Morning sunlight spilled across the snow-covered training ground, turning the world white and gold. The air was cold, but Rion's breath was warm and excited — today was sword training with his father.
Despite it being his first true lesson, Rion moved with surprising confidence, feet shifting lightly on the frosted earth. Paul swung his wooden sword with a grin that stretched nearly ear to ear.
"Not bad! Not bad at all!" he praised, watching Rion carefully. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you've been training for months."
Rion steadied his stance, panting slightly. "You taught me well yesterday. I just… tried to remember everything."
"Remember everything?" Paul barked a laugh. "Kid, I taught you THREE moves yesterday! Three! That's beginner warm-up material!"
Still, his chest puffed with pride. He bent down slightly, tapping Rion's shoulder.
"Alright. I think you're ready for the next step. Are you prepared?"
Rion stood straight and nodded with determination. "Yes, Father."
Paul's eyes softened, then sharpened — the kind of look that belonged to a man who'd lived battles, made mistakes, carried regrets, and still walked forward.
"Rion," he said slowly, "do you know the relationship between a swordsman and his sword?"
Rion confidently answered, "A sword is a weapon that makes a warrior powerful."
Paul froze.
Then he laughed so loud a few birds panicked and flew away.
"Hah! Cheap answer! If swords were just weapons, I'd give you a frying pan and call you a knight of breakfast!"
Rion scratched his cheek awkwardly.
Paul tapped the blade gently, his voice lowering with sincerity.
"A sword isn't a tool. It's… the spirit of the swordsman. If a swordsman loses his spirit, he becomes an empty shell. Just like a sword without its soul — worthless."
Rion blinked. He'd never heard Paul speak in such a serious tone.
"A sword carries responsibility, pride, honor… and sometimes sins we wish we could throw away. But we keep holding it. Because that's what it means to be a swordsman."
Rion nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of those words.
Paul smiled faintly, then stepped back.
"Let me show you something."
He drew his training sword and lowered his stance. The air grew still.
"Watch closely. This is the foundation of everything I'll teach you."
He shifted—
And slashed forward with a speed that cut through the air itself.
A gust of wind followed, scattering snow in a crescent shape behind him.
Rion's eyes widened. "Father… that was incredible!"
Paul grinned. "That? Oh, that's just the warm-up."
He swung again — a sharp downward strike that felt heavy, primal, like a beast pouncing.
"That's a form passed down from the Beast Style."
He stepped back and twisted, his blade moving with a dark fluidity, almost unnatural.
"Here's a technique from the Demon Style."
Then, holding his sword upright, he moved with a gentle, breathtaking grace, as if the world itself paused to admire him.
"This is from the Divine Style."
Finally, with a soft exhale, his blade shimmered with a faint golden aura — warm, proud, comforting.
"And this one is part of the Holy Style."
He sheathed his sword with a simple tap.
"Rion, these are techniques from multiple paths," Paul explained. "Beast Style, Demon Style, Divine Style, Holy Style — and I combined all four."
Rion's jaw dropped. "You combined them?!"
Paul puffed his chest. "Of course. And it only took me seven years to master."
He wagged a finger.
" So if you don't train seriously, you won't scratch your enemy even with a toothpick."
"I… understand."
"Good!"
They resumed their practice. Rion's movements were awkward, but his effort was unwavering.
---
Talia watched from the side while hanging freshly washed clothes. She pretended to ignore the training, but her eyes were locked onto Rion.
This child… why is he like this?
Too calm, too mature, too aware.
Not like normal children.
Not at all.
She bit her lip, remembering the shame buried in her heart.
I judged him unfairly. I even used divination once… and it revealed nothing. A child with no fortune, no destiny? Impossible. I thought maybe he was cursed… or dangerous.
Her hands trembled slightly as she hung a cloth.
But the truth…
The truth is the only cursed one was me.
Memories stabbed into her chest. The day she committed a sin that no woman should ever have committed. A sin that trapped both her and Paul in a bond neither chose.
But Rion still protected her.
Protected Lior.
Protected her dignity.
Even when she didn't deserve it.
And now this boy — the boy she once suspected — was the light Lior looked up to.
From today onward… Lior will repay everything.
He will grow strong.
He will stand by Rion as a knight stands by his lord.
