Chapter 80.6: One Year Later [Eris POV]
The sword came at my head with killing intent.
I blocked.
The impact rattled through my arms like something had struck the bone directly.
Gal Farion didn't pull his strikes during training. He said if I wanted to learn the Sword God style properly, I needed to understand that every movement was life or death.
There were no practice sessions. Only lessons that left me bleeding, or lessons that left me stronger.
Usually both.
"You're telegraphing with your eyes," he barked, already in motion for the next strike. "A real enemy will see that opening and exploit it before you know you've shown it."
I adjusted. Tried to keep my gaze neutral while tracking his movement peripherally.
Ruijerd had taught me this, reading the opponent's center of mass instead of watching their weapon.
Gal's blade changed trajectory mid-swing, punishing the attempt at prediction.
I took the hit on my shoulder. Pain went through the joint sharp and immediate, but I stayed on my feet and used the momentum to create distance.
"Better," Gal said, lowering the practice blade. "Three months ago, that strike would have put you down. You're progressing well."
Three months. Already?
The time had blurred together. Endless repetitions of forms, brutal sparring sessions, lectures on technique that made no sense until my body understood what my brain couldn't process.
The Holy Land didn't teach with instruction.
It hammered knowledge into muscle through repetition and consequence.
I was getting stronger. I could feel it in the way my sword moved, in the precision of strikes that had been wild and uncontrolled a season ago.
But it didn't feel fast enough.
Somewhere out there, Rudeus was building something. Counter Arrow, the organization Claude had mentioned during our travels together.
My childhood friend was establishing a network, making a difference, becoming something important.
I was here, getting beaten up by a man who thought encouragement meant hitting me slightly less hard.
"You're thinking too much," Ghislaine's voice cut in from the edge of the training ground. She stood there with arms folded, watching with the attention that missed nothing. "Your body knows what to do. Your mind is getting in the way."
"My mind is trying to understand why getting punched in the face counts as education," I said.
Gal laughed, a sound like rocks grinding. "Because your face is less important than your survival instincts. I can't teach you to think faster. I can teach your body to move before your brain catches up. That's the Sword God way."
He waved me toward the water. I went to the wall and drank while my muscles registered their objections.
Ghislaine settled beside me. "You're progressing faster than most students. Gal doesn't give compliments, but 'better' from him is worth more than praise from anyone else."
"Doesn't feel fast enough."
"Compared to what?"
I wanted to explain that it wasn't about Rudeus, wasn't about competition. It was about being worth something.
About proving I was more than the violent noble girl who had caused problems for everyone around her.
The words didn't come. I drank more water and pretended I couldn't feel the weight of something I didn't have a name for.
Three months down. However many more until I was strong enough to face what was coming without feeling like a liability.
[Claude POV]
The reconstruction was ahead of schedule.
I stood on the fortress wall watching crews work on the newest residential section below. What had been rubble six months ago was now recognizable structures, homes where families could live, spaces where communities could reform their shape.
Isolte appeared at my left, carrying the updated progress reports. "Residential District Three is at eighty percent completion. People should be moving in by month's end."
"And the agricultural zones?"
"Ahead of projections. The seeds Arbalest provided are establishing better than expected. The local farmers think we might see surplus by harvest season." She set the reports on the wall's ledge. "Claude. We're doing it. Actually rebuilding, not just surviving."
The pride in her voice had been earned. Fittoa's recovery had been brutal work.
Coordinating labor, managing resources, navigating the political complications of Arbalest's presence in Asura territory.
The numbers were in the reports and the reports were accurate.
"How's the training going?" I asked.
"Exhausting." She said it with something that was not quite a smile but functioned similarly. "The Water God techniques are nothing like what I learned at the Sword Sanctuary. I keep trying to force movements that should flow. My body is fighting years of ingrained habits."
"That's normal. Water God style requires unlearning aggression. It's about redirection rather than opposition. Give it time."
"How much time did it take you?"
"I'm still learning. Every fight teaches something new."
I looked at the rebuilding city below. "This is teaching me too. The kind of power that doesn't come from a sword is harder to develop and harder to visibly measure. That makes it easier to underestimate."
The past year had been clarifying in ways I hadn't expected. Leading Arbalest's Fittoa operations meant confronting the reality that combat skills, while necessary, were one small piece of what the region needed.
The real work was coordination, communication, the logistics that kept people fed and housed and functional.
I had learned what I was missing by having to provide what I hadn't known how to provide.
"Mike sent updated intelligence about the food crisis," Isolte said. Her tone had changed register. "The projections are getting worse. Three years until critical shortage becomes catastrophic famine. Maybe less."
Three years.
The timeline sat above everything we were building. All the reconstruction, all the refugee support, all the careful work.
It was preparation for a crisis that would exceed the Metastasis in scope if not in immediacy.
"We're preparing," I said. "Arbalest's expanding carefully. Counter Arrow's establishing distribution networks. By the time the crisis peaks, we want infrastructure capable of responding."
"If we're not killed first. Kalman is still out there. The Human God is still moving pieces." She paused on the third thing she had been about to name. "And Orsted is still watching."
"Still operating within the terms we established," I said. "Still not interested in anything we're doing."
We stood without speaking and watched the sun go down over Fittoa's recovering landscape.
One year since the operation. Three years until the next significant crisis. Time enough to build something capable of surviving what was coming, if the building went correctly.
I turned from the wall. There was work left before the day ended.
[Paul POV]
Zenith's location was confirmed.
The intelligence had taken months to gather. Reports from multiple sources, divination from skilled practitioners, physical reconnaissance from Arbalest operatives willing to survey Begaritt's most dangerous zones.
She was in a crystal labyrinth, deep in Begaritt territory. Trapped.
Waiting for rescue, assuming she could still be said to be waiting for anything.
I stared at the mission plans spread across my desk. Two years of preparation minimum before a successful expedition was possible.
The logistics were nightmarish. Crossing Begaritt, surviving the labyrinth's defenses, extracting someone encased in crystal without killing them in the process.
Rudeus wanted to go immediately. Of course he did.
His mother was trapped, and every day she remained trapped was another day of guilt he shouldn't have to carry.
Immediate wasn't possible. The mission would kill everyone involved if it wasn't ready.
They needed proper preparation, equipment, personnel trained specifically for this kind of operation.
Two years.
Two more years of knowing Zenith was out there. Two more years of my son carrying guilt he shouldn't have.
"The plans are solid," Elinalise said, reading over my shoulder. She had become a constant presence since the Metastasis. Part advisor, part conscience, part reminder that the weight didn't have to be carried entirely alone. "We'll get her back, Paul. We'll bring Zenith home."
"In two years."
"In two years we'll have a mission with an actual success rate instead of a certain death rate. That's worth the wait."
She was right. Logically, I had arrived at the same conclusion before she said it.
The other part of me wanted to grab my sword and start running toward Begaritt right now.
But that part had gotten people killed before. I'd learned to file it and proceed.
So we planned and prepared.
We built the organization that could support an expedition into one of the world's most lethal territories.
And I waited, which was the hardest discipline I'd ever been asked to practice.
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