The sunset cast a feeble orange glow across Victor Wang's profile and the surface of the Wentian Sword.
It was already 6 PM. The day's training had concluded, and about two-thirds of the reserve members had already put away their silver or dull-edged practice swords and were headed toward the cafeteria, preparing to enjoy a free dinner before returning home.
The training field emptied rapidly. Even the fifty new recruits in the western section of the grounds had wrapped up on schedule.
But not the small group Victor Wang was in—more than forty people remained.
Spurred by the doubled training quota imposed on those with a Vision, these individuals—some out of self-discipline, others swept up by the atmosphere—diligently continued to swing their swords.
Sidney glanced over at Victor Wang's progress and sneered inwardly. Then he refocused and unleashed a sequence of Favonius Bladework that surpassed most of those present in fluidity and grace.
It was his third attempt at joining the Knights.
Sidney had been frail and sickly since childhood. Yet both his grandfather and father had dreamed of joining the Knights of Favonius. Naturally, that dream had passed down to him.
Unlike most stories where relentless training transforms a weak body, Sidney had only managed to reach the level of an average person.
Still, his grandfather and father never showed disappointment. On the contrary, they continually encouraged him—that, more than anything, was why Sidney had persevered.
Before passing away, Sidney's grandfather used all his saved Mora to buy him the well-known sword Cool Steel, once wielded by the retired adventurer Herman.
From then on, Sidney practiced swordsmanship and set off down the path his grandfather once walked—the path of an adventurer.
But after witnessing the brutality of extermination missions and realizing his own helplessness, Sidney joined the foraging divisions instead.
Even so, the wilderness life helped him grow. Later, spurred on by his companions, he signed up for the Knight selection once again.
The month-long training included hellish physical exercises every morning—especially for someone like Sidney. Fortunately, recovery potions at noon helped restore his feeble body. And the afternoons, filled with sword training, were at least something he enjoyed. Exhausting, but not painful.
However, limited by talent and physique, his results were always underwhelming.
At his first try, the examiners said his movements were stiff and disjointed, with poor sword strength—unfit for the Knights.
At the second attempt, the feedback was similar—unrefined motion, inadequate force—not recommended.
Still holding onto his grandfather and father's dreams, Sidney never gave up. Then came the miracle—during the period when Stormterror reemerged, Sidney was granted a Vision.
That green-colored Vision had appeared on his desk. At first, he thought someone had left it there. But the moment he touched it, he knew—it was his.
With it came not only elemental power but an enhancement of his physical body, elevating him above the average man.
Thus, his vanity and ambition began to swell. He abandoned his old foraging teammates and started hunting monsters to refine both his swordsmanship and elemental skills. He also gathered a group of bootlickers around him.
And so came this current selection.
Moves he had long mastered now flowed even more smoothly with his new body. Even without elemental power, who among these people could spar with him in Favonius Bladework?
Today is going especially well, Sidney mused. That fool even bet his sword. Maybe I should treat myself to a proper feast to celebrate?
But after a moment's thought, he chose to do an extra thirty minutes of training, just like always.
As he left, he saw Victor Wang still drilling the most basic techniques, which only made him feel more confident.
Meanwhile, Victor Wang remained wholly focused. The sword in his hand moved more naturally with each swing. Thanks to his exceptional memory, he could pinpoint exactly where the previous slash felt awkward or imprecise—and instinctively corrected it in the next. He even had the mental bandwidth to compare his moves with those of the instructors.
Gradually, fewer and fewer people remained on the field. Eventually, only Ellin and Victor Wang were left. By 8 PM, Ellin paused her training to watch him for a bit, then left.
When Victor Wang finally stopped, it was already 10 PM. His arms were sore to the point of agony—yet until now, he hadn't even noticed.
He walked toward the still-lit dining hall. Without recovery potions, tomorrow morning's physical training would be sheer torture.
Breakfasts didn't include recovery potions—they cost Mora, after all.
Inside the mostly empty cafeteria sat a burly man—the chief instructor, surprisingly still there. He waved Victor Wang over.
"Since you've agreed to that duel, I assume you've got a plan. Either way, if you need help, let me know."
The chief instructor had clearly made up his mind to give Victor Wang special training.
Victor Wang simply nodded gratefully but made no other request.
