Strike.
A whistle of the blade, the air splitting with a sharp snap. A precise, clean, and swift thrust. Everything was correct, yet still not enough for Lilia.
Strike.
A smooth transition, then a finishing blow. Fast. Hard. But not perfect.
Lilia frowned. Too slow. Too soft.
"Father would be disappointed..."
A treacherous thought flashed through her mind, souring her mood instantly.
Lilia stepped back and exhaled. The tip of the sword lowered, her fingers tightened on the hilt. Her legs naturally shifted into a fighting stance. Something inside her demanded she be better. An old childhood wound still refused to let her rest.
Strike.
Lilia stopped. Her chest rose and fell steadily. Her hand moved on its own to adjust her glove.
Her eyes slid along the blade. The edge was flawless, sharpened to a mirror sheen. Nothing to criticize. And yet something still felt wrong.
A memory surfaced — her father's cold gaze, a curt nod. No praise, no reprimand. He never said she was good. He simply waited for her to stop being imperfect. But she never did. And never would.
Lilia sighed. It didn't matter.
The sword rose into the air again.
Lilia shifted her stance. Her movements became softer, smoother. Her style — the Water School. It might seem passive in offense, but in defense, it was impeccable.
A step forward, the blade cutting through an arc without any sharp motion, just a flowing current moving from one strike to the next.
One, two, three.
The fourth strike came suddenly, almost lazy-looking, yet precise like a needle prick.
Lilia moved as if drifting along a stream. An imaginary opponent lunged.
One.
He misses.
Two.
The blade passes close, without touching.
Three.
A lunge — her attack is already where he has not yet managed to defend.
Lilia stopped. She felt her breath even out. Her body finally moving the way it should.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Sharp claps sounded from somewhere nearby.
"Aunt Lilia, you're perfect as always!"
A child's voice called out. A smile tried to rise on its own, but she suppressed it, returning to her usual expression.
"Master Rudeus," she nodded in greeting. "Out for a run?"
"Yeah. I don't often see you training..."
Every early morning Lilia would rise out of habit to stretch, just to avoid losing form long past its peak. Usually, by the time Rudeus stepped outside, she had already finished and watched him leave.
But this time he had woken earlier.
"I always train at this time. You just usually don't see it."
Lilia tilted her head slightly, sheathing her sword. Her voice was calm, as if the entire training had cost her no effort at all.
"Did you decide to go out earlier as well? Or was your night restless?"
"Ah... well..." He seemed to think of something, then shook his head sharply. "Doesn't matter. Lilia, if you're training... then..."
"Rudeus wishes to challenge me to a spar."
She already knew what he had in mind. Rudeus could be thoughtful and sometimes overly quiet, but he couldn't hide his intentions.
"If it's convenient for you..."
"As you wish."
Stepping slightly aside, she headed toward the place where the training swords were usually kept. Lilia chose one of them, habitually checked its balance, and returned to the practice ground.
"Standard rules?" she asked, lifting her gaze to Rudeus.
He nodded, spinning the wooden sword in his hand as he warmed up.
"Safe strikes, no magic, first clean hit wins."
The usual sparring rules.
"Understood."
She took her stance. Calm, relaxed, almost unarmed in appearance.
Rudeus was fast. But straightforward. Lilia had no doubt he would attack first. And he did. A direct strike, predictable as expected.
She stepped back half a step, shifted her body. Rudeus's sword passed by without meeting any resistance.
Flow.
She guided the sword to the side, catching his movement. Rudeus tried to change the angle, but his weapon was already sliding past its target.
Lilia made a smooth turn. Her blade now lightly touched his neck.
"Hit," she said calmly.
"Whoa! Fast. Really fast. I'm nowhere near your level..."
"Don't be discouraged, Rudeus. At your age, I couldn't do even half of what you can."
"Again!"
His feet dug forcefully into the ground. The sword lifted slightly above his head. A standard stance and the movements every novice swordsman learns before choosing a path.
Strike.
A click.
His wrist moved slightly. He was preparing a feint.
Lilia didn't move. Only her gaze shifted toward his wrist. She already knew what he intended.
A feint.
Rudeus made the motion, and in the same instant Lilia had already shifted. Half a step to the side, a turn of her torso. His sword once again passed by without meeting its mark.
She didn't counterattack immediately and remained standing still.
Rudeus exhaled, turning back toward her. Two failed attempts in a row.
"Let's go again?"
Lilia tilted her head slightly, accepting the challenge.
Click.
The flying strike was easily parried and redirected. But Rudeus seemed to expect that. A sharp twist of his wrist — and the sword that had already been deflected suddenly changed trajectory.
"He wants to perform a False Strike."
Lilia could see all his attacks clearly.
