The night passed quietly.
After the friendly clash between mother and son, the Luxro household settled into its familiar calm. Dinner was simple but warm, filled with casual conversation and soft laughter. Ron ate more than usual, his body still buzzing from the earlier training.
Maria noticed, of course.
"You did well today," she said as she placed her chopsticks down. "So get some proper rest."
Ron nodded immediately. "Okay, Mom."
For once, he didn't protest.
He went to his room, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling for a long time. His arms felt heavy, his legs light, and his chest warm—as if something deep inside him had been gently stirred.
The Beginning…
The word echoed in his mind.
Sleep eventually claimed him.
Morning came early.
After breakfast, Ron was surprised when neither Maria nor Fark told him to prepare immediately. Instead, they walked together to the backyard and sat on the grass beneath the open sky.
Ron sat between them.
Fark planted his spear into the ground and crossed his arms.
"So," he said, "it's time we explain things properly."
Ron straightened.
"The Beginnings," Fark continued, "are the structural levels of power used across the continent. Every technique, every style, every combat path—whether sword, spear, body, or anything else—starts here."
He raised one finger.
"First Beginning—the basic technique foundation."
A second finger.
"Second Beginning—the intermediate foundation."
A third.
"Third Beginning—advanced techniques."
Then, finally, the fourth.
"And the Fourth Beginning—calamity-level foundations."
Ron's eyes widened. "Calamity…?"
Maria nodded. "Reaching the Fourth Beginning means your existence itself becomes a threat. If someone openly uses it, it's equivalent to declaring war on the entire continent."
"Whoa…" Ron whispered.
Fark chuckled. "Relax. Even reaching the Third Beginning is something most people struggle with their entire lives."
He looked at Ron carefully.
"Reaching the Fourth is reserved for true geniuses—or monsters."
Ron hesitated. "Dad… can you use all of them?"
Fark shrugged. "All except the Fourth."
Maria smiled faintly. "Same here."
Ron felt a strange mix of relief and awe.
"So today," Maria said, "we'll focus only on the First Beginning."
She glanced at Fark. "How about it?"
Fark nodded. "Ron will likely be the youngest to formally reach it—at ten years old. Normally, people begin learning it at fifteen."
Ron scratched his cheek, embarrassed. "I-I'm not that special…"
Fark laughed. "You are."
The First Beginning Is Not Power
Fark stood and motioned for Ron to stay seated.
"Understand this first," he said. "The First Beginning is not power. It's alignment."
Maria continued, "It aligns your body, breathing, nerves, and intent into a single flow. That's why it's used for momentum-building and friendly matches."
She met Ron's eyes.
"It's safe—if used correctly."
Ron nodded slowly.
"And one more thing," Fark added. "Every Beginning allows you to create your own techniques."
Ron's jaw dropped. "R-Really?!"
"Yes," Fark said proudly. "Your style. Your forms."
Ron clenched his fists. "That's awesome!"
Fark and Maria exchanged a look.
"Then," Fark said, stepping to one side of the yard, "let's demonstrate."
Maria moved to the opposite side.
Both were now holding real weapons.
Ron stood between them, excitement bubbling in his chest.
"How about a warm-up?" Fark asked casually.
Maria smirked. "You're slower than last time."
Fark laughed. "We'll see."
They moved.
Fark vanished.
Ron's eyes widened as Fark's footwork erased distance in an instant.
He appeared behind Maria.
"First Beginning – First Form: Gale Strike."
A sharp thrust exploded forward, wind screaming around the spear.
Maria turned calmly.
"First Beginning – First Form: Calm Slasher."
Her blade moved once.
The air split cleanly.
Spear and sword clashed, releasing a sharp shockwave that rattled the yard.
Ron staggered, barely managing to stay on his feet.
Maria flowed forward.
"Second Form: Quiet Breeze Slash."
The world went silent.
A soundless zone formed as an invisible blade tore through the air toward Fark's neck.
Fark reacted instantly.
"Third Form: Sweeping Cleave."
His spear carved a wide arc, dismantling the soundless slash and dispersing it into fragments of wind.
Ron was speechless.
This is still the First Beginning…?
The atmosphere shifted.
Both Maria and Fark stepped back, weapons lowering slightly.
They exhaled.
"Final form?" Fark asked.
Maria nodded.
The air changed.
Maria's surroundings became impossibly calm. The wind settled. The grass stilled.
"Final Form: Wind Maiden."
Her body felt weightless, as if she no longer belonged to the ground.
In the same instant—
Fark slammed his spear into the earth.
"Final Form: Meteor Shower."
He launched skyward, spinning as dozens of thrusts and slashes descended like falling stars.
The clash was explosive.
Wind and force collided mid-air.
Ron was forced to his knees, struggling just to breathe as pressure crashed down on him.
Then—
Silence.
They landed.
Weapons lowered.
No destruction.
No blood.
Just overwhelming control.
They bowed to each other.
"You're still as graceful as ever," Fark said.
Maria smiled faintly. "And you're still reckless."
Then they turned.
Ron stood, eyes shining.
He bowed deeply.
"Please," he said earnestly, "teach me, Father. Mother."
Maria laughed softly. "After a bath."
Fark grinned. "And lunch."
Ron smiled wider than ever.
CHAPTER END