resting easily in his hand. His father's expression was unreadable, his gaze sharp as he observed Adrian's movements.

The training had started an hour ago, and not once had Adrian landed a proper strike.

Again, he moved, stepping forward with a precise slash. Cedric deflected it effortlessly. The force of the impact rattled Adrian's arms, but he gritted his teeth and adjusted. He couldn't let frustration control him.

"Too slow," his father said, voice devoid of praise or disappointment. Just stating a fact.

Adrian shifted, exhaling through his nose. His body felt heavier than before—not from exhaustion, but from the weight of his own expectations. He had fought in the Nightmare Realm, survived battles where death loomed over every breath. But here, facing his father in a simple spar, he felt utterly outmatched.

"Why?" he thought, tightening his grip. "Why does it feel so different?"

The Nightmare Realm had honed his instincts—his ability to react under pressure, to move with purpose. But it hadn't taught him precision. It hadn't taught him mastery. Every movement he made was full of power, but it lacked refinement.

"I am not skilled. I am not ready."

The realization settled heavily in his chest, but he didn't resent it. If anything, it drove him forward.

He took another step, this time with more control. He didn't aim to strike wildly—he observed, adjusted, adapted.

Cedric's eyes narrowed slightly. He noticed the change immediately.

"Again," his father instructed.

Adrian obeyed.

—

Cedric's POV

He watched his son carefully.

There was no arrogance in Adrian's movements, no foolish pride. Only quiet determination.

It was something Cedric rarely saw in young noble heirs. Most who failed in their awakening would break under the weight of expectations, making excuses, shifting blame. But Adrian—he refused to stop.

"He's different."

Cedric had already noticed it the day his son returned from the ceremony. The way Adrian carried himself. The way he observed everything, calculated every moment. His son had always been intelligent, but now… there was a quiet sharpness to him.

Something had changed.

And Cedric intended to find out what.

But for now, he watched. He saw Adrian's footwork improve, his swings becoming sharper, more controlled. He wasn't just repeating attacks mindlessly.

He was learning.

Most would have given up by now. But Adrian was still here, adjusting, refusing to be shaken.

Cedric felt something stir in his chest—something like pride. He wouldn't say it aloud. Not yet.

Instead, he took a step forward.

"Enough for now."

Adrian exhaled, nodding, though his body still held tension.

Cedric looked down at him, expression unreadable. "You are not strong enough."

He didn't say it to break him. He said it because it was true.

Adrian met his gaze, but there was no frustration, no resentment—only determination.

"Good."

Cedric turned, his voice quieter this time. "Come tomorrow. Earlier."

And without another word, he walked away.

—

Adrian's POV

Adrian stood there for a moment, gripping his sword tightly.

He was breathing hard, sweat clinging to his skin, but… he wasn't discouraged. He had learned something today.

Raw power was not enough.

He needed control. Precision. Mastery.

He glanced at the wooden sword in his hand. Tomorrow, he would be stronger.

With that thought, he turned and walked back toward the estate.