The wooden sword struck again.
THUD.
Pain shot through Arin's arm as the impact forced him backward.
His feet slipped against the dirt.
His balance broke.
And he fell.
Dust rose slowly around him.
The ground felt cold against his back.
Hard.
Unforgiving.
The knight lowered his training sword.
His breathing steady.
Unmoved.
"Stand up," he said.
Arin clenched his teeth.
Every muscle in his body ached.
His arms trembled.
His legs felt heavy.
But he forced himself to rise.
Slowly.
Unsteadily.
He tightened his grip on the wooden sword.
Determination burned behind his tired eyes.
"I'm ready," he said.
The knight studied him carefully.
Not with kindness.
Not with cruelty.
With expectation.
"Good," he replied.
Without warning—
He attacked again.
The strike came fast.
Clean.
Precise.
Arin reacted instinctively.
He raised his sword.
CRACK.
The impact echoed through the clearing.
The force traveled down his arms like lightning.
Pain exploded in his hands.
But this time—
He did not fall.
He held his ground.
The knight paused.
Only for a second.
But Arin noticed.
That single moment of hesitation felt like victory.
The knight stepped back slowly.
Lowering his sword.
"Again," he said.
Hours passed.
The sun climbed higher in the sky.
Sweat soaked through Arin's clothes.
Dust clung to his skin.
His breathing grew heavier with every movement.
Strike.
Block.
Fall.
Stand.
Strike.
Block.
Fall.
Stand.
The pattern repeated again and again.
Relentless.
Unforgiving.
Endless.
Each failure hurt.
Each mistake burned.
Each fall tested his will.
But he kept standing.
Because quitting felt worse than pain.
At the edge of the clearing, the cloaked man watched silently.
Hidden among the trees.
His sharp eyes followed every movement.
Every mistake.
Every improvement.
The knight delivered another strike.
Faster than before.
Arin reacted.
Late.
THUD.
The wooden blade struck his shoulder.
Hard.
He stumbled backward.
Pain flashed across his face.
Frustration surged inside him.
Hot.
Sharp.
Uncontrollable.
He slammed the tip of his sword into the ground.
Breathing heavily.
Chest rising and falling rapidly.
"This isn't fair," he said.
Silence filled the clearing.
The knight tilted his head slightly.
"Fair?" he repeated.
Arin clenched his fists.
"You're stronger," he said.
"You're faster."
"You always win."
The words came out louder than he intended.
Angrier.
More desperate.
For a moment—
The knight said nothing.
Then he walked forward slowly.
His footsteps steady.
Measured.
Certain.
He stopped directly in front of the boy.
His voice was calm.
But firm.
"The world is not fair."
The words landed heavily.
"Monsters are not fair."
He took one step closer.
"War is not fair."
Another step.
"Death is not fair."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
The knight knelt down, bringing himself to Arin's eye level.
His gaze steady.
Unshakable.
"Strength exists," he said,
"so you can survive unfair things."
Arin swallowed slowly.
The anger inside him faded.
Replaced by understanding.
The knight reached down and picked up the fallen sword.
He placed it back into the boy's hands.
"Again," he said.
Arin stared at the weapon.
His hands trembled slightly.
He was tired.
Exhausted.
Sore.
Every part of his body begged him to stop.
But something inside him refused.
He tightened his grip.
"I won't quit," he said.
The knight's expression softened slightly.
Just for a moment.
Then—
He attacked again.
This time—
Arin moved faster.
Not strong.
Not perfect.
But better.
Their wooden swords collided.
CRACK.
The sound echoed across the clearing.
Arin held the block.
His arms shook violently.
His muscles screamed.
But he did not fall.
The knight pushed forward.
Testing him.
Pressuring him.
Forcing him to adapt.
Arin adjusted his stance.
Shifted his weight.
Focused his breathing.
Slowly—
Carefully—
He stepped sideways.
The strike missed.
The knight's eyes narrowed slightly.
A small change.
A small improvement.
But important.
They separated again.
Both breathing heavily.
The knight lowered his sword.
"Good," he said quietly.
The single word filled Arin with energy.
More powerful than praise.
More valuable than victory.
But the lesson was not over.
Suddenly—
The knight pointed toward a large rock at the edge of the clearing.
"Lift it," he ordered.
Arin blinked.
Confused.
"That rock?" he asked.
The knight nodded once.
"Yes."
Arin walked toward it slowly.
The stone was large.
Heavy.
Much bigger than anything he had ever tried to lift.
He placed both hands against its rough surface.
Cold.
Solid.
Unmoving.
He pushed.
Nothing happened.
He pushed harder.
Muscles straining.
Teeth clenched.
Breathing sharp.
Still—
Nothing.
Frustration returned.
"I can't," he admitted.
The knight stepped closer.
His voice calm.
"You are trying to use strength."
He paused.
Then placed a hand gently against the rock.
"Use balance," he said.
He shifted the stone slightly.
Tilting it.
Changing its weight.
Then he stepped back.
"Try again."
Arin inhaled slowly.
Focused.
He placed his hands on the stone once more.
Adjusted his footing.
Shifted his weight.
Then—
He pushed.
The rock moved.
Only a little.
But enough.
Arin's eyes widened.
Shock flashed across his face.
He pushed again.
The stone rolled forward slightly.
Grinding against the dirt.
A small victory.
But a real one.
The knight nodded once.
"Strength is not power," he said.
He looked directly into the boy's eyes.
"Control is power."
The words settled deep inside Arin's mind.
Like a seed taking root.
And far away—
Beyond the mountains—
A group of armored riders reached the edge of the forest.
Their horses snorted in the cold air.
Their weapons gleamed in the fading light.
Their leader raised one hand.
The group stopped instantly.
He studied the distant village below.
Silent.
Focused.
Certain.
Then he spoke a single command.
"Spread out."