The night was still.
Moonlight spilled over the training grounds, pale and silver, glimmering on the dew that coated the packed dirt.
The walls surrounding the area rose like silent sentinels, casting long shadows across the empty field.
Cael stood at the center, a wooden sword resting against his shoulder.
The faint hum of crickets echoed from the nearby forest, mixing with the distant creak of the estate's iron gate.
The air was cool against his skin — the kind of chill that carried clarity with it.
He breathed in slowly, feeling the flow of mana pulse faintly within him. His muscles still ached from the morning's run, but it didn't matter. What he planned tonight wasn't about comfort.
It was about foundation.
"Now then," he murmured, glancing at the empty grounds.
"Let's see what this weak body can handle."
He closed his eyes for a moment and let his thoughts drift to the concept that underpinned everything in this world — the Path of Awakening.
✧ ✧ ✧
Awakening a mana core was like lighting a candle in a storm. It gave you power, yes, but it didn't teach you how to use it.
Every Awakening was bound by a method — a cultivation path that shaped how mana flowed within one's body. That method determined your profession: swordsman, archer, spearman, mage, healer, and so on.
But the method alone didn't make you strong.
Once Awakened, you needed techniques.
Techniques were the skeleton, the structure that allowed mana to take form and purpose.
For a swordsman, that meant sword techniques.
To become a 1-Star Knight, one needed to master at least one.
Most beginners believed techniques were just movements — slashes, stabs, spins, parries.
But what they didn't understand was that each strike was a symphony of muscle contractions, bone shifts, and mana pulses.
The real secret lay not in how fast or hard you swung your sword — but how precisely you used mana to enhance your body.
Each muscle fiber, from shoulder to fingertip, demanded perfect timing.
The moment a sword is set in motion, mana needed to flow into the deltoids, then the triceps, down to the wrist and fingers — all in flawless sequence.
Each muscle has to be enhance right at the moment they are used. The more perfect the timing the better
One heartbeat off, and the mana flow would break. The power would scatter.
The more perfect the synchronization, the deadlier the strike.
That was why high-level knights could cut through boulders with what looked like a casual swing. Their control wasn't brute force — it was artistry.
And that was also why Lyra had looked so unimpressed earlier when he handed her a notebook titled "Basic Swordsmanship Techniques."
To her, it must've looked like a joke. Those same moves were taught to recruits — soldiers who hadn't even Awakened. Basic slashes, thrusts, guards… a beginner's playground.
But Cael's version was different.
He hadn't changed the structure — he'd refined it.
Those same simple movements were now embedded with mana flow sequences, designed to enhance specific muscle groups at precise intervals.
They were the same basics, but through the lens of his understanding, they had become something else entirely.
'It's not about inventing something new,' Cael thought, flexing his grip on the wooden hilt.
'It's about perfecting what already exists.'
A faint sound of footsteps drew his attention.
Lyra walked toward him from the edge of the training yard, her long red hair tied back, amber eyes glinting under the moonlight.
Her sword hung loosely at her side.
"You're here," Cael said, smiling faintly.
Lyra crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "So? What's this about you showing me the 'true importance of basics'?"
Cael raised his wooden sword and took a stance — not perfect, not formal. Just a comfortable position that fit his natural flow.
"Simple," he said. "You underestimate them. I'll show you why you shouldn't."
Lyra chuckled, unsheathing her own wooden blade. "You realize how ridiculous that sounds, right? You're challenging me, a former knight, with basic sword drills?"
"Guess I am."
"Fine," she said, smirking. "Try not to break your wrists."
✧ ✧ ✧
Lyra's POV
At first, she thought it would be over in seconds.
Cael came at her with a sloppy swing — his grip uneven, stance too narrow. She blocked easily, barely feeling the impact.
He swung again — awkward, slow, clumsy. The kind of move a trainee might make on their first day.
'This is pathetic,' she thought, sighing inwardly.
'I almost feel bad for mocking him earlier.'
But then…
Something shifted.