Everything the instructors taught was already etched into his mind. Unless he hit a plateau, he just needed to follow the routine. Philosophies like imitating others leads to survival, resembling others leads to death or no technique is the best technique weren't concerns for someone at his level.
After all, who doesn't start by imitating others?
From the only open serving window, the chef added, "Also, the cafeteria usually closes at nine. Don't come this late next time."
Victor Wang gave an embarrassed smile—he'd made them work overtime.
"Got it. I'll be on time next time."
He took a steaming, nutritionally balanced meal, drank a recovery potion first, and once the ache in his arms lessened, devoured the food ravenously.
Before leaving, he made sure to politely thank both the instructor and the chef.
Not long after, the cafeteria lights went out.
A new day began, and the morning training crowd had one more addition—Victor Wang.
That morning's basic training replaced the horse stance with the archer stance, but everything else remained unchanged from the day before.
In the afternoon, after two hours of basic sword movements and Favonius Bladework breakdowns with the assistant instructor, it was time for self-guided training.
Victor Wang didn't return to the basic sword techniques. Instead, he began drilling footwork fundamentals.
Sheathing his sword, he alternated between archer steps, padding steps, pivots, squats into rotations—these were all components of Favonius Bladework. When broken into isolated drills, they looked almost comical and confusing to outsiders.
Luckily, the training grounds had plenty of people doing odd-looking routines.
Sidney wanted to send someone to harass Victor Wang, but now that everyone knew Victor Wang also had a Vision, his lackeys didn't dare.
The red-haired youth who had spoken up the day before seemed to have realized something. He took the opportunity to walk over and apologize to Victor Wang.
Victor had already learned his name during roll call that morning—Duke.
Victor Wang responded to Duke's apology with a simple nod, then returned to his training. Yesterday, he had already grasped the proper way to channel force through the sword. Today's goal was mastering Favonius Bladework footwork.
That goal took two days to achieve. Only four days remained before the duel with Sidney.
Victor began combining upper and lower body movements—archer stance into diagonal slash, rightward horizontal cut, pivot into downward slash...
Though the motions were correct and the strength was there, the transitions were still sluggish. According to the assistant instructor, once the first three moves were mastered, they should flow within one second.
Sword speed comes in two forms: the real speed, and the speed perceived by the opponent.
The saying nothing can beat speed is true—but only in the sense of perceived speed. To achieve that, you must either overwhelm with sheer velocity or use technique to catch your opponent off-guard.
Overpowering with speed is much harder than using technique. After all, human capabilities have limits—unless you stop being human. That's why swordsmanship doesn't obsess over raw speed.
Still, for beginners, improving actual speed is a clear and measurable goal. You're not expected to dominate with speed—but at least avoid being dominated.
Archer stance, diagonal slash; rightward horizontal cut; pivot into downward strike; spin and cleave forward in a spiral; lower the stance and sweep outward in a spinning arc; repeat.
Stability in the lower body is critical—no matter how flashy the swordplay, it all falls apart without solid footing. So, leg strength and power mechanics are key...
I felt the force channel through the blade on day one, so why are these transitions still so clunky? What am I missing? Can it only be fixed through repetition and muscle memory?
Swing. Swing. Swing...
Victor Wang closed his eyes, heart calm and focused, feeling the force move through muscles and bones, traveling through the arm into the sword.
No, the wrist is just a stabilizer—the force should pass straight from the arm.
Swing. Swing. Swing...
Left foot pushes off the ground—force moves into the leg, then to the waist, rotating into the right back, right arm—resulting in a powerful, heavy strike.
Individually, this move was already solid—but not enough.
Swing. Swing. Swing...
His will seized full control over every muscle, seamlessly chaining into the second move.
No, there shouldn't be a pause between the first three moves. What now?
If I can't eliminate the pause, can I merge the two moves into one continuous flow?
Spirit, energy, and intent united—the sword and its forms fused into one.
Swing. Swing. Swing...
The first three moves of Favonius Bladework flowed in one unbroken motion.
Success. Victor Wang looked up—above him was that illusory starry sky.
Only one other person remained on the training field—Ellin, spurred on by Victor's persistence, continued swinging her sword tirelessly.
It was 8:30 PM—still time left.
Victor tucked away his pocket watch and began practicing the final two techniques.