Darius leaned down slightly, his voice as calm as the cool evening breeze. His gloved hand gently patted Adrian's shoulder.
"Young Master Adrian… wake up. Rest time is over. Let's continue our training, young master," Darius said softly, his tone respectful but firm.
Adrian slowly blinked, his eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to open his eyes fully. His hair was a mess from sleep, a few strands sticking up in funny angles. He groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes, still half-dreaming.
"W-what time is it, Sir Darius…?" he mumbled, his voice soft, still dazed.
Darius straightened, looking at the dimming sky. The sun had dipped low, casting a warm orange glow across the training field. He crossed his arms, a small smile on his face.
"It's six in the evening, young master," Darius said, his tone slow and thoughtful, as if painting a picture with his words. "At this hour, most children have already returned home. They're gathered at their tables, eating dinner with their families. They're resting, laughing, or preparing for bed… enjoying the simple peace of youth."
Adrian froze for a moment, his sleepy brain processing those words.
Am I… not normal then? he thought, confused and a little embarrassed.
「Pfft…」 The system's voice popped up in his mind, sounding like it was trying not to laugh.
「You catch on quick, young master! To be clear… that was both a compliment and a little jab at you. You see, you're not like normal kids—normal kids can't handle this level of training. But at the same time… he's kind of poking fun at you for working so hard when others your age would be playing. Hmph. I'm impressed, but I can't let you get too full of yourself.」
Adrian's eye twitched. Wh-what kind of system are you!? he grumbled in his mind, as if he could glare at it.
Meanwhile, Darius gave a small chuckle, unaware of Adrian's internal battle. His gaze softened, full of pride.
"As we continue this training, young master, your body will begin to adapt. It will be difficult for now, yes… but as we repeat this regimen day after day, your strength will grow. In time, you won't tire so easily. I'm sure of it. This path will lead you to surpass even your siblings."
Adrian stared at him, cheeks puffing a little from determination despite the tiredness still on his face. He gave a small, polite bow from where he sat.
"Y-yes, Sir Darius… I'll do my best."
Darius felt his heart skip a beat at the boy's resolve. Ahhh… young master, you're too precious… this is why I'll give it my all to help you rise to the top…
Darius stepped forward, the fading sunlight glinting off his serious gaze. In his hands was a sturdy-looking wooden sword—simple, but carved with the precision worthy of the Cross Family's training tools.
"Now we will practice the downward swing, young master," Darius said, his voice steady, teaching yet respectful. "Observe closely. The form is everything."
He stood tall, feet shoulder-width apart, his posture solid like a mountain. His back straight, shoulders relaxed yet firm. He gripped the wooden sword carefully, holding it out in front of him.
"First—the grip. This is crucial. Your dominant hand must hold the sword firmly but not too tight—imagine grasping a bird: tight enough so it won't fly away, but gentle enough not to crush it. The off-hand rests near the end of the hilt, guiding and balancing the blade. Like this." Darius demonstrated, his hands perfectly positioned.
He glanced at Adrian with a slight smile. "If you grip too tight, you'll tire too fast, and your swing will be stiff. Too loose, and the sword might fly from your hand, or worse, you'll lose control in battle. Both are fatal mistakes."
Adrian nodded, watching carefully, eyes wide in fascination.
Darius took a slow breath. "When you swing downward, young master, you must focus your energy. Gather your strength not just from your arms—but from your whole body. From your shoulders, through your arms, down to your core, and your legs. It must be one fluid motion, with balance and precision."
He raised the wooden sword high above his head, his stance lowering slightly to anchor himself. "Visualize the path of the strike. Focus your intent at the exact point you wish to hit. Let gravity aid your swing, but guide it with your strength and control."
Then, with a swift, controlled movement, Darius brought the sword down.
Whoooosh!
A powerful gust of wind burst downward from the force, sending dust flying and the grass bowing flat. The ground beneath the strike cracked slightly, the earth parting in a thin line. The wooden sword—sturdy as it looked—shattered into small splinters and fragments, scattering around his feet.
Darius blinked, then coughed lightly into his hand, a bit embarrassed.
"I—I'm terribly sorry, young master… I tried to weaken my grip and soften the strike so the wooden sword would break gently for demonstration… but I'm afraid even holding back, it couldn't endure. That, young master… is how you do a proper downward swing."
He gave an awkward smile, brushing dust from his sleeves.
---
「Analyzing wooden sword material...」 the system's voice chimed in Adrian's head, matter-of-fact as always.
「This wasn't just any ordinary wood, young master. The sword was crafted from Ironwood Sapling, a rare type of tree known for its density and durability. Typically, this wood can withstand the force of several grown warriors' strikes without so much as a dent. In fact, records show it's used in low-grade magical shields due to its toughness.」
The system paused, then added with a little flair:
「In short: Sir Darius didn't just break a stick. He obliterated what would take ten men to damage. Please be in awe now.」
Adrian blinked, sweat running down the side of his face. S-should I really be learning from this monster of a man…?