The next strike wasn't quite the same. It came in low, smoother, with better balance. She parried it instinctively, but the movement had weight — not in strength, but in intent.
'Huh?'
The next few exchanges followed the same pattern — he'd swing, she'd block, but each time his technique refined.
The transitions between his movements grew fluid. His footwork steadied. His posture straightened.
Within minutes, the difference was undeniable.
His strikes no longer felt random — they carried rhythm, precision. The wooden blade hissed faintly through the air, the kind of whistle that only came from clean, efficient motion.
Lyra's brows furrowed. 'What the hell…?'
She adjusted her stance, now fully alert.
When his next attack came, she met it with proper form — and still felt her arms sting from the force of the clash.
'He's learning in real time?'
Each parry, each counter she made, he absorbed it — adjusted, improved, evolved.The lazy noble everyone mocked was dismantling her technique piece by piece, and doing it with the very basics she'd dismissed as useless.
The same basic slash. The same straightforward thrust. But the mana flow behind them — it was flawless.
She could feel it. Each time he swung, mana coursed through his body in a perfect rhythm, empowering just the right muscles in sequence — nothing wasted, nothing forced.
It was terrifyingly efficient.
'Is this really the same man everyone calls useless?' she thought, sweat beading on her forehead.
Her heart pounded as they exchanged another flurry of blows. The ground beneath their feet scuffed with each step.
'He's… reading me.'
Every feint she tried, he anticipated. Every change in rhythm, he adapted.
His movements weren't fast — they were right.
Her blade was knocked aside, and before she could retreat, his hilt slammed lightly but firmly into her stomach.
She gasped, doubling over from the shock of impact.
Then — silence.
When she looked up, the tip of his sword was pointed at her throat.
He wasn't even out of breath.
✧ ✧ ✧
Third Person POV
Cael stepped back, lowering his weapon. "That was a great spar."
Lyra stared at him, one hand still on her abdomen. "Great spar? You just winded me, you maniac."
He grinned. "If I wanted to, you wouldn't be standing right now."
She glared, but the anger melted into disbelief. "…How did you even do that? You were flailing like a drunk chicken five minutes ago."
Cael shrugged lightly. "Basics."
"Basics don't do that," she shot back. "Those moves shouldn't have that much power behind them!"
"That's what everyone says." He tapped the side of his temple with one finger.
"But it's not the moves — it's how you use mana. Every slash, every muscle. It's about timing and control."
He twirled the sword once in his grip.
"Enhance your muscles too early, and the energy scatters. Too late, and your strike loses momentum. But get the sequence perfect… and even a simple slash becomes devastating."
Lyra blinked, her earlier defiance faltering. "And who exactly came up with that brilliant theory?"
"I did."
She squinted at him. "…You're serious?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Her mouth opened, then closed again. For the first time, she didn't have a sarcastic comeback ready.
Cael rested the sword on his shoulder.
"You saw it yourself. Those were just the basics — but with proper mana flow. Flashy moves look nice, sure, but they waste energy. Power doesn't need to be pretty."
Lyra's eyes flickered between his sword and his calm expression. "You're saying… all this time, people were using mana wrong?"
"Not wrong," Cael corrected. "Just inefficiently."
He turned, walking toward the weapon rack.
"You've seen enough to know the truth now. Practice the basics I gave you. Master them. From tomorrow night, I'll be training here again — same time."
He paused, looking over his shoulder, a faint grin curling on his lips.
"Of course, it's up to you whether you show up. You can keep the technique either way. But…"
He let the grin widen slightly.
"If you train hard enough, I might teach you more."
His words hung in the air like a challenge and a promise.
Then he left, the sound of his footsteps fading into the quiet hum of the night.
Lyra stood there for a long moment, wooden sword in hand, her pulse still racing.
She glanced down at the notebook tucked under her arm — Basic Swordsmanship Techniques — and huffed softly, shaking her head.
"…Basics, huh?"
Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. "Let's see just how strong they really are."
The moonlight reflected in her amber eyes — not with bitterness this time, but something dangerously close to excitement.