The Path of the Blade

His week of rest had passed without anything extraordinary happening. Routine once again dictated the rhythm of his days. As always, his morning began with the sun's rays filtering through the window, warming his face and forcing him awake.

After a quick breakfast, his next destination was the gym before classes—just like always.

Upon arriving, he wasn't surprised to find Garrick Drakar already there, ready for another sparring session.

Despite having developed his second Soul Core, technically making him twice as strong, the difference between them was still immense.

The noble barely broke a sweat as he defeated him effortlessly, his stance impeccable and his technique devastatingly precise.

After yet another loss, Garrick rested his wooden sword on his shoulder and looked at him with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

"Don't you ever get tired of losing?"

Fenix got up from the ground calmly, dusting himself off without reacting.

"Not at all. It's become part of my routine."

Garrick frowned, as if struggling to understand his mindset.

"Doesn't it bother you to lose all the time? Don't you have any honor or something?"

Fenix stretched his arms and smirked slightly.

"Honor? What's that? Will it help me survive when things get bad out there? I don't think so."

Garrick stayed silent for a moment before letting out a short chuckle.

"You have a point… Even though you keep getting beaten up, you're improving. But you still lack the fundamentals—it's obvious."

Fenix nodded. He already knew that.

"How's the search for a teacher going?"

"Good… or at least, I hope so. Now that exams are over, I think I'll finally be able to start. So, get ready."

Garrick smirked with that usual air of confidence.

"Hmph, I'll be waiting."

With that, Fenix said his goodbyes and left the gym, still feeling the sting in his muscles from the blows he had taken.

Back in the academy halls, he made his way to his daily classes.

Today, he had History in the morning and Survival Training in the afternoon.

He still had a long way to go… but at least now, his path was finally clear.

As the final survival class of the day came to an end, students began filing out of the classroom in small groups, chatting amongst themselves. However, just as Fenix gathered his things to leave, Aldric's voice called out to him.

"Stay back for a moment."

Fenix paused, turning his gaze toward his instructor. The others left without questioning it, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet classroom.

Aldric leaned against his desk, arms crossed, watching Fenix with a calm but assessing look.

"Seems like your evaluation went well," he finally said. "Despite everything that happened, I'm glad to see you made it back alive."

Fenix nodded slightly, appreciating the words.

"Thanks to your advice, hunting became much more manageable," he admitted. "Little by little, we got more efficient."

Aldric let out a small chuckle, his usual easygoing nature showing through.

"Glad to hear it, kid. But enough of that—let's get to the real reason you're here."

The man's posture shifted slightly, his expression becoming more serious.

"Are you ready for what you asked me for?" he asked. "This won't be easy. You may even have to forget some of the things you've learned so far. What I'll teach you is a sword technique I used back in my mercenary days. It's not elegant—it's brutal and efficient."

Fenix listened carefully, processing the weight of his words. He understood what he was getting into.

"I understand… It's going to be tough, but it's something I have to do to become stronger."

Yet, as the words left his mouth, something inside him shifted.

He was changing—he could feel it.

The people he had met were no longer just tools to reach his goals.

Little by little, he had come to value them, to appreciate their presence.

And for the first time, that realization didn't feel uncomfortable.

Fenix took a breath, pushing those thoughts aside for now. Instead, a different curiosity surfaced.

"Wait… a mercenary? You were a mercenary before becoming a professor?"

Aldric's lips curled slightly in a knowing smile.

"That's right. Back in the day… those were good times."

His voice held a hint of nostalgia, his gaze drifting slightly as if recalling a distant past.

"Though it might not seem like it, I was part of a cohort—eight of us, all incredibly strong on our own, but even deadlier as a team. We specialized in rescue operations."

Fenix tilted his head slightly.

"Rescue operations? Why would a mercenary group specialize in that?"

Aldric let out a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Because sometimes, the system malfunctions. People get sent to the wrong locations, places deep within the Soul Realm—places no one has mapped or explored. And when that happens… someone has to bring them back."

Fenix could sense the weight behind those words, the unspoken experiences hidden within them. He hesitated for a moment before asking the next question.

"But if there were only eight of you… just how strong were you all? To go into unexplored territory like that, wouldn't it normally take an entire army?"

Aldric smirked.

"Each of us had six Soul Cores."

The casual way he said it sent a chill down Fenix's spine.

Six Soul Cores?

That wasn't just strong—that was monstrous.

Fenix opened his mouth to ask more, but Aldric straightened himself, pushing off the desk and stretching his arms.

"Alright, that's enough storytime." His gaze sharpened. "Let's go. We're not training here—I don't want my classroom turning into rubble."

With that, the professor turned on his heel and walked toward the exit. Fenix quickly followed behind, his mind racing with everything he had just learned.

Aldric led Fenix through a series of hallways before stopping in front of a door that looked different from the rest.