That was the weakness of the standard school — too straightforward, too predictable. Against someone with good perception, such techniques were useless unless you had overwhelming strength and speed. And the boy clearly didn't.
Lilia didn't blink.
Her sword was already moving. But then—
Khh! A sharp pain shot through her spine. Strength instantly left her hand, and the flying strike lost part of its power.
Click.
A light push, and his sword slid downward, reaching its target. Her thigh took a light hit.
Silence.
"W-what!" Eyes wide, Rudeus just stood there, unsure how to react. "Did I..."
"Congratulations, Rudeus. That was an excellent strike..."
The pain in her spine eased slightly. An old injury, reminding her every time it pleased. A crooked smile appeared on her face. Just for a second — then vanished.
"But... Aunt Lilia, are you alright..." he leaned forward a little, worry in his gaze.
"It's nothing serious. You did very well."
"But—"
"We all carry some burden. And sometimes it makes itself known."
She nodded to him softly. Rudeus lowered his sword, though his eyes still darted around. He frowned, trying to read her expression.
"Are you sure you're alright? Your expression..."
"Pay it no mind," she cut him off gently. "It's just an old wound. It doesn't hinder me."
Rudeus still looked unsettled. Lilia exhaled and straightened a little, testing how much her lower back pulled.
"You move well, Rudeus," she said more calmly. "Much better than I expected."
"Really?"
"Yes," Lilia nodded. "Paul trained you well. His approach is... unusual, but the results are impressive."
He lifted his gaze and suddenly, not knowing why, asked:
"Did you know Paul before?" Rudeus asked unexpectedly.
Lilia lowered her chin slightly, her face almost unchanged. Only her eyes grew a little deeper.
"Correct. We... studied at the same sword school."
"Really? I never would've guessed."
"..."
She didn't answer right away. The wind brushed her hair, shifting thin strands across her forehead.
"You've never told me about your past..."
Lilia gave a faint smile. A tired one — the kind people wear when they've long since learned to keep things to themselves.
"Sometimes the past is better left behind."
Rudeus shuddered. He caught himself on how strangely strong her words felt. He gave a crooked smile.
"Yeah... that's true."
Both fell silent again. They stood facing each other in the morning quiet, breathing gradually steadying. Lilia looked away first.
"That's enough for today," she said softly. "Go. The day is just beginning."
Rudeus nodded, still absorbing what he'd heard and seen. He wanted to ask more, but realized the moment had passed.
"Thank you, Aunt Lilia."
She inclined her head slightly in response.
When he left, Lilia remained alone on the practice ground. The wind brushed through the grass, and her back muscles twitched unpleasantly again. She exhaled.
Time to return to the house.
Morning had only begun, but the day already promised to be long.
***
"Here, take this."
Roxy handed me three small spheres.
They were smooth and cold to the touch. Lines covered their surface: straight, twisting, looping, jagged. Silver-gray with a faint shimmering gleam.
"What are these?"
"Training spheres made of tuonite. If you mess up, they'll just bounce right into your forehead."
She looked at me with a lazy smirk, as if she already knew how this would end.
"Perfect for practicing precision, rhythm, control, and switching focus. Or for realizing just how bad you are at all of that."
"What's tuonite?" I asked, not taking my eyes off the spheres. "Sounds like something from a joke about alchemists."
"Not exactly," Roxy replied, rolling one of the spheres across her palm. "A very rare, very temperamental, very expensive creature. It carries mana cleanly and effortlessly. No bursts, no jolts. Smooth, like a snap of the fingers."
Roxy glanced at him, then back at me.
"That's why it's valuable. Especially for combat stuff — blades, armor, runes. But whole pieces cost too much. So only veins, inlays, channels. No one would waste enough to make an entire artifact. Unless your father is an archmage with a fetish for economics."
She tossed the sphere up and caught it without looking.
"Inside these is a thin tuonite mesh. It feels your mistakes... Basically, you could say it teaches you. Though it'd be a very strange teacher."
She sat down across from me, tucking her legs beneath herself. She took one sphere back, spinning it in her hand with lazy carelessness.
"Watch closely."
Mana flowed, barely visible. The sphere twitched and stilled. The lines on its surface began to glow faintly.
A moment later, the sphere hovered above her hand.
I bit my tongue to stop myself from blurting out:
"Suppose I pour mana into it. Will it pretend to work, or fly straight out the window?"
Not a scene for an audience. Especially this audience.
"What are you staring at? This is the easy part."
She added a second sphere. Then a third. Her voice stayed just as calm as before.
"If you can hold one, you can hold two. And if you can hold two, then three isn't a problem. Height, speed, direction. One up, one down. One fast, one slow. All at the same time."
Roxy leaned forward, took out another sphere. How many did she even have? She ran her fingers along its surface, finding the right line, and mana flowed.
