"Three weeks… But no… More like two…"
Masaru's eyes did not move away from the horizon as he fell deep into thought.
There was no world in which he could fully train an apprentice in a month, much less in half that time.
Therefore, that left him with a critical decision that would have to be made without hesitation.
Would he train the boy to allow him to continue his training on his own once he left the continent, or make him into something that could fight one single battle to his fullest potential?
For a normal child, he would choose the first without much thought, for why would he teach someone who was to sacrifice themself upon meeting a foe stronger than themself?
However, Aaron Grimstall was the very epitome of a ticking time bomb who sought to end his life in the most altruistic way possible.
The boy himself hadn't said a word of this, yet from the glimmer in his eyes and the way he moved along the battlefield, it was impossible for the swordsman not to notice.
In conclusion, there was only one real option that stood before him when faced with a dying student.
"Your style is the same as Camilla Buckley's, a result of your time under her care. From what I saw from the evaluation, your technique is that of the Ancient Sword Style, one cultivated by the person who taught Camilla."
He paused while looking up at the sky, where clouds had begun to gather as the Vortex of Despair's brief pause was ending within the next few minutes.
"While she has refused to let me meet her mentor, I have a certain understanding of the technique, and I'll be able to improve the ten forms that you know. The only issue with this is that this style is primarily meant for those with two hands."
Finally, Masaru pointed out the most critical problem for the young boy who wished to continue along the path of the sword.
There was a long pause afterward, allowing the blond-haired boy to contemplate what he had said, the truth of his limited potential being stunted, something he had considered temporary.
Would I even have time to find enough cores to heal my arm? Not only that, but will I have time to bring that project to life?
His eyes bore holes into the ground where snow had begun to fall once again, the swordsman soon speaking up regardless of whether the teen was watching or not.
"Luckily, you seem to have warped most of the techniques that I have seen to fit your own blade better. To allow me to assist you more easily, I'd recommend you write down the alterations you have made and what level of mana each requires. After that, you will begin your training in the fullest."
Aaron said nothing, listening to the sound of howling wind and his own heavy breathing.
Determining that their conversation was over, the black-haired man touched his shoulder, gesturing for him to follow him back.
"Do you…"
The boy mumbled something so silently that the man couldn't hear it.
"Hmm?"
Turning his head around, he noticed Grimstall now looking at him with an expression that made the man's brows knit together.
"Do you know how to forge a sword…?"
…
Light.
Light burst forth at the ends of Eleanor's vision, granting her liberation from the endless hiss of her own skull.
Warmth clung to her small body while her clothing was wrapped in a heavy blanket, preventing any cold-related illness from being born.
Her vision was blurry, but as she moved her hands over her eyelids and rubbed gently, the world gradually became clearer.
She was in Masaru Kurogane's home, and more specifically, within her own bed, where a small fire crackled in the corner.
Each spark that shot out made not even the faintest detectable noise; rather, the feeling of a headache wedged its way between her brain and ears.
"Where…"
Suppressing a gasp, she realized her own voice had been drowned out, erased almost from existence.
A-am I deaf!?
Trying to mumble anything she could out of her mouth, the panic of not hearing her own voice began to swell.
Right on the cusp of this terror, though, the door that had been tightly shut slowly pushed open, a form appearing behind it.
Eleanor ceased any attempt to speak, only looking up at the figure who stared at her patiently.
The owner of the very cabin she resided in raised his hands, holding up what the girl determined to be a leather-bound notebook.
Paper… What could he…
Squinting out of habit, she noticed neatly drawn words scrawled across the notes.
"Your hearing is still gone, I suppose."
Furrowing her brow, she looked up at the man while not quite understanding what he meant to tell her.
However, he did not speak, only flipped the page of the notebook, allowing the girl to read the next page.
"I apologize for having to knock you out; however, if I did not, then your core would've burst from the strain of crafting a miracle without the proper divinity."
Eleanor's eyes grew large, and she let out a gasp, the memories of what had happened before she ended up in the room once more returning in seconds.
I-I actually crafted a miracle! Lady Prudentia will faint when she hears this!
Already deciding to have her first letter to her mentor in her physical form recount the first miracle she invoked, she suddenly came to another conclusion.
Wait… could my core have burst…?
Frowning, she tried to vocalize her thoughts, albeit with no idea if what she was saying resembled any dialect of Nordic that she knew.
"What da ya mean buwrst?"
Masaru, having heard the failure of a sentence, restrained his urge to sigh while hurriedly scribbling out another response on paper.
"Camilla Buckley spoke of your time in the Great Beyond briefly. While you trained under those Angels, you are not physically the same as them due to the lack of a divine source. The True Angels, from what I've heard, have parts of the Great God of Death's Divine Authority within them, allowing them to gather nearly unlimited divinity. You, however, don't even have the meek imitation that the false Angels have."
Having run out of room on the page, he flipped to the next one and finished his response to the question.
"You, with your only source of divinity being what is ingrained into you from your encounter with what lurks in Grimstall's head, and that strange sentient goop that clings to you like a stray dog, are far too weak to sustain a miracle until it has finished. With only one believer, sustaining that wish consumed too much of your own divinity. "
Watching for when Eleanor held up her thumb to signal her completion of the reading, Masaru remained steady, not showing the slightest emotion on his face.
After she had finished, he pulled a chair from the corner and sat down while writing another long sentence.
If he wrote this much, he might as well be an author… Then, at least, he could put his oddly well-defined vocabulary to use.
Keeping that thought to herself, she quietly began to read what he had written when he held it up.
"With that in mind, from your evaluation, I have deduced that your combat skills are quite impressive for someone who was formerly a pacifist priestess. If you were to stay and train with me for another year, or possibly two, I could likely increase your strength to that of an Angel, if not to that of a Marshal."
Eleanor's breath hitched; even just the idea of becoming an Angel had nearly sent her into shock, but now that he said the word Marshal, she couldn't help fantasizing about such a world.
But in another year…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the man's paper once more.
"As I can expect your thinking, you do not have that time. Grimstall had discussed with me his deadline, and I assume yours is the same. Therefore, during the two hours that you've been asleep, I have devised a foolproof plan to bring you to a level where you can hold your own beside that Ghostship captain."
As she read the final words of that paragraph, she tensed while gripping the covers of her bed a little tighter.
H-he doesn't just know about the deity in his head, but also the Ghostship!?
Swallowing hard, she continued on through his writing.
"To make things simple, I've already written what you must do for the first step of your training, although you might not like it as much."
The black-haired man flipped to the very front of the notebook and ripped out the first page, tossing it over to the girl soon after.
Then, without another word, he stood up and walked towards the door, glancing back at the girl with a weak grin.
As he turned, Eleanor caught two words on his lips.
"Good luck."