The world was bathed in the pale glow of early dawn. The sky, a soft gradient of blues and purples, stretched endlessly above, with the last remnants of the night still clinging to the horizon. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and morning dew. The training grounds were empty, silent save for the distant chirping of birds greeting the new day.
Darian stood in the center of the grounds, his breath visible in the crisp morning air. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, anticipation simmering in his chest.
He had come far.
It felt like a lifetime ago since the day of his transmigration—when he had first opened his eyes in this unfamiliar world, overwhelmed and uncertain. The confusion, the fear, the desperate struggle to survive—it all flashed through his mind like echoes of a distant past. But he had endured. He had trained, fought, and pushed himself beyond his limits. And now, he was here, waiting for his first true lesson under a master swordsman.
A soft crunch of boots against the ground pulled him from his thoughts.
Aldric approached with slow, deliberate strides, the morning light casting a long shadow behind him. But instead of swords, he carried two medium-sized wooden sticks, roughly the length of a real blade.
Darian frowned. "Sticks?"
Aldric smirked slightly, tossing one of them toward him. Darian caught it instinctively, feeling the rough texture of the wood against his palm.
"Swords are dangerous in untrained hands," Aldric said simply. "Before you wield steel, you must first master control. These will serve as your training blades until I deem you ready."
Darian nodded, gripping the stick firmly. It was lighter than a real sword, but balanced well.
Aldric stepped forward, raising his own wooden stick into position. His movements were fluid, precise—decades of experience distilled into a single stance.
"The foundation of swordsmanship is not in strength, but in form," he began. "Your stance, balance, and control matter more than how hard you swing."
He shifted his feet slightly, demonstrating.
"Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent. Your dominant foot just a little behind for stability. Never too stiff—stay loose, ready to move."
Darian mimicked the stance, adjusting his posture as best as he could.
Aldric nodded approvingly. "Now, grip."
He adjusted Darian's hands, ensuring the stick wasn't being held too tightly.
"A firm yet flexible grip. Too loose, and your weapon is taken from you. Too tight, and your movements become rigid. Find the balance."
Darian focused, making the necessary adjustments. It was strange, using a wooden stick instead of a sword, but the moment he paid attention to Aldric's words, he understood. This was the groundwork, the discipline needed before true mastery.
"Good," Aldric said. "Now, let's begin with the basic strikes."
And with that, the first lesson truly began.