Unlike the classrooms or training halls available to students, this place was restricted, tucked away in an area most wouldn't even know existed.

With a simple push, Aldric opened the door, revealing a large, open space inside.

The room was built like a personal training ground, with reinforced walls, sparring dummies, and even a weapon rack lined with various blades. The air inside was different—almost charged, as if the very space had witnessed countless battles before.

Fenix stepped inside, taking in the sight, when Aldric's calm voice cut through the air.

"Watch closely."

Fenix turned his gaze toward him.

Aldric raised his hand, and in the next moment, a blade materialized in his grasp.

It was a sword unlike any other.

A deep black blade, its surface resembling obsidian, absorbing the dim light rather than reflecting it.

Yet, its hilt was pure white, detailed with intricate engravings that contrasted against the eerie darkness of the weapon itself.

It was a blade that spoke of countless battles, a weapon that had been wielded with purpose.

"This is my weapon," Aldric said, his voice carrying a rare seriousness.

Then—he moved.

What followed was not a demonstration of elegant swordplay.

It was not the refined, noble techniques of the Legacy families.

Aldric's movements were ruthless, sharp, and relentless.

His steps were calculated, his slashes were aggressive, each strike aimed to kill efficiently rather than dazzle with finesse.

To any untrained eye, his swordsmanship would seem like pure brutality—but to Fenix, it was something far more terrifying.

It was efficient.

It was lethal.

And above all—it was real combat.

Fenix watched intently, his eyes glued to the way Aldric moved, taking in every detail.

This… was a technique designed to end fights quickly.

This… was how a mercenary fought.

And soon, it would be his to learn.

Aldric finished his demonstration, his movements slowing to a halt as the deadly dance of his swordplay came to an end.

Fenix, still mesmerized, stood in silence, deep in thought as he tried to process everything he had just seen.

The sheer brutality and efficiency of Aldric's technique—it was unlike anything he had witnessed before.

But before he could dwell too long on it—a voice snapped him back to reality.

"Ready or not—summon your weapon."

Fenix blinked, taken aback by the sudden command.

"Wait… How do you know I have a weapon?" he asked, his tone slightly defensive. "I don't recall mentioning it to anyone."

Aldric smirked, crossing his arms.

"The headmistress told me."

Fenix's eyes widened slightly.

"You know the headmistress?"

Aldric let out a small laugh.

"We're old friends. She mentioned you wield a sword, so I was curious to see it myself."

Fenix tensed slightly, his mind racing.

'Only Sylis and the other two who were with us during the mission know about Ashfang. They wouldn't have told anyone… right? But then again, weapons aren't exactly a secret in the academy. It's common for Awakeneds to have them. But if the headmistress knows about my sword… does that mean she also knows about my Aspect? Could she have seen me from the tower?'

Before he could get too lost in thought, a sharp pain exploded in his stomach.

Aldric had struck him without warning.

Fenix doubled over slightly, gasping.

"Ughhh—! What the hell was that for?!"

Aldric simply shrugged, his expression as casual as ever.

"I don't like it when my students zone out."

Fenix gritted his teeth, standing upright once more.

"Maybe give me a damn warning next time!"

Aldric ignored his complaint.

"First, I want to see what you're capable of. So—summon your sword and show me what you've got."

Still slightly irritated, Fenix exhaled sharply, lifting his hand.

A faint red glow pulsed around his palm, and in the next instant, Ashfang materialized in his grasp—its blackened blade faintly glowing with a reddish hue, as if embers still burned within the metal.

Aldric's eyes briefly analyzed the weapon, but he made no comment.

Instead, he simply stepped back, giving Fenix space.

"Go on."

Taking a breath, Fenix settled into a stance and began his attack.

Fenix moved swiftly, incorporating flames into his swordplay, allowing the heat and momentum to amplify his strikes.

His footwork was fast, and his attacks were aggressive, but compared to what Aldric had demonstrated earlier—it was incomplete.

There was strength behind his movements, but no refinement.

There was speed, but no precision.

It was a collection of disjointed skills forced together rather than a cohesive fighting style.

He was trying too hard to do everything at once—without truly understanding the core principles.

Aldric watched for only a few moments before cutting him off mid-motion.

"Stop."

Fenix barely had time to process the command before Aldric was already shaking his head in disappointment.

"This is a disaster," he stated bluntly. "An absolute mess."

Fenix felt a vein twitch in his forehead.

"Hey, come on, it wasn't that bad."

Aldric raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? You think so? Then tell me—what exactly were you trying to accomplish?"

Fenix opened his mouth—then closed it.

Aldric crossed his arms.

"That's what I thought."

He sighed, before walking up and pointing at Ashfang.

"Forget everything you've been doing so far. We're starting from the fundamentals."

Fenix frowned slightly.

"The fundamentals?"

Aldric nodded.

"Before you even lift a blade—let me ask you a question. What is the purpose of a sword?"

