I finally finished the last set. My arms burned as if they were wrapped in fire, and when I looked at my palms, I noticed that the skin was already starting to redden. A thin line was visible on the flesh: the beginning of a blister.
"Don't worry about it," Ravenscroft said, noticing my expression. "It's normal. The body adapts. The first few times it hurts, of course... but over time, calluses will form. And when that happens, that skin won't break again... unless you go a long time without training."
"Does it hurt a lot?" I asked, rubbing my hand carefully.
"Yes, but it's not unbearable pain. It's... a necessary discomfort. Use some ointment your mother has at home, if you need to."
I looked at him, surprised.
"Couldn't you help me with a healing spell? Something simple?"
"I could," he nodded without hesitation. "But I won't."
He left me silent for a moment before explaining:
"I won't do you that favor because it wouldn't be a favor, it would be an obstacle. If you get used to everything being solved with a snap of the fingers... you'll never learn the value of effort. Pain, even if it's mild, is a sign that you're growing. And you'll remember it better if you feel it yourself."
I reflected on his words. I would never have imagined that a simple blister could contain such a profound lesson.
"Very well," he said, returning to a more practical tone. "Now we'll leave the swings for a moment. It's time to work on your defensive stances."
"Defense before attack?"
"Exactly. A perfect defense not only prevents you from being hurt... it can also give you the opening for a great attack." In the art of the sword, protecting yourself is not retreating. It is preparing the ground to advance.
I nodded silently, feeling that I had learned much more than simple movements that day. I had discovered the weight of pain, the importance of control... and that, perhaps, one day not too far away, the whole world could change because of a truth written on a magic tablet.
"Let's continue," said Ravenscroft, his voice regaining the firmness that preceded each new lesson. "Now you will work on your defensive stances."
His words resonated with an almost ceremonial certainty. It was as if each sentence concealed years of experience distilled into a few words.
"Watch carefully," he continued, adopting a firm stance. "The edge of your sword should be diagonal, pointing toward your opponent's head. Your feet, shoulder-width apart, will give you a stable base. Then, your dominant leg slightly forward... this will make it easier to move forward or backward without losing your balance."
He showed me the stance with precision, like a sculpture in motion. Every part of his body spoke without words. I watched closely the position of his sword, the fluidity of his movements. It wasn't just a pose: it was a promise of controlled action.
"This guard is known as pflug," he added. "Plow guard. Simple, effective, and versatile. In my opinion, the most balanced between defense and attack."
I nodded, carefully committing the name to memory. Pflug. Like the tool that plows the earth... an interesting metaphor for something that could also cut flesh and bone.
"And another important thing," he continued, pointing to my stance. "Your left hand is too exposed. If you don't use it, it's nothing more than an easy target, a piece of meat to be cut. Place it close to your hip. That way, you not only protect it, but you can also use it to stabilize yourself or throw a more accurate lunge.
As he spoke, he began rummaging through the low branches of a nearby tree. I watched him curiously until he found what he was looking for: a long, straight stick, slightly bent at the tip.
He turned it in his hand, testing its weight. Then he looked at me.
"First real defense lesson: I will attack you from different angles. You must block each attempt and immediately return to the starting position. Fluidity, precision, reflexes. Understood?"
I swallowed hard. My wooden sword trembled slightly between my fingers. Not out of fear, but out of anticipation.
"Master... you said 'angles' and 'diagonals.'" Those are new words for me. Could you explain it another way?
His expression softened. He nodded.
"Of course. Not everyone understands the same terms. Let's call them areas of the body: top, bottom, sides... even direct thrusts to the center. The important thing is that you learn to read the movement before it hits.
Maybe I had heard those words before, I thought. In books, or when Dad talked about measurements and construction at the dinner table. But I never really paid attention to them. Not like now... with a sword in my hands and a teacher pointing a wooden stick at me.
I took the stance he had taught me. My dominant foot slightly forward, my back straight, my arms tense but not rigid. I could feel my breathing in time with my heartbeat.
"First, we'll release the tension," he said, raising the stick as if it were a real sword. "We'll clash our weapons several times, without force, just so your wrists get used to the twists. Are you ready?"
"Ready," I replied firmly.
I could feel the weight of the sword becoming part of my movements. It was as if the weapon and I were getting to know each other. As if this dance of clashes and retreats were the secret language between warrior and steel.
My heart was beating fast. Not out of fear. Out of excitement. Out of that pure emotion you only feel when you know you're taking the first steps in something that will change your life forever.
In the blink of an eye, Ravenscroft's staff struck my legs. It wasn't a brutal blow, but it was accurate. As if, instead of hitting me, he had hooked me with his staff and lifted me off the ground.