As a sword that cuts only for its master.
She inhaled shakily and wiped her eyes, pretending the wind caused it.
He saved me.
He saved my son.
For that… we belong to him forever.
She gently touched the fabric she held.
So I swear this: Lior will one day serve Rion with pride. He will be the sword that protects him… as repayment for everything.
Night came, warm and cheerful as the Alder family welcomed Lorn into the house.
The table was full of laughter, food, and the kind of chaos only a lively home possessed. Paul kept placing extra meat on Lorn's plate. Niana fussed over her coat. Talia hovered respectfully, watching the strange young-looking woman quietly.
Lorn, meanwhile, casually ate while reading a book upside down.
No one questioned it.
Everyone simply accepted it as "Lorn being Lorn."
---
Morning arrived. Rion rushed outside, but Lorn was already waiting — arms crossed, tapping her foot, glaring like a disappointed librarian.
"You're two minutes late."
Rion blinked. "Two minutes isn't—"
"It matters," she cut in. "If you were in battle, two minutes is enough time for five ambushes and a dramatic villain monologue."
"…Sorry," Rion murmured.
Lorn nodded. "Good. Today we cover Eidos — properly this time."
She pushed a portable blackboard into the snow and snapped her chalk like she was ready to declare war on ignorance.
"Today, your lesson on Eidos continues — but this time, without you dying."
Rion swallowed hard.
Lorn wrote the word EIDOS in bold letters.
"Eidos is the latent essence inside every person. It sleeps unless awakened by an Eidos Potion."
Rion nodded.
"But," she added, "the potion doesn't always work. You must resonate with your dormant essence. If you fail—"
"You die?" Rion guessed.
"Correct." She smiled sweetly. "But you already survived, so no problem."
Rion shivered.
"Now, a rare few awaken without potions — due to their bloodline."
Rion blinked. "Bloodline can awaken Eidos?"
"Yes. Some families are born with powerful bloodline. Others are born with nothing. Life is unfair. Accept it."
She wrote again.
"Now listen carefully," she said, voice lowering slightly. "When someone awakens Eidos, some gain special abilities while others gain none. Again, bloodline matters… but exceptions always exist."
Rion nodded slowly. "So bloodline affects everything. Life is really unfair."
She wrote another word.
Spell Arts & Techniques
"This," she said, "is the magic you gain from your Eidos awakening. Once your Eidos activates, you gain access to what we call Spell Arts. Each spell cast consumes your essence. And Techniques are specialized forms of a weapon, unlocked after the awakening of one's Eidos. It consume smaller amount Essence than Spell Arts.However, they drain stamina, causing physical exhaustion and mental fatigue if overused."
She pointed at the chalk.
"Essence is the fuel. Spell Arts are the flame. More essence means more spells. Less essence means exhaustion. If your essence runs out completely…" She drew a small skull. "You die."
Rion felt cold sweat on his back. "Teacher… why does everything end with dying?"
"Because magic is dangerous and so are children like you."
Rion rubbed his forehead.
"And one more thing." Lorn raised a finger. "Essence amount also depends on bloodline. Ancient clans, beast tribes, mythical creatures—all have different natural reserves. Some are born with a lake of essence. Others with a cup."
Rion quietly prayed he wasn't born with a cup.
Then she drew a list:
Awakened → Arc Master → Arc Grandmaster → Arc Ancestor → Mythic Lord → Transcendent
"When you awaken, you start at the first stage. To ascend, your Eidos must resonate."
"How do I make it resonate?"
She sighed dramatically.
"It resonates when it hits the limit of your stage. Then you must refine it through ritual."
"Ritual?"
"Yes. Complicated, annoying, tiring — just like you."
She paced in the snow, hands behind her back.
"Training, battles, life-and-death moments — these force resonance. But the fastest method…"
She pointed the chalk at his forehead.
"…is understanding your own Eidos. But most people fail because humans rarely understand themselves."
Rion's brain felt like it was starting to smoke.
"That's enough knowledge for now," Lorn declared. "Your little head might explode."
"My head is not little—!"
But she was already walking away.
Rion collapsed backward into the snow with a sigh.
"Why… why is she so scary…?"
From a distance, Lorn sipped tea and muttered, "Did he really think today was the hard part?"