The chirping of small birds sounded clearly, breaking the morning silence. A cold gust of wind stung Rian's skin, carrying the scent of wet pine and earth. The morning sunlight began to slip through the window, shining on his eyes.
Rian stretched from his bed, the dry leaves rustling softly. He smiled happily after dreaming of being a hero, feeling his body so sore and comfortable, and wanted to continue being a hero in his dreams.
The sun had just breached the eastern horizon, but the fog was still reluctant to leave the gaps between the giant, earth-gripping roots. Below the treehouse, Bebegig's silhouette stood tall, a wooden sword resting on his shoulder, exuding an aura as calm as marble. The morning silence was broken by his sharp shout.
"Foolish boy! Wake up, or this sword will wake you up in the next world!"
Above, inside his treehouse, Rian jolted from his sleep. The threat crept into his still half-asleep consciousness, sending a cold jolt of adrenaline.
Wah, I could really die.
He mumbled, leaping from his straw bed. Without a second thought, he dashed to the window and free-falled. He channeled a bit of wind magic to the soles of his feet, mimicking what he had seen from Bebegig. He slowed his descent until he landed perfectly in front of his master, leaving only a faint puff of dust.
"I'm ready, Kakek," he said, out of breath and his face slightly pale with fear.
"You fool," Bebegig grumbled, his tone sharp, but his eyes couldn't hide a flash of amusement. "How can you inherit my knowledge if you can't even wake up on time?"
PLAK!
The wooden sword landed on Rian's head, leaving a throbbing, painful lump.
"Aww! Sorry, Kek. I was having a good dream about being a hero, so I was lazy to wake up, hehehe," Rian said with a goofy grin, ignoring the pain for the sweet memory of his dream.
"Your foolish dream will never come true if you're a slacker," Bebegig lectured, pointing to a wooden sword leaning against a tree. "Take your sword. Let's begin the training."
Bebegig took a position, his stance firmly rooted to the earth. He swung his sword straight down from above, a simple movement pivoting at the waist. However, each swing created a powerful gust of wind that sent dry leaves flying and startled birds from their branches. The wind wasn't dangerous, but its force was palpable on Rian's skin.
"Do this warm-up a thousand times. Call me when you're done. I'll be watching you from above," he said, pointing to the treehouse. "Miss even one, and I'll stop teaching you."
Rian swallowed, watching the demonstration. "Did you use wind magic, Kakek?" he asked, astonished.
"No. I just flowed a little mana through all my arm muscles, then swung with all my might. Every swing channeled with stable mana will produce an effect like this," Bebegig explained, repeating the motion once more. "If I use wind magic, the result is like this."
Instantly, the blade of Bebegig's wooden sword was enveloped in bright green light. The air around him felt cool, and a gentle vortex of wind formed around his feet. He slashed with the same motion, but this time, a crescent-shaped blade of wind shot from the tip of his sword.
The blade flew silently, striking a large tree across the clearing. There was a moment of silence before the giant tree toppled with a cracking sound, cleanly severed by a smooth, slanted cut.
"That is a swing infused with wind magic," Bebegig said flatly.
Rian gaped, his eyes fixed on the power he had just witnessed. The giant tree trunk was nearly a meter in diameter, and it was cut so smoothly as if by a hot knife. "Heeee…"
"I will teach you that after you are able to defeat me," Bebegig promised.
"How can I ever defeat you?" Rian complained, feeling hopeless.
"Just do as I instructed," Bebegig replied, turning and walking toward the treehouse.
Okay, fine. I'll just do what he wants. Besides, I can already use blue fire magic.
Rian mumbled to himself, a little arrogantly. He picked up the wooden sword. It felt solid and heavy in his hand. He began to swing.
One. Two. The wind was just a soft whisper. Ten. His arms began to feel heavy. One hundred. Sweat started to bead on his forehead.
Five hundred. His shoulder muscles felt like they were on fire. He was gasping for breath, but he remembered yesterday's lesson, forcing his breathing back into a regular pattern. Only the sound of his wooden slashes cutting the air and the shrieks of disturbed birds filled the small clearing.