I fell awkwardly, not quite understanding what had happened.
"Watch your legs and move them more," he said in a serious voice, without a hint of mockery. "In a real battle, you would have lost both of them by now."
I got up immediately, my pride more sore than my legs. I nodded silently and returned to my stance, more determined than before.
"Here I go..." I muttered, gritting my teeth.
We crossed swords again. This time, his blows were controlled, unlike the first one that knocked me down. One after another: up, right, left... I backed away with each impact, trying to keep my distance, trying to keep up with him. My feet dragged clumsily across the damp grass, my body already exhausted from the previous run.
***
Sweat drenched me. My legs burned. Fatigue was no longer just a whisper in my body, it was a constant scream. Until, finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I fell back, panting, feeling the heat with every exhalation.
Ravenscroft approached, gently rocking the small barrel in his hand. This time I didn't hesitate. I took it without being offered and drank desperately, as if that water had the power to heal me from within.
"You did well for your first time," he said, without a trace of irony. "But there's still a long way to go. Get up as soon as you catch your breath. We're not done yet."
I nodded with difficulty. I didn't have the strength to argue.
As soon as we finished with the sword, my arms begged for rest, but my teacher didn't think it was enough. It was time to face the second half of the punishment: magic.
Just thinking about it made my legs tremble with exhaustion. Literally.
"Ready for the twenty steps?" he asked in his usual impassive tone.
"No..." I said, unable to hide the pain. "My feet hurt too much. I don't think I can."
Ravenscroft looked at me for a moment, as if my complaint was an excuse or a reality. "Fine. Just for today, you'll train magic while seated. But in exchange... you'll make the largest water spheres possible, using both hands."
I let myself fall onto the grass and, even with my arms numb, I began. Focused. Slowly. The spheres grew little by little, fed by my mana. But soon they stagnated, barely reaching the size of my outstretched arm. Far from the ones he used to create.
Ravenscroft said nothing at first. He just watched me with that look of his, patient but demanding.
"They're not bad," he said finally. "But you can do better. If you think you've reached the limit..."
He raised his hand and opened it slowly, as if holding the air itself.
"...then I want you to reduce them. To the smallest size you can. All at once. Without pausing."
He closed his fist tightly.
"It's almost the same as dispelling a spell. But harder. Much harder."
"I understand," I said hoarsely. And I tried.
The change was brutal. From large to tiny. The energy vibrated in my arms. My palms itched intensely, as if tiny needles were digging into my skin. The mana was being consumed at an alarming rate. It wasn't just exhausting. It was like trying to stop an avalanche with your hands.
"Why...?" I gasped. "Why am I doing this if it won't help me in a real fight?"
Then, with his usual lack of delicacy, Ravenscroft placed his clenched fist on my head and began to press down with one finger, firmly and repeatedly.
"Because even a moment can mean the difference between living... or dying," he said bluntly. "Doing it even a little faster than your enemy will give you an advantage. And that advantage could save your life."
His words stuck with me. Cold. Real.
I hated him a little in that moment. For demanding so much of me. For not giving me a break. For pushing me beyond my limits.
But I also admired him. Because I knew he was right. If I want to be ready for what's coming... I have to be faster than death.
***
Training was over, and as I walked back, I thought I would run into Dad on the way. But maybe I had taken longer than expected. When I arrived, I found him already at home, sitting quietly while Mom finished preparing dinner. I took the opportunity to take a quick shower before sitting down at the table with them.
We were gathered together, eating dinner quietly. Apparently, my parents had something else to mention, but neither of them wanted to bring up the conversation. They asked vague questions like, "How was your training?" "Isn't there anything else you want to do?" and similar things. So I decided to break the silence by asking my mom
"Mom... was it necessary to be so direct with Mr. Ravenscroft?
She didn't hesitate. "Absolutely," she replied firmly. "Maybe you trust him, but we don't quite yet."
I thought about it for a moment. Actually... it was a little careless of me.
"But you could have softened it a little, couldn't you, Dad?" I looked at Dad for support, but he just looked surprised.
Mom stared at him silently, her eyes murderous. Dad just shook his head and said,
"It was a bit abrupt, yes. But necessary, Drake. Did you really trust him from the start? It was... reckless."
"I don't know..." I admitted. "It's hard to explain. I never felt uncomfortable around him." It was as if... I already knew him.
"Well, this time your instinct saved you," Mom added sternly. "But you won't always be so lucky. Promise us you won't trust so blindly again. Not without thinking."
For a moment, I wondered if my instinct had been naive. What if things had gone wrong? What if Ravenscroft wasn't who he said he was? I swallowed hard. That thought would haunt me until I was sure who he really was.