The lines on the spheres flashed blue. It trembled and shot upward. The others followed.
One drew a slow circle. Another jerked, vanished, reappeared a few centimeters to the right, vanished again, reappeared again. It moved so fast it was hard to track unless you strained your eyes. The third glided along an invisible spiral, flipping as it went.
"Sometimes you have to keep the rhythm even when everything goes to hell. Sometimes slow down or speed up when nothing's ready. For example..."
One sphere suddenly broke from its path and shot past her temple, missing by half a centimeter. Roxy didn't even blink. She only shifted her fingers slightly, and it returned to tracing its circle.
"It almost hit you," I said, trying to sound neutral. "Is that normal?"
I wanted to know how safe — or unsafe — this really was.
"Of course it's normal," she said, narrowing her eyes a bit. "He's your future friend... for many, many days. Just a little nervous."
Roxy slowly ran a finger across one of the spheres still resting on her palm.
"You have a huge mana reserve. More than half the guild mages. Maybe even more than me... No, that would be insulting."
I snorted.
"But your control is a mess," she continued with a small frown. "You pour power without measure, without thinking where it goes. That's dangerous."
I wanted to ask what would happen if I overdid it. But judging by Roxy's expression, she had already calculated that scenario. And she was amused by it.
I raised my hand. One of the spheres twitched, its lines flickering dimly.
Roxy watched without saying anything. Her hands rested on her knees, her back slightly bent, her chin lifted with mild curiosity.
I focused on the sensation. Mana flowed, but the sphere didn't react, and the lines faded.
"Are you just going to pet it?" Roxy narrowed her eyes, her voice still lazy but with a noticeable smirk. "Come on, try, try."
"Are you sure it's even meant for this?" I muttered, not expecting an answer. "Maybe it has a contract that says 'don't obey anyone under forty.'"
Though technically I was older than forty...
Thwack!
Roxy's staff smacked me squarely on the top of my head.
"A contract? Maybe it has one. But all you've got right now are complaints. Get to it!"
Thwack!
She hit me again. Mana surged. The sphere twitched. Then it began to spin slowly and lifted. Just a little.
I opened my mouth in silent triumph: See? It works!
"There— Kkh!"
But the sphere, as if hearing that first, jerked, spun sideways — and with perfect precision struck me right in the crotch.
I choked and folded over. Breath knocked out of me, eyes instantly watering.
Roxy leaned back and burst into laughter as if she had just received the gift she'd been promised.
"Well. Now we can officially begin..."
I straightened, grimacing, and forced out through clenched teeth:
"And how exactly is that supposed to help with learning magic?"
Roxy had nearly calmed down. She propped herself up on her elbows, looked at me with a squint, and drawled with mockery:
"With your control, learning combat magic is like throwing torches into a barn full of hay. Everything burns. Including you."
She picked up one of the spheres again, rolling it between her fingers.
"So until you learn to hold at least this, forget about pretty fireballs and other 'heroic magic.'"
I snatched the sphere angrily. Squeezed my hand until my knuckles whitened. It lit with a thin glow.
Roxy snorted, resting her elbow on her knee.
I felt mana surging in uneven bursts. The light flickered and died. The sphere slipped from my fingers, hit a stone, and rolled away.
"Useless," I exhaled.
"Welcome to the beginning..."
Repetition and failure.
Time passed. Dozens of attempts blended into one endless exercise.
Roxy sat across from me, lazily watching. Occasionally tossing out a short, "slower," "focus," "too sharp."
The whole day went by like that.
***
Roxy sat off to the side, watching Rudeus struggle with the tuonite.
The sphere slipped again and smacked him full-force in the forehead. He winced, rubbed the spot, and barely held back a quiet curse.
Heh. She smirked a little and raised an eyebrow, gauging how much that hit rattled him. But he continued.
No matter how many attempts he made, nothing worked, yet he kept trying again and again.
Roxy watched him and thought that Laplace's mark had given him such talent for magic it was almost insulting. The unfair part was that he grasped the magical language in a couple of weeks as if he'd always known it.
But at the same time, it was satisfying to see that he still struggled with something.
His control remained extremely low, and that happened because his mana reserve was far too large for his age. It was hard for him to focus power and direct it properly.
Weak control was a common issue for those with more mana than average, but in his case — thanks to the god's mark — it manifested far more strongly.
Roxy herself had never been born with exceptional reserves.
Years of hard training allowed her to increase them, but only to slightly above average. Which made it even more frustrating that at six years old Rudeus already had twenty times more mana, and it grew every day. He didn't even need to train — he could slack off and still get stronger.
A sigh.
Roxy let out a gloomy breath, then shook her head to chase away the unpleasant thoughts.
She looked once more at how amusingly Rudeus puffed and struggled — and decided it was time to move on to the next stage: dueling magic.