One Step at a Time

Opening Poem – "The Path Ahead"

Each stone beneath, a trial to face,

Each breath a mark, each step a pace.

The summit hides behind the haze,

But those who climb will feel its grace.

Not by leaps, nor giant flight,

But inch by inch toward the light.

The greatest tales the stars recite,

Are forged in steps through darkest night.

After the startling introduction with Lamile, William found himself at the threshold of a new reality. His new life in a world brimming with magic, nobility, and war began not with a heroic duel or grand revelation—but with pain. Bone-deep, muscle-splitting, soul-shaking pain.

He stood in the courtyard with Lamile, excitement mingling with anxiety. His heart pounded, not just from anticipation but also from the sheer weight of responsibility. His thoughts raced wildly:

"Sword fighting? Seriously? Do I get to learn aura? That'd be insane!" he mentally screamed. "I've always wanted to be one of those anime heroes…"

Lamile turned toward him with a composed smile that barely hinted at the storm he was about to unleash.

"Well, my Lord," she began, her voice as smooth as velvet and sharp as steel, "let's begin with the fundamentals. Your first lesson will be endurance and routine structuring."

Her tone remained gentle, but the glint in her eye was a cruel wind in disguise.

"For battle," she continued, "there are eight fundamental traits one must master:

StrengthSpeedEnduranceAgilityObservationMentalityKnowledgeBattle Arts

I will divide your routine accordingly. Daily, we'll focus on strength, speed, endurance, agility, and mentality. Knowledge, observation, and battle arts will alternate every other day."

She rolled out a scroll. "This is your weekly schedule. Don't lose it… not that you'll ever get a chance to escape it."

Training Routine – Foundations of the Body

The first session began without delay. Lamile called it "basic endurance." William would later describe it as "the prelude to death."

Morning drills:

200 push-ups100 pull-ups300 squats5 km run with 10kg ankle weights100 frog jumps5 rounds of wind-flow breathing technique (to build stamina and chi focus)

Mid-morning drills:

Weighted rope climbingObstacle agility runs3 minutes of plank hold (increased daily)Balance beam sprint

Afternoon drills (alternate days):

Blindfolded awareness trainingMeditation under waterfall (to build mental fortitude)

Each repetition was exacted with harsh precision. Lamile didn't shout, didn't scold. She simply watched with those calculating eyes and adjusted his posture with a cold touch that sent chills down William's spine.

When William collapsed after the squats, trembling, Lamile crouched beside him.

"Endurance isn't the ability to avoid exhaustion," she said. "It's the ability to keep moving while exhausted."

William groaned. "My legs… are noodles…"

"Good. Noodles are flexible."

Denvers Battle Art – Calm Wind

Before the battle arts training, Lamile provided a demonstration. She was, after all, the Howling Wind of Denvers.

"There are three streams in Denvers Art—martial arts, sword arts, and aura. You'll start with the first two. Aura is only granted to those worthy after months or years."

Martial Art Techniques – Rudimentary Level

Breeze Step – a footwork technique allowing swift movement between openings to strike blind spots.Vein Slash – a precise strike that hits joints or veins, impairing enemy movement.Gale Throw – a redirecting technique using the opponent's momentum against them.Wind Guard – a defensive stance that absorbs impact through redirection.

Sword Art Techniques – Rudimentary Level

Gust Draw – a fast-draw technique that knocks the enemy back to buy time.Sky Rend – a powerful upward slash, useful against tall foes.Stone Break – a downward strike meant to stagger or break defense.Criss Cross – diagonal slashes to confuse or trap the opponent.Horizon Cut – a full-body horizontal slash.Steel Veil – a defensive maneuver to parry or catch enemy weapons.

William watched the demonstration in awe. Lamile's movement was art and precision combined—like dancing wind wrapped in blades.

"These," she said, "are just the basics."

William's jaw dropped. Just the basics?!

He sighed internally, remembering his days at the gym back on Earth—the excitement at first, the boredom that followed, the cramps, the soreness, the plateaus.

