In the Thornefang base, there were only a few people present since most of them were out doing different jobs. From hunting down monsters to protecting the people making the railroad.
Milos was one of the few who were in the base at the mont. He was now wearing double the weight that everyone else was wearing.
Milos’s body had changed from the weak young man he used to be into a powerful-looking warrior.
Yet, even now, as his strength had grown and his muscles had taken a more defined, powerful form, he still hadn’t awakened his aura.
There were tis when he would stare at his own reflection, wondering if he was missing sothing, if so hidden power lay dormant in him, waiting for the right mont.
But unlike before, he no longer felt that desperate urge to grasp at power blindly. His thoughts had settled, clearer than the fog of uncertainty that once clouded his mind.
The conversations he had with Lucen and the others lingered in his mory, words that had grounded him, given him direction.
He understood now, there was no need to rush. All he needed to do was continue, step by step, honing himself with patience and diligence.
While he was doing his morning run, he noticed movent in the forest just outside of Ironhold.
The first thing that ca to Milos’s mind was that it was either a monster or maybe a spy; it could also be just a random hunter.
Milos wanted to make sure, but he had no weapons on him. Still, he decided to continue to scout, since there was a possibility of soone being in trouble.
Also, if it was a monster, he needed to make sure what kind of monster it was, and if it was a spy, he wanted to see if he could gain so information.
If he acts later after getting a weapon, whatever it was might disappear. There were many reasons why he needed to act now, even without a weapon.
’As a mber of Thornefang, I need to ensure the safety of the people.’ After strengthening his resolve, Milos took a step forward.
He moved, muscles tensed, eyes fixed on the faint disturbance ahead. He slipped deeper into the treeline, breath steady, movents careful.
The morning mist curled around his boots as he advanced, one step, then another. His eyes narrowed toward the faint sound ahead.
The whistle of steel through the air, followed by the blade striking sothing that sounded like a tree.
That was definitely not a monster, nor would it be a spy who would be training around this area.
Milos lowered his stance instinctively, approaching without a sound. He parted a branch and saw the figure moving within the clearing.
The silhouette beca clear; the person was Liger. The new recruit of Thornefang, personally brought back by Lucen himself, was swinging his sword.
At this point, Milos had seen different sword styles, from the rigorous form of Vardon the Iron Duke to the Elegant but Raging Fiery form of Elyra Runescar, daughter of the Sword Duke.
Yet unlike those sword styles, Liger’s swordsmanship looked swifter and felt a bit deadlier. Milos could not explain it, but if Elyra’s swordsmanship was like that of a ferocious lion, Liger’s swordsmanship was similar to that of a snake. ’
Despite only being a beginner in swordsmanship, Milos understood that Liger’s swordsmanship was special.
Not in a way he could explain, not like Elyra’s flowing strikes or the Duke’s unyielding strength.
But there was a sharpness to Liger’s movents, sothing quiet and dangerous beneath the surface.
The sword that most knights use and those of the nobles he had seen were filled with a sense of honor and pride, but the feeling he got from Liger’s swordsmanship was a desperate will to survive.
Milos crouched lower, watching in silence. He was srized by the sight.
The sword cut through the cold morning air with a thin swish, not as heavy as Northern styles tended to be. Liger stepped lightly, feet barely crunching the snow. It was not powerful, but quick.
Each strike was aid at the vitals of the imaginary enemy; it was ant to kill in the first strike. The follow-up movents seed to be feints mixed in with the movents, hiding the killing strike.
’Is it a swordsmanship that can’t afford to do a second strike?’
Milos felt a chill unrelated to the cold. He watched silently for a few heartbeats more. Liger never noticed him, or perhaps he did, but kept swinging anyway.
After a few more swings of his sword, Liger stopped to rest. He then looked in Milos’s direction.
"Do you need sothing?"
The second Liger asked that question startled Milos for a mont, as he then stepped forward.
"No, I was just admiring your swordsmanship. I was also wondering who your master was..."
"I don’t have a master. This swordsmanship of mine is self-taught."
