Instincts of a Swordsman: Unrestrained

At the break of dawn, George ran across the open field, his small feet barely making a sound against the damp grass. The morning air was crisp, yet his body was brimming with energy—far more than usual. It wasn't just excitement for his birthday or the anticipation of sword training with his father. Something felt different. Something felt... unrestrained.

Curious, he called upon his status screen. The moment his eyes scanned the data, his breath hitched. The restrictions on his stats were gone. Strength, Stamina, and Agility—no longer limited by his age. His body pulsed with a newfound vigor, his muscles lighter, his steps swifter. He clenched his fists, feeling the tangible change.

"So that's why I feel like this..." he muttered to himself. "I'm finally free."

His gaze shifted to his skills, and another surprise awaited him. His Basic Body Controls skill had reached A rank. A skill that had taken him a year to nurture had advanced to a level of near mastery.

A wide grin spread across his face. Without hesitation, he resumed his training, pushing his body further than before. He sprinted in tight, controlled circles, his feet adapting instinctively. Then, he leaped into quick spins, flipping mid-air before landing smoothly. He practiced sharp pivots, evasive sidesteps, and fluid transitions between movements, each executed with a grace that felt second nature.

He was so engrossed in testing his newfound control that he barely noticed his father approaching, two wooden swords in hand.

Marcus chuckled, watching his son's movements. "I never thought I'd be teaching swordsmanship to a four-year-old," he admitted, tossing one of the wooden swords to George. "But it seems like it's the only thing I have left to teach."

Before George could respond, another figure joined them. Elana.

She was dressed in a pristine white tunic with golden embroidery, her long black hair tied neatly behind her. Her usual playful demeanor had been replaced by an air of grace, her posture composed, her expression unreadable. She was no longer just his energetic older sister—she was becoming a refined young lady.

"You're up early," George remarked, tilting his head.

Elana simply smiled, folding her arms. "I wanted to see this so-called training."

Marcus smirked before focusing on George. "Now then, let's begin. Watch closely and imitate me."

George grasped the wooden sword. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, a strange familiarity coursed through him. His grip adjusted naturally, and without thinking, he executed a smooth upward arc, followed by a quick pivot and downward slash. His feet shifted in perfect harmony, his stance solid and balanced.

A deep silence followed.

Marcus blinked, his grip tightening on his own sword. "You... You learned swordsmanship from someone?"

George froze. A realization hit him—this movement was ingrained in his very being, remnants of his past life still lingering. But in this life, he had never once held a sword. His mind raced for an answer.

"No?" he responded, tilting his head with innocent confusion, as if the question itself was odd.

Marcus exhaled, rubbing his temple. "That was not the swing of a beginner."

George hesitated before speaking. "Then... why didn't you teach me martial arts?"

Marcus raised a brow. "Don't be ridiculous. I only know the basics. You'll learn far more at the academy."

George opened his mouth to respond, but Marcus suddenly shifted his stance, pointing his wooden sword at him. "Actually, there's a better way to gauge your level." A smirk played on his lips. "Let's have a duel."

George's eyes widened before his lips curled into an eager grin. "A duel?"

Marcus nodded. "Of course, I'll go easy on you. But let's see what you've really got."

Elana raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "This should be interesting."

George tightened his grip on his sword, his heart pounding with anticipation. This was his first real challenge in this new life. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Alright... let's do this."

Marcus chuckled, lowering his stance. "Come at me, then."