[One month later.]
CLANG!!!!
The sharp clash of metal against metal echoed through the training hall.
Rolling midair, I landed smoothly, eyes locked on Wilhlem.
He stood firm, blade in hand, while Aimar and Elijah watched from the sidelines, observing in silence.
"You rely too much on instinct," Wilhlem
remarked, his gaze steady. "It's impressive, but still a mess."
"I can't control it." I replied, stretching my body. "I just do it."
Because mana itself tells me what to do.
He gave a soft nod.
Then—he vanished.
I flexed my fingers. Mana swirled into my palm, condensing into a jagged broadsword.
Wilhlem reappeared.
His blade sliced upward, a crescent arc of Ruah trailing behind it.
I parried, but the impact sent a sharp numbness through my arm.
"Faster."
He disappeared again.
I pivoted, morphing my broadsword into a chain-whip mid-swing.
The barbed links lashed at empty air.
But—
CLANG!!!