The conversation became more fluid from then on, as if the tension had been released. I took the opportunity to ask the question that had been on my mind since training:
"Mom, Dad, can I ask something else?"
"Sure," Mom said, her voice now softer.
"We're listening, Drake," Dad affirmed.
"Today, during training with Mr. Ravenscroft... he mentioned something that got me thinking. I wanted to know if you know about the Aurenthia Institute of Magic."
The silence was immediate. Heavy. They exchanged a quick, almost imperceptible glance. It was Dad who broke the pause.
"Yes. We know it. Do you think... you could ever go there?"
"It sounds interesting," I replied with a shrug. "But... it's not as if we have the resources for something like that. And with so many nobles in the capital, I doubt there's room for someone like me."
That's when I saw the slight tremor in Mom's brow. As if my words had been an offense.
"Drake..." she said, her voice hurt. "We may not have titles today, but we were one of the most respected families in the kingdom. And more importantly... a title does not measure a person's greatness."
Dad nodded, looking at me seriously.
"Your mother is right. It's not lineage that counts, but actions. And that's exactly what we wanted to tell you today."
There was a more intimate silence, the kind that precedes important revelations.
"We've already discussed it... We want you to go to the Institute of Magic when you turn eleven. No more, no less."
I felt the world stop for a moment.
"Are you... serious?"
"Absolutely," Mom replied. "It was your teacher who suggested it. There are still details to discuss, but we've planted the first seed. We talked about it. We decided. Now we just want to know if you're willing. Think about it for a few days and give us your answer when you're ready."
I didn't know how to respond right away. It was too much. All the training, the pain, Ravenscroft's words... and now this.
"Yes..." I murmured, unable to hide the tremor in my voice. "Okay."
We didn't eat much after that. The silence returned, but this time it was different. Not uncomfortable. Just... full of thoughts. I went to bed with my stomach churning and my mind in chaos. But exhaustion overcame me before I could process it all. It made me fall into bed and sleep like a log. Knowing nothing more than a long dream.
***
The next day...
Everything. From head to toe. My whole body ached. Walking? It hurt. Breathing? A little. Pain was all I knew at that moment. And I felt that today would bring more torture.
"Good morning, teacher," I greeted him, dragging out my words.
"Good morning, Drake," he replied calmly, looking me up and down. "From the look on your face, I guess you're in real pain. Never mind. I won't push you today... we'll just walk, then you'll jog... and then you'll run."
"Thank you," I whispered, too weak to complain.
The routine helped me loosen my muscles, although the pain didn't completely disappear. It was still there, like a constant reminder. But it was bearable. Enough to keep going.
"As you saw yesterday, footwork is essential for swordplay, so before practice we'll do some footwork drills to improve your speed and endurance."
Now with his cane in hand. He drew some ladders on the floor.
"Watch carefully." He stood to the left of the ladder and said, "Lifting your knee to start, you will slide with small jumps from side to side, always leaving one of your feet in the center of the square.
"As a support, you can say: Out, in, and out. This will help you coordinate your movements quickly. First, you will do three repetitions starting with your right foot, then another three starting with your left. Understood?"
I nodded and positioned myself where he had indicated and began murmuring, "Out, in, out." As I moved slowly, trying to keep up with the rhythm
"Very good. Now faster. Lift your knee higher. Come on."
I did it. Not perfectly. But I did it.
"For the next exercise, you'll switch feet. First, open your feet a little wider than shoulder width, crouch down a little, move your right foot forward, then with a small jump, put your left foot in front, and so on until you reach the end of the step."
"I'll do it once, so you have no doubts about it."
My teacher's movements were quick and precise. It wasn't enough to just reach the end; he also stepped back without losing sight of what was in front of him. It was as if he had an enemy in front of him.
"Once you get there, you'll come back the same way I did, with your back turned and without looking away, always keeping your eyes on your enemy. Understood?"
"Yes... I'll try," I replied, already breathing heavily.
I imitated him as best I could. I stumbled. I made mistakes. But I also learned.
Halfway through, thoughts began to creep in: Will I really be able to continue on the warrior's path for so long? What inspires me to continue? What if I give up? But if I give up now... what would be left of me? Would I go back to being the child I was before I took up the sword?
"No..." I muttered to myself, shaking my head.
"Drake!" Ravenscroft exclaimed. "Stop distracting yourself and keep looking ahead!"
He's right. And these thoughts are not worthy of me. Giving up easily... never. I know clearly that the road will not be easy since I decided to accept Ravenscroft's help.
Yes... it's too early to give up, and now with the possibility of going to the magic institute. Because I am no longer the same child who started this journey... and if I want to beat my destiny, I must first learn not to give up.