His strength had grown—there was no denying that anymore.
Every match made it clearer.
Every movement, every strike, every decision he made in a fight… it all carried a level of precision that most of his peers couldn't keep up with.
Skill-wise, he had already caught up to the top—and in some cases, even surpassed them.
And yet—
It still didn't feel like enough.
Swish—
The sound of his blade cutting through the air echoed in the early hours of the morning, long before most of the academy woke up.
That had become his routine.
Wake up. Train. Repeat.
Day after day.
He practiced until his hands went numb, until the weight of the sword felt like an extension of his own body. His footwork sharpened, his reactions honed down to instinct.
Even his mana—once something he had to consciously guide—now moved with him naturally, flowing through every swing without hesitation.
There was no wasted motion anymore.
No hesitation.
No room for doubt.