Adrian gripped the wooden practice sword, its weight unfamiliar in his small hands. His black hair swayed softly in the breeze, his blue eyes filled with determination. He took his stance, feet spread just as Darius had taught, and raised the sword overhead.
Darius stood beside him, arms crossed but eyes watchful, ready to guide at every moment. His voice was firm but warm.
"Alright, young master. Begin your first swing."
---
First Swing
Adrian's small arms trembled slightly as he brought the sword down. His movement was stiff, like he was afraid of the sword itself.
Fwoosh... thud.
The blade barely stirred the air. The sword tip hit the grass clumsily, bouncing a little off the soft earth.
Darius gently tapped Adrian's wrist. "Relax your grip a little, young master. You're strangling the sword. Let it flow with you, not against you."
---
Second Swing
Adrian took a breath, adjusted his hands, and tried again. This time the swing was too fast, his balance tipping forward as he rushed the movement.
Whoosh— thump!
He stumbled a step, the tip of the sword digging into the ground awkwardly.
"Ah, slow down. Feel the path of the swing. It is not speed that gives a sword power, but control."
Darius steadied him, adjusting his stance.
---
Third Swing
Adrian focused, recalling Darius's words. He swung downward, but his arms did most of the work—his body remained stiff.
Ffffth...
The wind barely stirred, and the strike felt weak even to Adrian himself.
"Your shoulders alone cannot carry the strike," Darius said, kneeling to meet Adrian's gaze. "Let your body join the movement. The strike begins from your feet, flows through your legs, hips, shoulders, and into your blade. Together."
---
Fourth Swing
Adrian tried to channel his strength from his legs upward, but overcompensated. The sword came down crookedly, making a soft whump as it smacked the ground at an angle.
Darius chuckled lightly, not unkindly. "Good. You tried to use your body this time. Now, focus on the path of your blade. A straight line, young master. Imagine cleaving the sky in half."
---
Fifth Swing
This time, Adrian's form began to settle. His feet grounded, the sword descending more smoothly.
Whoosh... thud.
It was still imperfect—the strength uneven, the impact soft—but Darius's eyes lit up.
"Better. Much better. You're beginning to understand. Again."
---
Swings Six and Seven
Each swing grew more fluid. The air began to stir faintly at each strike. Adrian's grip relaxed but steady, his small body adjusting to the rhythm.
Darius corrected small details—"Shift your weight here," "Tighten your core," "Let the blade fall, do not force it."
---
Eighth Swing
Adrian inhaled deeply. His body moved as one, the sword rising high, his stance firm. The blade came down in a clean, straight path.
FWOOOOOSH!
A rush of wind burst downward. The grass flattened beneath the strike, the ground thudded softly beneath the blade's kiss.
Darius's eyes widened slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Yes! That is it, young master! That was a proper downward swing! Do you feel it? How your strength flowed from your feet to your hands? That is the strike of a swordsman!"
---
「Analysis complete.」
The system chimed in Adrian's head.
「Strike power: +35% over previous attempts. Form efficiency: 63%. Remarkable growth rate detected. Processing title suggestion: 'Beginner Sword Prodigy'. Just saying.」
Adrian panted softly, his small chest rising and falling, cheeks red from effort—but his eyes sparkled with pride.
Adrian gritted his teeth as he raised his wooden sword for what felt like the hundredth time. Sweat streamed down his face, his small hands red and trembling from the relentless strikes. He swung again—FWOOSH—but this time, the sword slipped from his fingers.
"Ah...!"
His hands gave out, aching with sharp pain as the raw skin stung in the evening air. The wooden sword fell to the ground with a dull thud.
Adrian dropped to his knees, breathing hard, his fingers curled weakly.
Footsteps approached—calm, steady.
Darius knelt before him, his one visible eye soft with concern. "Young master... you've done well."
Without another word, Darius held Adrian's small hands gently in his own. He muttered a quiet chant, and faint green light began to glow between his palms.
The healing magic was weak, flickering like a small flame. But it slowly, steadily eased the swelling, mended the tiny cuts, and dulled the pain.
Darius spoke quietly as he worked. "This is a basic healing spell, young master. I don't have much talent for magic like this... but it's enough for treating these kinds of injuries."
---
A sudden flash of memory came to Darius's mind—
The night was quiet, the moon high over the Cross Family grounds. Alone in a dark chamber, Darius sat cross-legged, his hands trembling as he formed the basic seal for healing magic.
"Heal!"
A faint spark of light appeared—then sputtered out.
He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead.
Again.
"Heal...!"
Another flicker—gone. His large, battle-worn hands clenched in frustration.
Darius closed his eye, breathing deeply. His mind filled with the image of Adrian, small and delicate, holding a sword with all his might.
"I must learn this," Darius whispered to himself. "If the young master is hurt... I can't stand helplessly."
