A sharp, tearing sound rang out.
It was like a blade slicing through parchment.
The wooden stake split diagonally, nearly a third of it severed in a single stroke. The cut portion fell heavily to the ground, sending dirt and moss scattering across the grass.
Sir Goodwin's eyes narrowed at once.
He strode forward and crouched beside the broken stake, carefully examining the cut surface. It was smooth—so smooth it looked polished, with no splinters or burrs left behind.
"This…"
Goodwin stared at the sword in Garon's hands, momentarily speechless.
Using a two-handed sword to chop through thick wood was no easy task, even for a grown man. Under normal circumstances, the blade would lodge itself in the wood after cutting only a few inches.
Yet Garon had sliced through a massive wooden stake with almost no resistance.
And Garon was only eight years old.
Goodwin felt his breath quicken.
Even Garon himself was stunned.
When he swung the Maiden of Justice, it hadn't felt like cutting wood at all. The moment the blade touched the stake, there was only a brief resistance—then it slid through effortlessly, smooth as silk.
"Sir Goodwin," Garon said, raising the sword again, "I'll try once more."
He brought the blade down diagonally.
A sharp sound echoed.
Another large piece of wood slid free and crashed to the ground.
This cut went even deeper.
Though the resistance was slightly stronger, it still parted cleanly, as if the stake were no more than a brittle branch.
Garon exhaled softly. The feeling reminded him of sweeping fallen leaves with a stick—light, fluid, and almost relaxing.
Sir Goodwin watched in silence, shock written plainly on his face.
Such sharpness was unheard of.
Without a word, he unfastened his plate armor vest and carried it over to the wooden training dummy Garon usually practiced on. He secured the armor over the dummy's chest.
"Come," Goodwin said calmly. "Try this."
Garon hesitated.
"Sir Goodwin… are you sure?"
A plate armor vest was worth a fortune. Even a single piece could cost two gold dragons—an amount a fisherman on Tarth might never earn in his lifetime.
Goodwin nodded. "If you want to test its true sharpness, you must test it against real armor."
Garon considered it, then smiled faintly.
"You won't mind if it's damaged?"
Goodwin shrugged. "Lord Selwyn will reimburse me."
Fair enough.
Garon stepped forward, gripping the hilt with both hands. He adjusted his stance, focused his gaze, and drove power from his legs, waist, and arms into the strike.
The sword came down.
Sparks flew.
A crisp, metallic sound rang through the clearing.
This time, Garon clearly felt resistance—but also the exhilarating sensation of cutting through it. The blade stopped only when its momentum was finally spent.
Both Garon and Goodwin froze.
The armor had been split diagonally, nearly three-quarters of the way through. Beneath it, the wooden dummy bore a deep, brutal gash.
Had a man been wearing that armor, he would have been cut open and killed instantly.
Goodwin inhaled sharply.
Garon was still a child.
If ten more years passed—if Garon grew into a man and wielded this sword from horseback, carrying the force of a full charge—
With one strike, both man and horse could be cleaved apart.
Goodwin's breathing grew rapid, his eyes burning with fervor.
"Morning Light Garon…" he muttered. "And I taught him swordsmanship from childhood."
He could already imagine himself years from now, sitting in a tavern, boasting of it.
"Garon," Goodwin said solemnly, "this blade is truly worthy of being called a holy sword."
Garon nodded.
The Seven-Pointed Star recorded that the Maiden of Justice could cut through all ordinary steel and never break. Now he knew it was no exaggeration.
Yet the scriptures also said Morning Light Garon had only drawn the sword three times in his life—each time facing enemies of terrifying power.
This sword held more than simple sharpness.
Garon glanced at the faint orange line along the blade's edge.
Magic.
He remembered the panel only he could see.
Magic: 0.
Could it be that the sword's true power required magic to awaken?
The Age of Heroes had been filled with monsters and sorcery. Morning Light Garon's legend could not have been built on sharp steel alone.
"Garon," Goodwin said, breaking his thoughts, "this sword is powerful—but do not rely on it alone."
"A knight's strength does not come from his weapon. Even without Dawn, Arthur Dayne was still the greatest swordsman of the Seven Kingdoms. And a peasant, even with a holy sword, cannot defeat a trained knight."
"I understand, Sir Goodwin," Garon replied immediately.
A weapon was only an extension of the wielder. His own strength would always matter most.
"Good. Change to wooden swords," Goodwin said. "Let's begin today's lesson."
There was no need to test further.
As long as Garon's skill could keep up, the Maiden of Justice would make him unstoppable in the future.
Goodwin's teaching style was simple, almost crude—but highly effective.
For two years, he had drilled Garon relentlessly: grip, posture, footwork, and force generation. Now, they focused on precision.
Goodwin would call out targets—the throat, heart, wrists, neck—and Garon had to strike instantly.
After months of training, Garon could hit the designated point within a second.
Now the difficulty had increased.
Goodwin tossed sour green apples into the air, one by one, forcing Garon to strike moving targets with a wooden sword.
At first, Garon missed every time.
Occasionally, an apple would strike him in the face, earning a grimace.
But slowly, he improved.
Now, out of three apples, he could strike one.
Goodwin nodded in approval.
"When you can hit every apple," he said, "we'll replace them with dates."
Swordsmanship, at its core, was speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness.
This training embodied all three.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Goodwin finally called a halt.
"That's enough for today," he said. "Garon, don't return to the castle yet. Lord Selwyn ordered me to take you to watch the execution before sunset."
"Execution?" Garon wiped sweat from his neck.
"Two rapists," Goodwin replied casually.
Garon nodded. In Westeros, rape was punishable by death.
Lord Selwyn personally carried out such sentences, ensuring justice was seen and understood.
After mounting up, they rode toward Sapphire Town.
A crowd had already gathered in the meadow outside the town.
When Garon arrived, whispers spread quickly.
"The holy sword—look!"
"Morning Light Garon reborn!"
Lord Selwyn stood at the center, a greatsword resting before him. Two men knelt bound at his feet.
"Father," Garon said quietly.
Lord Selwyn glanced at him and smiled faintly.
The first man was judged and executed swiftly.
Blood stained the grass.
Garon watched without flinching.
Lord Selwyn turned to the second man—a scarred brute who spat defiance and curses.
As Lord Selwyn raised his sword once more, Garon stepped forward.
"Wait."
Every eye turned toward him.
"Father," Garon said calmly, drawing the Maiden of Justice, "may I do it?"
The holy sword caught the fading light of the sun.
And in that moment, Garon felt it clearly.
Judgment.