After a thousand exhausting swings, Rian collapsed on the ground, drenched in sweat. The wooden sword fell from his numb grip. Before long, Bebegig descended to him, landing lightly without a sound.
"It's a thousand times, Kakek," Rian reported, his voice hoarse.
Bebegig stood in the middle of the clearing. "Now, try to defeat me. Use all the swordsmanship you know, without magic. There is only one condition: your sword merely has to touch my skin, and you win."
Rian's eyes sparkled.
Ah, if it's just that, it's easy!
He got up, approaching Bebegig who had already taken a stance. "When do we start?"
"Attack," Bebegig said firmly.
Enthusiastically, Rian charged. He swung his sword brutally—right, left, up, down, wild, random thrusts. However, not a single one of his attacks touched Bebegig. The master moved like a shadow, evading with minimal movements, sometimes just with a slight turn of the shoulder or a shift of the foot.
Then, with a single, swift counter-attack, the hilt of Bebegig's wooden sword struck Rian's solar plexus. The dull, piercing pain forced all the air from his lungs. Rian was thrown back several meters and collapsed, unable to breathe for a moment.
"Weak. Slow. Your attacks are easy to read," Bebegig said, his voice cold. "Strengthen the mana flow to your hands and swing with all your might. Predict my movements, aim your sword according to your prediction. Do that until you hit me. Get up and repeat."
"Yes, sir!"
Rian got up and attacked again, this time more focused. However, the result was the same. He was thrown back again.
"Keep your breathing stable!" Bebegig reprimanded. "Focus the mana flow to your hands as we've learned. If you forget, we start over from zero."
Yeah, yeah, I remember! So naggy. Let's go again!
Rian retorted in his mind. The fight continued. Rian repeatedly failed, fell, and got up again. His head was covered in bumps, his arms were scratched, and his palms were raw and blistered. The ground around them was filled with footprints, drag marks, and sweat. Strangely, though his body screamed in pain, his spirit never wavered.
"Again!" he shouted after being thrown. He got up, then lost again. "Come on, one more time!"
Kakek, what are you? So nimble, like a possessed squirrel!
Rian exclaimed in frustration in his mind, but his eyes were still blazing.
"I will not stop until you defeat me," Bebegig challenged.
"Fine! Just you watch, I will defeat you!"
The training continued non-stop. The sound of wooden swords clashing filled the small clearing. The once-tidy ground was now full of footprints and marks from Rian's falls. From morning until dusk approached.
As the sky began to turn orange, and the air started to feel cold again, Rian lay on the ground, gasping for breath, his body battered and bruised. He couldn't even lift his wooden sword anymore.
"Training for today is over," Bebegig said as the sky began to darken. "You are still very weak and slow. Your mana flow is unstable. Fix it tomorrow. I will not change the lesson until you can touch me."
That night, Rian stared at the wooden ceiling of the treehouse, every inch of his body screaming in pain. He felt small, weak, and far from his dream of being a hero. However, amidst the pain, a seed of stubborn determination began to take root. This was no longer about being a hero in a comic. This was about conquering the mountain standing before him, an old master named Bebegig.
The next day, Rian started again with breathing exercises, and alternated again with sword training the following day. Every day was spent on the same schedule. In his spare time, Rian also hunted prey while practicing every lesson he understood.
Day after day, month after month, Rian always tried hard to train his breathing to remain stable. He tried hard to touch Bebegig's body. By now, the breathing exercises for stability had become a familiar routine.
His breathing began to stabilize. The push-ups, sit-ups, and other weight training, he completed faster each day. His once-average body began to take shape, leaner and more solid. The old scars from the Troll had faded, replaced by calluses on his hands and denser muscles.
At the bottom of the lake, Rian was no longer just signing up to be fish food. He began to play with the water monsters. He was attacked from the left with a strong swish of water; he could dodge. The water felt heavy, resisting his every move. He turned, kicked, air bubbles exploding from his feet. Punch, dodge again. Holding his breath underwater while under attack from monsters was not fully overcome, but he always managed to survive the training.
Tomorrow, I must defeat Grandpa with all my abilities.