The early morning air was cool and calm, carrying the faint scent of grass still wet with dew.
At the back of the Luxro household, the sun had barely risen above the treeline. Pale golden light stretched across the open yard, illuminating a lone figure standing barefoot on the soft ground.
A young boy.
Ron tightened his grip around the wooden spear in his hands. The weapon was rough and slightly chipped from years of use, but to him, it felt heavier than iron. His breathing was steady—slow, controlled—something he had learned the hard way over the past four years.
Across from him stood Fark.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Calm.
"Whenever you're ready," Fark said.
Ron didn't hesitate.
He burst forward, thrusting the spear straight toward Fark's chest with surprising speed. The tip cut cleanly through the air—but before it could land, Fark stepped aside effortlessly, deflecting the spear with a short, precise movement of his own weapon.
The impact echoed softly.
Fark countered immediately, tapping Ron's shoulder with the shaft of his spear. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but the message was clear.
Ron staggered back two steps, boots scraping against the grass. He steadied himself, teeth clenched.
"Tch—!"
He rushed in again.
This time, Ron twisted his body mid-thrust, turning the straight attack into a wide sweeping strike aimed at Fark's side. The motion was smooth—far smoother than a child his age should manage.
Fark's eyes narrowed slightly.
He blocked the sweep and slid backward, boots leaving shallow marks in the soil. A small chuckle escaped his lips.
"Oh?" Fark said. " Whoa in just four years you've picked up some moves, Ron. "
Encouraged by the reaction, Ron didn't slow down.
He launched a rapid series of feints—high, low, left, right—each strike flowing into the next. For a brief moment, the wooden spear blurred in his hands, moving faster than before.
But Fark didn't panic.
He stepped forward instead of back.
Before Ron could react, Fark slipped inside his range, hooked Ron's spear with his leg, twisted his body, and flipped the boy cleanly onto the grass.
Thud.
"OW—OW—!" Ron shouted, lying flat on his back. "I give up! I give up!"
Fark laughed heartily and offered a hand. "Alright, alright."
He pulled Ron up with ease. "You've improved a lot in the last four years," he said, ruffling Ron's hair. "Much faster than I expected."
Ron wiped dirt from his clothes, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Despite the loss, a proud grin spread across his face.
"I'm hungry," Ron declared.
Fark smiled knowingly. "Thought so. Let's eat. After lunch, you're training with your mom."
Ron's eyes sparkled. "Yes!"
Inside the house, warmth replaced the chill of the morning.
Sunlight streamed through the dining room windows as Maria set plates on the table. The smell of freshly cooked food filled the room, instantly lifting Ron's spirits.
As they ate, the mood was relaxed—peaceful.
Then Maria spoke, almost casually.
"Ivan sent word," she said. "His wedding will be held next week."
Fark paused mid-bite. "Really?"
She nodded. "Poor man. He postponed it again and again because of border duty. The western-north border has been unstable for years."
Fark leaned back slightly. "Good that he finally gets his moment."
Ron slowed his eating, clearly listening.
"Wedding…" he muttered. "That's when two people promise to stay together forever, right?"
Maria smiled at the simple explanation. "That's one way to say it."
Ron thought for a moment, then nodded seriously. "Sounds important."
"It is," Fark said, glancing at Maria.
Ron finished his food quickly and stood up. "Mom, after lunch—"
"Backyard," Maria interrupted with a knowing smile. "Sword practice."
"Yes, Mom!"
Before Ron could rush out, a knock echoed through the house.
A messenger stood at the door. After a brief exchange, Fark picked up his spear.
"I'll be back later," he said. "Behave."
Ron straightened his posture and saluted proudly. "Yes, Dad!"
The backyard felt different now.
Quiet.
Maria stood in the center, wooden sword resting lightly in her hand. Her posture looked relaxed, almost casual—but there was something sharp about her presence, something that made the air feel heavier.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
Ron nodded confidently. "Yes, Mom."
"Attack first."
Ron took a slow breath.
The playful excitement faded from his face. His shoulders relaxed. His breathing slowed until each inhale felt deliberate.
Something subtle shifted.
Maria noticed immediately.
"Good," she said. "Use that."
Ron stepped forward.
This time, his movements were different. There was weight behind each step, intention behind every motion. He lunged.
Maria vanished.
Ron's eyes widened.
Before he could even register what happened—
Crack.
The wooden spear shattered in his hands.
Fragments burst outward, scattering across the yard like splinters of glass. Ron froze, staring at the broken remains in disbelief.
"H-How…?" he whispered.
Maria stood behind him, wooden sword lowered.
"That," she said calmly, "was Calm Slasher."
Ron turned slowly, eyes wide.
"It is the First Biggining."
"Biggining…?" Ron repeated softly.
Maria nodded. "The foundation of all power. Attack. Defense. Healing. Creation. Everything begins there."
Ron clenched his fists, heart pounding—not with fear, but excitement.
"Can I use it too?"
Maria smiled gently. "You already are."
His curiosity burned brighter than ever. "Then—teach me! Please!"
Maria raised her sword again. "After training."
Ron laughed, picked up a broken piece of his spear, and took his stance.
"Yes, Mom!"The wooden blades clashed once more under the rising sun.
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CHAPTER END
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