Milos blinked, and it took him a few seconds to understand what he had just heard. Self-taught! Those movents of his were sothing he ca up with himself.
’So this guy is another genius.’
Milos scratched his cheek awkwardly. "I see... You’re truly an amazing person. To reach that level without guidance."
Liger looked at Milos, who was awkwardly scratching his chin, and sighed. "I have no choice. I was told that I have a unique constitution that didn’t allow to awaken my aura or mana. I needed a way to be able to fight, to survive even without having an aura or mana."
Milos froze for a mont. He, who still had a chance to awaken his aura, actually felt depressed since he thought he had worked hard enough, but was still unable to awaken his aura.
Now, here standing before him was a person who could never awaken his aura, but instead of whining or feeling depressed about it, he solved the problem on his own and created a swordsmanship ant for him.
Milos felt truly ashad by his past actions as he compared himself to Liger. It was at that mont that Milos had a thought. He then gritted his teeth and used that sha to push forward.
"I know that this might be too much to ask, but... Can you please teach your swordsmanship!" Milos bowed his head and asked with great resolve.
Liger froze for a mont, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied Milos. The morning mist swirled around them, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
"You want to teach you?" Liger’s voice was calm, but there was also confusion mixed in.
"You do understand my swordsmanship is just self-taught. I don’t have any proper forms to teach; I don’t understand the truth of the sword or other such things. All I know how to do is to kill."
Milos didn’t flinch as he answered. "I don’t care if it’s rough. I don’t care if it’s not elegant. I want to learn how to win. How to survive. Like you."
Liger went silent. Snowflakes drifted lazily between them, lting the mont they touched the warmth of their breath. His fingers tightened slightly on the sword hilt.
"You’re a strange one," Liger spoke while sighing and scratching his head. "Unlike , who can never do those fancy swordsmanship that aura users do, you have a chance to do that. If you learn my swordsmanship, that’s by the way I think is incomplete, you might not be able to learn swordsmanship from others. I think those knights have a lot of pride, and if they learned you know so unknown swordsmanship, they might not teach you."
Milos t Liger’s gaze without wavering. "I understand all that... But... I’m willing to take that chance. I’d rather struggle learning your way and growing alongside you than remain helpless relying on sothing I might never awaken."
Liger’s eyes narrowed again, and for a mont, his usual calm deanor seed to tighten into sothing sharper, almost like a blade being honed. "I will ask this one last ti. You really an that?"
"I do," Milos replied firmly. "I won’t complain. I won’t give up. I just want to survive and protect others, even if my aura never awakens. Besides, your swordsmanship in my eyes doesn’t look any less than that used by Aura Knights. In fact, I think your way is much better than most."
Liger was once again surprised by what Milos said. He then closed his eyes as he felt the cold Northern wind blowing through his face. Liger then opened them and looked directly at Milos’s eyes.
"Ever since I’ve arrived here in Ironhold, I have t several weird people. An alchemist who keeps mumbling to himself, blowing one thing after another. A knight who trains in the cold snow without a shirt, showing off his massive muscles. Loyal fanatics who believe and follow a child much younger than themselves. But compared to you, they seem normal."
"Heh, who cares if you’re weird or normal. Also, who’s to decide what’s normal and not?" Milos answered while shrugging his shoulders. "So will you teach or not?" Milos’s tone had slowly beco as casual as Liger’s tone.
Liger’s sharp eyes softened slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. He then showed a smile as he shook his head.
"Fine," he said finally, his voice low but steady. "I’ll teach you. You’d better not regret this."
"Never," Milos answered resolutely.
A gentle silence settled around them, broken only by the soft whisper of snow falling from the trees.
Milos felt sothing warm and steady bloom inside him, a quiet certainty that he had found not only a teacher but a companion in the journey ahead.
Liger’s sharp gaze, now softened, seed to convey a quiet acknowledgnt, a shared understanding that went beyond words.
This was the start of the bond between the two, as they struggled ever forward to see another tomorrow.
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