In the morning, I woke up with a clear sense of anticipation. The thought was simple, yet electrifying — today, I would finally begin mastering the family sword style. Not just basic swings, not meaningless repetitions, but the real technique, the one the Kaldris family was known for.
As usual, I washed up, got myself ready, and headed to breakfast. Everything went in its usual silence. My father and I barely spoke, but the quiet no longer felt oppressive. On the contrary, there was a strange sense of stability in it. I ate, occasionally glancing at him. His sharp facial features, black-as-jet hair, and piercing red eyes — everything about him spoke of power and control. Even when he said nothing, his presence commanded attention.
Finally, the training began.
"Today, you will learn the '12 Steps of the Storm,'" he said.
I immediately focused. This was serious.
He continued, his voice calm but firm:
"This style consists of twelve consecutive strikes. Each one is faster and stronger than the last. The sword must be covered in wind aura. Starting from the tenth strike, the aura extends beyond the blade, forming ranged attacks. The twelfth strike… is no longer just a strike. It is a storm."
I listened intently, slowing my breathing so I wouldn't miss a single word.
Then my father handed me a book. As soon as I touched it, something familiar yet strange happened — the knowledge poured directly into my mind. Movements, sequences, sensations… all recorded as if etched into my brain. And just like that, the book vanished into thin air.
I already knew about such artifacts, but each time it felt unnatural. How it worked, no one explained. But it didn't matter.
Next, my father demonstrated the technique. More precisely — the first nine movements, those without restrictions. His motions were fluid yet blisteringly fast. Even without full force, I could feel the danger in them.
"Can you repeat that?" he asked.
I nodded.
Gripping my training sword, I inhaled deeply.
And began.
From the first attempts, it was clear — these were not just basic swings. The movements demanded precision, coordination, and correct distribution of force. I faltered, lost rhythm, messed up the sequence. But I repeated.
Again. And again.
Gradually, the movements started to come together. Not perfectly, far from it, but at least at a basic level.
"This is harder than I thought…" I muttered, breathing heavily.
But I didn't stop.
Two hours later, I was completely exhausted. My hands shook, my breathing was ragged. I sat to meditate, restoring my energy. After a short rest, I got back up and continued.
That was the rhythm of the day.
And the next.
And the next.
Two weeks passed almost without notice. Training, meditation, repetition. My body adapted to the strain, movements became cleaner. Mistakes hadn't vanished, but at least I knew where I went wrong.
I had already been training for three months.
The progress was clear.
That morning started as usual. But over breakfast, my father said unexpectedly:
"Today, you will train alone."
I blinked.
"Why?"
"The activity of the warlike demon faction has become unusual."
I frowned.
Warlike faction… yes, I remembered. Among demons, some sought war, and some avoided it. But if the Demon King gave the order, all would go to fight. That's how their society was structured.
Then why hadn't the war started yet?
The answer was obvious.
The Crown of the Imperial Family. A divine artifact created by the first emperor. It only functions on imperial territory.
As I pondered, breakfast ended.
I headed to the training grounds. My father allowed me to use his personal arena, a rare sign of trust.
And I began training.
Alone.
Only then did I realize how valuable his guidance had been.
Mistakes went uncorrected. Progress slowed. Movements occasionally became sloppy.
But I didn't stop.
Day after day.
Style — meditation — rest — style — sleep.
This cycle became my life.
Another month passed.
And finally, after thirty-five days, I reached an advanced level.
Now I could use the style in combat.
Not perfectly. But sufficiently.
I stood on the training grounds, breathing heavily, and allowed myself a small, rare smile.
Eight months later, the academy awaited.
It was the perfect time to claim the "cheats."
Under the pretext of a break, I decided to go to the waterfall near Liswood village.
The mage's legacy awaited there.
In the worst case — I'd come back empty-handed.
But there was a chance.
As far as I remembered, that mage had given Adam the technique because of his unique element.
"Damn cheater…" I muttered.
I gathered my things and set off.