Night after night, he practiced in secret. Over and over, he failed. His fingers ached, his spirit nearly broke. But he kept going—for Adrian.
Hours blurred into dawn. Finally, after what felt like endless attempts...
A soft, stable green glow formed in his hands.
Darius smiled faintly, exhaustion in his bones, but satisfaction in his heart.
---
Back in the present—
The healing light slowly faded as Adrian's hands mended enough for him to move them without pain.
Darius released his hands, his voice low but kind.
"There... That should ease it for now, young master. I apologize if I pushed you too hard."
Adrian blinked at him, eyes wide, cheeks still flushed from the effort.
"No, Sir Darius... thank you. I'll keep trying," Adrian said softly, determination lighting up his expression.
Darius gazed at him, pride warming his heart.
"Yes... that's the spirit, young master."
---
「Healing analysis complete.」
The system chimed in, almost smug.
「That was a pretty inefficient healing spell, but hey—it worked. Good job, Sir Darius.」
Darius blinked, glancing around, sensing nothing.
Adrian sighed internally. System, stop teasing Sir Darius...
「Fufu, I'm just giving credit where it's due, young master.」
The sky burned orange as the sun dipped low beyond the horizon. The training field lay quiet except for one voice—small but filled with iron will.
"Ninety-nine...!"
Adrian's voice cracked, his body trembling as he raised the wooden sword one last time. His legs shook, sweat poured down his face, his hair sticking to his forehead. His breaths came in fast, ragged gasps, but his eyes—those bright, determined eyes—burned with resolve.
"One hundreddddddd!!"
With that final shout, the sword slipped from his small hands, and Adrian's knees buckled. His body tilted forward, falling into the pull of exhaustion—
But before he could hit the ground, strong arms caught him.
"Easy, young master," Darius said, smirking softly. His voice was a low rumble of pride, and his eye gleamed beneath his fringe.
"Well done, young master... You did it."
Adrian's head rested against Darius's chest, his tiny form slack with sleep. A soft snore escaped his lips—gentle, almost musical in its rhythm. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth parted slightly, and the faintest smile touched his lips even in slumber.
Darius glanced down at him, his smirk turning into a warm, almost fatherly smile.
At that moment, slow footsteps approached. The old butler, his silver hair catching the last light of dusk, came to a stop beside Darius. With practiced grace, he bowed low.
"Master Darius..." he said softly.
Darius nodded, his voice steady. "Please, take the young master to his room. Bathe him carefully, and lay him down gently. Try not to wake him. He's earned this rest."
"Yes, Master Darius," the butler replied with quiet respect, his eyes softening at the sight of the peacefully sleeping boy.
Darius knelt, cradling Adrian as if holding the most precious treasure, then passed him into the old butler's waiting arms. Adrian murmured something in his sleep—half a word, maybe a dream—and continued to snore cutely, his small fingers curling against the butler's coat.
The butler held him securely, his steps slow and deliberate as he turned toward the manor.
Before he left, Darius stood tall again, his smirk returning.
"Rest well, young master. Tomorrow... we continue."
And with that, his figure blurred—vanishing in an instant like a shadow under the night, leaving only the rustle of the wind in his place.
In a grand yet cold hall of a distant manor, the sharp crack of a slap echoed. The sound cut through the silence like a blade.
A young girl staggered back, her delicate frame trembling. Her white hair, messy and unkempt, fell over her teary violet eyes. Her small hands clutched at the front of her dress, fingers gripping the fabric as if trying to stop herself from falling apart.
SLAP!
Again, the woman's hand struck the girl's cheek, leaving behind a red, angry mark. The girl's face turned with the force, but she didn't resist—only choked back a sob.
"You've humiliated me in front of everyone!" the woman's voice boomed through the hall, filled with fury and disgust. "A daughter who can't even cast a basic spell?! How dare you show your face before me!"
The girl's brothers and sisters stood in a semi-circle, watching the scene unfold. Some smirked. Others outright laughed, their cruel voices rising in mockery.
"Pathetic."
"She's no daughter of ours."
"Look at her cry! Hah!"
"Sorry... sorry... Mother..." the girl whispered, her voice shaking, tears slipping down her cheeks.
SLAP!
"Don't call me that!" the woman roared, her eyes narrowing into slits. "I have no daughter who is a failure! From now on, you're nothing to me unless you prove your worth!"
The girl's bangs, soaked with tears, covered most of her face, but her trembling lips and bruised cheeks told the story. Her body shook not from the pain of the slaps—but from the weight of her shame.
The woman turned sharply, her voice cold as ice.
"Prepare yourself. In one week's time, I will give you one last chance to prove your use to this family. If you fail again..." she let the threat hang in the air like a dagger.
The girl lowered her head, violet eyes burning with sadness and fear, tears dripping silently onto the floor.
"Y-yes... I... shall..." she whispered, her voice so small it was nearly lost to the wind that blew through the open windows.
And the hall fell silent again—except for the quiet, broken sound of her weeping.