Fenix answered instinctively.

"To kill, I suppose?"

Aldric smirked slightly, but shook his head.

"That's the obvious answer. But you're missing the bigger picture."

He took a step forward, tapping Ashfang's hilt with his finger.

"A sword is not just a weapon."

"It is an extension of your soul."

"Learn to wield it properly—and it will respond to you."

Fenix narrowed his eyes slightly, absorbing those words.

This time, however—he didn't let himself get lost in thought.

Aldric had already taught him a lesson earlier about that.

As if to test him, Aldric swung his fist toward Fenix's gut again.

But this time—Fenix reacted immediately, stepping back just in time to avoid it.

Aldric let out a hearty laugh.

"Good instincts! At least you're learning."

Fenix exhaled, feeling a smirk tug at his lips.

This was going to be a long process—but for the first time… he felt excited to see how far he could go.

Fenix stood firm, gripping Ashfang tightly as Aldric circled around him, arms crossed, observing his posture with an experienced eye.

"Alright," Aldric began, his tone more instructive now. "Before you can run, you need to learn how to walk properly. Your fundamentals are a mess, so we're going to break things down to the absolute basics."

Fenix nodded, bracing himself.

Aldric continued, stepping closer to correct his stance.

"First thing—your grip."

Aldric reached forward and adjusted the way Fenix held Ashfang, slightly repositioning his fingers and ensuring his hold wasn't too tight or too loose.

"A common mistake is gripping too hard. Strength matters, but control is more important. If you're too tense, your strikes will be stiff, and your movements will become predictable."

Fenix nodded slowly, adjusting his fingers as instructed.

"Next—your stance."

Aldric tapped his foot against Fenix's ankle.

"Your feet should be properly planted, but flexible enough for quick movement. A stance that's too rigid makes you an easy target. Too loose, and you'll be knocked over easily."

Fenix adjusted his footing slightly, feeling the subtle shift in his balance.

It felt… better.

More natural.

Aldric grinned slightly.

"Good. Now, your guard."

He lifted his own blade—a jet-black sword that looked as though it had been carved from obsidian—and effortlessly raised it into a defensive position.

"Always keep your weapon positioned between yourself and your opponent. A strong guard can be the difference between life and death in a fight."

Fenix imitated the stance, lifting Ashfang.

Aldric nodded in approval.

"Now that you've got the basics down, let's move on to the most important part…"

A sharp glint flickered in Aldric's eyes.

"Repetition."

The next few hours were brutal.

Aldric made him repeat the same foundational movements over and over again—stance drills, controlled slashes, defensive maneuvers, all done at a painfully slow pace.

At first, Fenix gritted his teeth, expecting things to ramp up quickly.

But they didn't.

Every time he thought he was improving, Aldric would correct him, making him redo it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"Again."

Fenix exhaled sharply, adjusting his form before executing another slow, deliberate slash.

"Again."

He swung once more, his arms beginning to burn from the repeated motion.

"Again."

His grip tightened, sweat forming on his brow.

"Again."

Hours passed.

His arms screamed in protest, his legs felt like lead, and his breathing became heavier with each repetition.

But Aldric didn't let up.

"Mastery comes from discipline," he had said early on. "If you can't even handle this, you'll never be able to hold your own in a real fight."

So Fenix pushed through the pain.

Because he knew—this was necessary.

If he wanted to survive in this world, if he wanted to stand at the top someday… he had to become strong.

And strength only came through suffering.

By the time Aldric finally called it quits, the sun had already set, and the once bright training room was now bathed in a dim glow.

Fenix stood there, drenched in sweat, arms numb, legs aching, but mind sharper than ever.

Aldric watched him for a moment, then nodded.

"Not bad for your first day."

Fenix let out a breathless chuckle.

"You have a strange definition of 'not bad'."

Aldric smirked.

"Come back tomorrow. We'll keep going until these movements are ingrained into your very being."

Fenix exhaled heavily but gave a firm nod.

"Understood."

With that, Aldric turned on his heel and exited the training hall, leaving Fenix to stumble his way back to his dorm.

The moment Fenix stepped inside his room, he felt his muscles finally give in.

His body collapsed onto the bed, arms sprawled out, head sinking into the pillow.

Every single inch of his body throbbed in protest.

His fingers ached from gripping his sword for so long, his legs felt as though they had been filled with lead, and his shoulders burned with a dull, constant pain.

But despite all that—he felt good.

Not just physically—but mentally.

He thought back to what Aldric had told him.

"A sword is not just a weapon. It is an extension of your soul."

At first, he had dismissed the idea as philosophical nonsense.

But…

Holding Ashfang in his hands today—it felt different.

Maybe Aldric was right.

Maybe there was more to wielding a blade than just raw strength.

His thoughts drifted as exhaustion slowly overtook him.

The last thing he remembered before falling into a deep slumber—

Was the feeling of his sword calling out to him.