Training later that day felt different in a way I couldn’t quite put into words at first.
It wasn’t just my muscles being stiff or my arms feeling heavier from earlier exercises. No—sothing deeper was shifting. ntally, sothing had snapped awake inside . There was this strange heat simring under my skin, like every emotion I went through that morning had been dumped into a furnace sowhere in my core. It wasn’t painful, but it burned enough to keep sharp. Focused. Hungry. Like so hidden drive had been switched on, waiting for this mont to push forward whether I liked it or not.
"It seems your potential has increased," my instructor said as we sparred. His tone wasn’t surprised, more like he’d been expecting it for a while and was just waiting for to notice the change myself.
He was a middle-aged magic knight—though honestly, calling him "middle-aged" felt like an understatent. The man had gray hair tied back tightly, scars littered across his arms and one slicing diagonally across his cheek. His posture alone could put a nobleman to sha—straight, rigid, disciplined to the point that it made you question every sloppy life choice you’d ever made. One look and you’d know he wasn’t just soone who fought battles—he lived them.
Magic knights weren’t just your average knights swinging swords for the glory of so banner. They were the elites. The backbone. The kingdom’s quiet monsters who never needed recognition because their work spoke for them. They didn’t rely on flashy spells or traditional styles. Instead, they trained their bodies and magic until both could naturally fuse into sothing terrifyingly efficient. Warriors built on discipline and raw talent honed over decades.
And sohow this man—this titan who looked like he’d fought armies—still showed up every day just to teach soone like .
He looked well over sixty, maybe even older when the sunlight hit his wrinkles just right, but every ti he swung his arm, the air literally shifted. I felt the pressure of every strike against my skin before his wooden training sword even reached . Each blow carried so much weight that my body was practically begging to just fall over, roll aside, and surrender for a break. But sohow—maybe because that strange fire inside wouldn’t shut up—I stayed on my feet. My legs trembled, yet they held. My breathing stuttered, yet it steadied again.
Sowhere along the way, my stamina had changed.
Not double.
More like triple.
I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand the how or the why, but I could feel everything in my body responding differently—stronger, faster. I could move again even when my muscles scread. I could recover in seconds instead of minutes. The burn inside wasn’t dragging down—it was pushing harder without letting crumble.
"I see that your potential is quite high," he said, and this ti he gave a smile—one of those rare, genuine ones that stretched gently across his weathered features. "I think you’re going to get stronger soon."
Coming from anyone else, that would’ve been empty encouragent. But coming from him? That was huge. The kind of praise you’d bottle up if you could. And weirdly... I appreciated it more than I ever expected.
"Thank you, Sir," I said, a bit out of breath.
"You don’t have to thank . It’s only natural. It’s my job, after all." He chuckled lightly, the kind of laugh that carried a hint of warmth. And for a mont, I caught a glimpse of sothing familiar in him—an aura that felt like my grandfather’s. That sa mixture of strict discipline and quiet care.
He was the only person taking care of here. The closest thing I had to a family in this place. The only person who looked out for not because he had to, but because he genuinely wanted to. And that was the reason I was fighting. To co back to him. To make sure the old man didn’t end up worrying himself sick wondering whether I’d return alive or not.
I hated the idea of worrying him. I hated the idea of him waiting and not seeing walk back through that door. Which was why... I promised myself I’d co back. No matter what.
"Well," he said suddenly, wiping sweat from his face with a towel, "considering how fast you’re growing, I think it’s only natural for to hand you off to soone younger and more capable. I don’t think soone like is enough to be your instructor anymore. You should be under soone stronger."
He smiled again, gentle but firm.
"Huh? But..." I blurted out before I even realized it.
Sothing twisted in my chest. I shouldn’t say anything. I knew I shouldn’t. This was obviously him trying to give the best path forward. A chance to grow even faster. A chance to beco soone stronger. Soone capable.
But at the sa ti... if I didn’t speak up right now, it felt like I’d lose sothing precious. Like this part of my journey with him would suddenly just... end.
He probably could already tell I wanted to go ho soon. That I was pushing myself so hard because I didn’t want to waste a second. He must’ve seen it in my training, in how I kept going even when I was exhausted.
"You don’t have to worry," he said before I could speak again. "I’ll still be involved with your teachings. I just won’t handle your physical training."
"I see..." I breathed out.
That eased sothing inside . As long as I could still see him, still learn from him, still hear his voice correcting or scolding or guiding —I wouldn’t complain.
"I learned a lot from you," I said, and this ti I bowed, bending in a perfect ninety-degree angle. "I’m grateful for everything you taught . The strength I have now, and all of the things I’ve learned... I owe them to you. So really—thank you."
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