He muttered inwardly, "Not again... not this hellish pain. I thought I was gifted, not cursed!"

Lamile smirked. "Slow but steady, my Lord. Wind may be invisible… but it is relentless."

Thus began his training.

By the time he left the yard, William's legs barely worked. He used his wooden sword as a crutch, dragging himself toward the mansion, breath ragged, mind blank.

A bath helped—briefly. The chill water bit into sore muscles but gave him enough relief to eat lunch. He barely tasted it before falling asleep for two hours, face-first in his pillow.

Afternoon Tea with Mother – Emil's Pavilion

The tea pavilion stood nestled within a flower garden, surrounded by sweet breezes and soft rustling leaves. Its floor was a polished stone circle with a golden tea set shimmering in the sun.

Emil sat waiting in an elegant chair, her golden hair pinned and her dress flowing like sunlight.

William staggered in like a wounded soldier. "Mother," he wheezed, "if I die, please tell Lamile it was murder."

Emil chuckled softly, pouring him rose-scented tea. "I take it your first training went well?"

"Well, my legs think otherwise."

"Drink. And speak."

William described his session in a dramatic, theatrical monologue full of exaggerated pain. Emil laughed, a warm sound that eased some of the fatigue in his chest.

"And Lamile… she doesn't even yell. She just looks, and your muscles obey from fear."

"She's known for shaping even war criminals into respectable soldiers," Emil said, sipping her tea. "You're only a noble son."

"But I'm a fragile noble son," he groaned.

"You'll grow, my love," Emil said. "Even diamonds start as dirt."

They sat in peaceful silence for a while. A breeze passed. Birds chirped. William, still sore, smiled faintly.

Evening – Noble Etiquette Lesson

As the sun dipped, Emil led William into a grand hall. A woman stood waiting—a tall redhead in a noble dress, spectacles perched delicately, her presence refined but firm.

"This," Emil introduced, "is Ms. Elira Lawson. She will guide your etiquette and courtly manners."

Elira bowed lightly. "My Lord."

William bowed back. "Miss."

His thighs screamed in agony. He bit his lip and kept upright.

"I understand you had rigorous training this morning," Elira noted, raising an eyebrow. "Shall we begin anyway?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Elira's lesson covered posture, introduction forms, dining positions, and conversational poise. William wobbled more than once but corrected himself each time.

At one point, Emil whispered to herself, watching her son endure: "He's pushing through it all… even when it hurts."

Elira paused. "Why do you persist, my Lord? Most would have asked for rest."

William smiled despite the pain. "Because… I want to do this right. If I must walk this path, I'll walk it with dignity—even if I limp a little along the way."

That answer earned him a rare, approving nod.

Nightfall – A Lullaby for the Worn

Dinner passed quietly. William ate little but drank his warm herbal milk. Emil entered his room afterward and sat at his bedside.

"Would you like a lullaby?" she asked.

"Always," he murmured, curling under the covers.

Emil brushed back his hair and began.

"The Rise of a Star – Lullaby of Evan"

Once there was a boy of clay,

Born where nobles cast away.

He toiled through the common dirt,

With blistered hands and wounded shirt.

They laughed and mocked, said he'd not thrive,

But stars are born through storm and strife.

He studied, fought, then rose anew,

His heart alight with what was true.

He bore no crown, he wore no crest,

But held the world within his chest.

He broke the chains, embraced the flame,

And bought the peace through his own name.

So sleep, dear child, and dream tonight,

Of those who rose through endless night.

For even stars, before they shine,

Take one step up… one step in time.

William's eyelids drooped. His mother's voice faded like the setting sun.

He thought to himself, remembering his college days—how he had topped the entrance exam, then the finals, then got the job, then the promotion. One step at a time.

"It's always one step at a time," he thought before sleep claimed him.

Closing Poem – "The Climb"

No mountain moved for feet that fled,

No summit bowed to those who pled.

But those who bled and still arose,

Who climbed while pain beneath them froze—

They are the ones who reach the peak,

Not gods, nor stars, just souls unique.

So forge your path, though rough it lies,

And you shall one day touch the skies.