The storm had finally broken.
Morning sunlight filtered weakly through the thin grey clouds above Haze Forest, scattering pale gold across the clearing Darwin had spent nearly two weeks shaping into his personal training ground. The wind was gentle today. Too gentle. He almost missed the cutting cold that used to numb the pain in his muscles.
Almost.
Darwin tightened the grip on his sword, feeling the ache in his swollen fingers from the previous day's training. Every knuckle felt bruised. Every tendon felt stretched thin.
But none of that mattered.
He stepped forward into the snow-packed ground.
---
The stance he had slowly shaped yesterday replayed itself in his mind:
**Lower center of gravity.
Relax the shoulders.
Shift weight late.
Lean only after commitment.
Blade must follow the body—not the other way.**
He prepared to test all of it again.
He inhaled deeply.
Step—
the left foot dug in.
Drag—
snow shifted under his weight.
Shift—
hips aligned slightly too early.
Anchor—
torso dipped a fraction too low.
Lean—
The blade whistled—
*CRACK—!*
Pain flared through his left hip as his legs refused to stabilize.
He stumbled forward and nearly face-planted into the snow.
Darwin clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt.
"So this is the price for yesterday's progress…"
His body was still not used to the stance.
His strength was too uneven.
His bones carried weight wrong.
His muscles tightened at the wrong moments.
But this was HIS way.
No master.
No scroll.
No mana to correct mistakes.
No right arm for balance.
Everything depended on his stubbornness and his ability to understand pain.
He rose again.
---
Darwin repositioned his feet.
Footwork was one thing.
Linking it to the sword was another beast entirely.
He tried again.
Step.
Drag.
Anchor—
the body leaned—
and he slashed.
*Fsshh—*
The blade tore through air in a crooked line.
Crooked.
Weak.
Dead.
It wasn't a slash—it was a limp swipe.
Darwin clicked his tongue. "Again."
He adjusted his body, lowering his stance.
Step.
Shift.
Anchor.
Lean—
*Fsshhh—*
Better. But his shoulders tightened right at the midpoint, ruining the flow.
He clicked his tongue harder.
Again.
*Fsshh.*
Again.
*Fsshlt.*
Again—
The fourth slash never completed.
Pain stabbed deep into his calf, forcing him to drop to one knee.
His breath rattled.
Steam poured off his back.
The cold didn't numb him this time—it stung.
"Your footwork is still fighting your body," a voice called.
Darwin didn't turn.
He already knew the heavy steps behind him.
Gajisk approached with a wooden practice blade in hand, tapping it against his calloused palm.
"You're correcting your stance, but your body is too tense. You're forcing efficiency that your muscles can't perform yet."
Darwin exhaled harshly. "I know."
"Then stop acting like you don't."
Darwin glared.
Gajisk lowered the wooden sword, pointing at Darwin's stance.
"Your center of gravity is correct now. But your foot pivot? Too slow. And your hips…" he kicked lightly at Darwin's waist, "are locking up mid-motion."
Darwin swatted the foot away lightly, annoyed. "I can't fix everything in a day."
"Then fix ONE thing per day. Not twenty."
Darwin froze.
That… was something he hadn't considered.
He had been trying to perfect **everything** at once.
Gajisk stepped back.
"Today's task: only fix the pivot. Nothing else. Your slash will fail. Accept that."
Darwin hesitated.
He hated being told to accept failure.
But he rose.
planted his feet.
And began again.
---
Step.
Drag.
Shift.
This time, Darwin focused only on his foot pivot.
Left foot—turn.
Knee—follow.
Hip—relax.
Lean—
The slash failed completely.
As Gajisk predicted.
But the pivot?
Smoother.
Darwin tried again.
Pivot—
better.
Slash—
a mess.
But something inside him brightened at the small progress.
He kept going.
Slash after slash after slash.
Each one flawed.
Each one weak.
Each one wrong in multiple ways.
But the pivot?
The pivot was becoming natural.
By the fiftieth attempt, his leg no longer jerked violently.
By the seventieth, his hips loosened.
By the hundredth, the movement felt… right.
His body was learning.
Not the whole slash.
Not the style.
Not the technique.
Just the pivot.
Just one piece.
But it was progress.
Real progress.
Darwin felt his chest tighten with a strange mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.
---
Right when he attempted the next pivot—
*RRIP—!*
A sharp pain ripped across his thigh.
His leg buckled.
He collapsed again, teeth clenched so hard he tasted blood.
His breathing grew rapid.
Vision darkened around the edges.
He fell to both knees, sword buried in the snow to keep himself upright.
Gajisk knelt beside him, silent.
"You're done," the old man said.
Darwin didn't respond.
"You're done," Gajisk repeated. "Push further and your leg will be unusable tomorrow."
Darwin's voice trembled. "But I'm close."
"You're too close. That's the danger."
Darwin looked up, eyes burning with stubborn fire. "I can't waste a single day."
"And you won't," Gajisk said. "You'll rest today. You'll walk tomorrow. And the day after that—you'll fix the next piece."
Darwin shook, anger and helplessness mixing inside him.
Gajisk placed a hand on his head—not gently, but firmly.
"You're building a style that fits a body the world calls broken. You don't get to rush that. Not unless you want to stay broken forever."
Darwin lowered his gaze.
Then closed his eyes.
Then exhaled.
He hated it.
But the old man was right.
---
Darwin slowly got back on his feet, leaning heavily on the sword.
The pain was unbearable.
But it was pain he had earned.
Pain from working toward a style that was truly his.
Gajisk supported him as they walked back toward the cabin.
"Tomorrow we start again," the blacksmith said.
Darwin nodded weakly.
"And tomorrow," Gajisk continued, "you'll choose the next piece to fix. Not everything. Just one."
Darwin breathed out a small cloud of steam.
One piece.
One correction.
One day at a time.
Balance would not be birthed in a week.
It would be forged from scars, mistakes, and small victories.
Darwin whispered softly, almost chanting to himself as he limped:
"One piece at a time… one piece at a time…"
The snow crunched under their steps.
Haze Forest watched quietly.
Day by day, slash by slash, mistake by mistake—
Darwin's path was taking shape.
And soon, that path would collide with beasts far deadlier than his training.
But for now…
He took the next painful step forward.
---