The mist in the forest was different today. It felt heavy, like it was pressing against Leon's skin. He sat on a stump, Les's manual on "Song Enlightenment" spread across his knees.
'Vibration,' Leon thought, reading a passage. 'The Song isn't a spell you cast. It's a frequency you join. To hear it, you must be in tune with the world's movement.'
He stood up and drew the steel sword Kael had given him. The weight was significant, forcing him to use both hands to maintain a proper guard. He began a series of basic parries, imagining an opponent's strike. In his old life, a parry was just a block. Here, according to the book, a parry was an invitation for the Song to flow through the blade.
Clang.
He struck the side of a tree, focusing not on the impact, but on the hum that traveled up the steel into his palms.
'I'm getting it,' he whispered, a wide grin breaking across his face. 'It's not about force. It's about timing.'
He spent the next few hours practicing his footwork, the Zephyr's Grace necklace glowing faintly blue against his chest. Every time he shifted his weight to dodge, a small, supportive puff of wind nudged his heels, making him move an inch further than his small muscles should allow.
"Thanks, Poldie," he chuckled, feeling a genuine sense of progress.
The levity died when the clicking started.
It was a sharp, rhythmic sound, like stones being rubbed together. Out of the thick grey mist emerged a creature that looked like a nightmare made of salt and chitin. It was the size of a large dog, with six spindly legs and a body covered in hardened, white crusts.
A Mist-Crawler.
Leon's heart hammered against his ribs. He wasn't a veteran knight anymore; he was a six-year-old with a good sword and a lot of theory.
The creature didn't hesitate. It lunged, its front claws snapping. Leon pivoted, the necklace giving him that extra inch of clearance. He swung the steel sword, but the blade skipped off the creature's salt-shell with a shower of sparks.
'Too hard,' Leon realized, his breath hitching. 'I can't brute-force this.'
The Mist-Crawler hissed and opened its mandibles. A ball of compressed water began to form a basic Water Bullet Attunement.
Whoosh!
Leon dived to the left, the projectile shattering a nearby sapling. He scrambled to his feet, but he was slow. The creature's tail, tipped with a jagged salt-stinger, whipped around and caught him across the ribs.
"Gah!"
Leon was sent skittering across the damp earth. The pain was immediate and blinding. He felt the warmth of blood soaking into his new tunic. His vision blurred for a second, and he felt a wave of genuine fear.
'I'm not strong enough yet,' he realized, coughing as he struggled to stand. 'One more hit like that and I'm done.'
The Crawler charged again. Leon forced his mind to go quiet. He stopped thinking about the pain and focused entirely on the "Song" of the creature's movement. He saw the legs tensing, the weight shifting.
He didn't dodge this time. He stepped in.
As the creature's claw descended, Leon brought the steel sword up in a perfect, rising parry.
DING.
The sound was crystalline. In that moment of perfect synchronization, the icy white spark he had seen as a baby flared along the edge of his blade. It felt like an extension of his own will.
The parry sent the creature's limb flying upward, leaving its soft underbelly exposed. Leon didn't waste the opening. He thrust the sword forward with every ounce of strength he possessed. The icy spark intensified, the blade sliding through the Crawler's armor like it was nothing more than thin glass.
The creature let out a gurgling shriek before collapsing into a heap of melting salt.
Leon stood over it, trembling. His ribs were screaming, and his legs felt like lead. He looked down at his sword the steel was frosted over, the white spark slowly fading back into the metal.
'I did it,' he thought, though he didn't feel like a hero. He felt exhausted and very, very small.
He looked at the sky. The mist had darkened, and the stars were beginning to peek through. 'Midnight? How long was I out?'
He had lost consciousness after the adrenaline wore off. Panicked, he looked at his clothes. They were torn and bloodied. He couldn't go home like this; his mother would have a heart attack.
He hobbled to the stream, teeth gritting against the pain. He washed the blood from his side it was a deep graze, but not fatal and used a spare bit of cloth from his pack to bind the wound. He changed into the spare set of expensive clothes his mother had given him, shoving the ruined ones deep into his bag.
He ran—or rather, limped quickly back toward the house.
When he reached the porch, his heart sank. The lights were still on. As he pushed the door open, he saw his mother sitting on a stool right by the entrance, her head nodding as she struggled to stay awake.
The creak of the floorboards snapped her upright.
"Leon?!"
She was on him in an instant, her arms wrapping around him in a hug so tight it made his bruised ribs throb, but he didn't dare pull away.
"Oh, thank the Heavens! Leon, don't you ever do that again! I've been worried sick! I thought... I thought a monster..."
Leon felt a wave of guilt hit him harder than the Mist-Crawler ever could. He wrapped his small arms around her neck. "I'm so sorry, Mom. I was practicing and I... I just didn't realize the time. I'm okay, see?"
He pulled back, giving her a tired but bright smile. He did his best to hide the limp as he walked toward the stairs.
"Go to bed, you little nudgy," she sighed, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "We'll talk about this in the morning."
Upstairs, Leon slumped onto his bed. He pulled the steel sword from his belt and laid it beside him. The "Absolute Swordsmanship" talent was real. He had felt it. He was nowhere near the level of the masters yet, but for the first time, he knew he could get there.
'I might actually become someone famous with this blade,' he thought, his eyes drifting shut. 'Age Throne is dead. But Leon...'
He drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, the smell of sizzling bacon woke him up. His ribs were stiff, but the pain had subsided to a dull ache. He walked downstairs to find his mother packing a basket.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said, looking much more relaxed now that the sun was up. "I need a few things from the town nearby. Salt, some fresh flour, and maybe a treat for a boy who stayed out too late. Do you think you can handle the trip?"
Leon's eyes lit up. A trip to town meant seeing the world outside the forest. It meant seeing how much had really changed in 300 years.
"Yes, Mom! I can do it!"
He grabbed his pack, carefully concealing his training sword inside, and headed for the door.
"Be back by sunset!" she called out.
"I will!" Leon promised, stepping out into the bright morning light.