Chapter 9

Under her astonished gaze, nearly everyone cast the water ball spell in unison.

Roxy fell silent, her mind drifting into deep thought.

She was rattled.

With a quiet sigh, the helplessness on her face softened into a wry smile. She could hardly believe it—every single member of this family was a genius.

"Do you know intermediate magic?" Roxy asked.

This time, Roya Greyrat didn't hesitate. He nodded and said, "The book only goes up to intermediate-level magic. There's nothing about anything higher."

"Is that so?" Roxy exhaled, a wave of relief washing over her. Bolstering her confidence inwardly, she adopted a slightly patronizing tone. "Honestly, casting intermediate magic at your age isn't that remarkable. Especially you, Roya—don't let it go to your head."

Then Roxy launched into a detailed explanation of advanced magic, breaking it down step by step. She was an exceptional teacher, her instructions clear and effortless to follow.

The morning passed in a blur. Sylphy stayed at Paul's house for dinner before heading home, while Roya and Rudeus were assigned by Paul to practice swordplay.

"A man must carry a sword in his heart to protect the people who matter to him—" Those were Paul's exact words.

His full lecture was so long-winded that Roya only managed to remember those two lines.

Formal sword training began that afternoon.

It centered mainly on swinging the sword and mastering fundamental movements.

For example, they used a wooden dummy in the yard as a target to hone their technique and sharpen their attack precision. They also sparred with Paul to improve their footwork and learn how to shift their center of gravity—things like that.

In this world, swordsmanship is revered.

Starting with the basics felt satisfying.

Heroes here all wield swords. Sure, some use axes or hammers, but those are rare outliers.

No one uses spears, though. The troublesome Spearrud tribe favors tridents, so spears are considered demonic weapons—a piece of common lore. The books even describe a few such demons, depicted as frenzied killers who butcher without mercy.

Perhaps because of this history, swordsmanship here far exceeds what Roya knew from his previous life.

A master can split rocks with a single stroke or project sword energy to strike enemies from afar.

Paul, for instance, could cleave a boulder in half with one swing.

Intrigued by the mechanics, Roya flattered and coaxed Paul into showing off the technique a few times. Paul, delighted to see his son—who was already adept at advanced magic despite his young age—cheering him on, happily obliged.

But no matter how closely Roya observed, he couldn't unravel the secret behind it.

When he pressed Paul for an explanation, Paul just grinned and said, "It's all about 'stepping forward and slashing down!'"

Paul was a dreadful teacher. For all his prowess with a blade, he was hopeless at explaining it.

Still, through his own practice, Roya began to notice something.

Each time he swung his sword, a strange intuition guided him—how to swing with maximum efficiency, draw the blade with optimal force, and sheathe it with the utmost safety.

It was as if he could split a line into two perfect halves; Roya instinctively found the golden ratio every time.

With each swing, he zeroed in on his opponent's vulnerabilities with eerie accuracy. The more he trained, the more this instinct embedded itself into his very being, becoming as natural as breathing.

Perplexed, Roya asked Paul, "I don't know why, but I keep getting this feeling that tells me how to swing the sword."

Paul went quiet for a long moment, tears glistening in his eyes. Then he said, "Your talent for swordsmanship is extraordinary."

Fortunately, there was Rudeus too. Rudeus had skill, but it wasn't as prodigious as Roya's. That, at least, spared Paul some of his pride.

A son who's too exceptional can leave a father feeling outmatched.

In this world, three major swordsmanship schools reign supreme. The first is the Sword God Style, which thrives on aggression and preemptive strikes, leaning heavily on speed. "Attack is the best defense" captures its essence. If one blow doesn't end the fight, practitioners rely on swift, relentless hit-and-run tactics until victory is theirs. It echoes the fast, decisive combat styles Roya recalls from his old world.

The second is the Water God Style, its complete opposite. It prioritizes defense, focusing on disarming and countering. Water God practitioners rarely attack first, but a master can repel any assault—whether it's magic or ranged weapons. Nobles and court knights often prefer this disciplined approach.

The third is the North God Style, less a collection of techniques and more a philosophy akin to battlefield improvisation. It has no rigid forms, adapting seamlessly to the moment. Paul called it "making it up as you go," but North God fighters often use clever tricks and subtle maneuvers to come out on top.

At its height, the North God Style can turn a losing battle around in an instant. It's especially suited to the injured or imperfect, allowing them to fight on despite their flaws. That's why mercenaries and adventurers swear by it. Each style has its own strengths, excelling in different situations.

Paul's skill was undeniable. His talent shone across all three styles—Sword God, Water God, and North God—marking him as a formidable senior swordsman.

Don't underestimate senior swordsmen. Beyond the lofty ranks of Sword King and Sword God, the senior level is still a significant achievement. Unlike magic, swordsmanship only grows through tireless, hands-on practice.

Time flew by. By the time Roya and Rudeus finished their sword drills, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and night was settling in.

Today wasn't just Roxy's arrival—it was also when the power of time and space peaked.

[Power of Space and Time: 100/100]

[You can currently capture a one-star small world. Do you wish to proceed?]

That night, Paul and Zenith prepared a lavish dinner.

A steaming roast chicken gleamed under the oil lamp's warm light, accompanied by soft, delectable bread, a hearty soup made from unfamiliar vegetables, and an assortment of side dishes. The rich aroma and cozy warmth filled the hall.

"It smells incredible," Roxy said, her eyes gleaming with hunger. It was easily the best meal she'd had in the past year.

Everyone tucked in. Roya ate the chicken with poise, savoring its tender texture and robust flavor as the juices burst with every bite.

Surprisingly delicious.

"There doesn't seem to be an extra room in the house, though," Paul said abruptly, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

He was right—Roya and Rudeus had always had their own rooms. The house wasn't spacious, and room was scarce.

Roya's eyes brightened at this. He shot Rudeus a quick, silent wink.

Rudeus paused mid-bite, blinking, then returned a knowing glance.