Breaking Limits

Two weeks had passed since Fenix began training under Aldric. Two grueling, repetitive, frustrating weeks of nothing but fundamentals.

It was the same every day—footwork drills, stances, grip adjustments, and endless repetition of basic strikes. No real combat, no advanced techniques, no flashy moves. Just the fundamentals, drilled into his body until they became second nature.

At first, he had underestimated how difficult it would be. He thought he understood the basics of wielding a sword. But Aldric quickly shattered that illusion.

"You have no foundation," Aldric had told him on the first day. "Your movements are sloppy, your grip is weak, and your footwork? A disaster. If I put a real blade in your hands, you'd cut yourself before you even scratched an enemy."

So Fenix endured. He didn't complain, didn't question. He just kept practicing, pushing himself through exhaustion and frustration. The muscle aches, the bruises from constant corrections, the sweat-soaked uniforms—they all became part of his new reality.

And yet, despite the agony, he was improving. Slowly, subtly. His stance was steadier, his grip firmer. He could react faster to Aldric's sudden strikes, and his footwork no longer felt like a stumbling mess.

But he was still nowhere near ready.

The morning sun barely peeked through the windows of the training hall when Fenix arrived. Aldric was already there, as always, waiting with his arms crossed.

"Good, you're on time. That means you can endure a little more today."

Fenix sighed, rolling his shoulders. He was used to Aldric's idea of 'a little more' by now.

"Alright, kid. Show me what you've learned so far," Aldric instructed, stepping back and motioning for him to take a stance.

Fenix drew Ashfang, the familiar weight now more natural in his grip. He took position, feet steady, blade raised. He exhaled, focusing.

Aldric watched him carefully, then attacked without warning.

The wooden training sword came fast, aiming for Fenix's side. He parried, shifting his weight just enough to deflect the blow. But Aldric didn't stop.

A second strike came—a downward slash. Fenix blocked, barely managing to hold his ground before being forced back.

Then a third strike—a feint, disguised as a thrust.

Fenix reacted too late. The wooden blade slammed into his ribs.

"Too slow," Aldric muttered.

Fenix gritted his teeth. He had seen the attack, but his body wasn't fast enough to react.

"Again."

They repeated the process. Over and over.

Each time, Fenix improved just a little, but Aldric was relentless. No matter how much progress he made, there was always a flaw to exploit, always a mistake to correct.

And it frustrated him.

At some point, Fenix snapped.

After taking another painful hit to the shoulder, his frustration boiled over. Instinctively, his grip tightened, and black flames flickered around Ashfang.

Aldric immediately stopped.

The training hall went silent.

"Not yet."

His voice was calm but firm. A warning.

Fenix clenched his jaw, forcing the fire to subside.

"You still don't have control over your power," Aldric continued. "If you rely on it now, you'll never grow as a swordsman."

Fenix exhaled sharply. He knew Aldric was right. His power was a crutch, something he had leaned on far too easily.

"Again," Aldric commanded.

This time, he forced Fenix into a corner. No dodging. No stepping back.

"Parry. Counter. Read me."

The first few attempts were a disaster. His arms ached from blocking each blow. He felt overwhelmed, outmatched.

But then… something clicked.

His eyes sharpened.

He started noticing the subtle shifts in Aldric's stance—the small twitches that hinted at his next attack.

And when the next strike came, instead of blocking—

He countered.

Ashfang moved instinctively, slipping past Aldric's guard.

Aldric raised a brow as the wooden blade stopped just an inch from his ribs.

Then, he smiled.

"Not bad, kid."

By the time the session ended, Fenix could barely stand.

His arms felt like lead, his muscles screaming in protest. He was covered in sweat, his uniform damp and sticking to his skin.

Aldric let out a satisfied sigh.

"You're getting there," he admitted. "But don't get cocky. You've only taken the first step. This is just the beginning."

Fenix nodded, too tired to argue.

With that, they left the training hall, parting ways for the night.

When Fenix finally collapsed onto his bed, the exhaustion hit him all at once.

His mind replayed the lesson, Aldric's words echoing in his head.

'A sword is not just an instrument of death. It's an extension of yourself.'

He stared at the ceiling, his body aching but his mind strangely clear.

He was getting stronger.

Slowly. Painfully.

But stronger nonetheless.

And for the first time since coming to this academy—

He felt a little closer to what he wanted to become.