"Now that you have your weapon, Ryker," Aiden began, his voice calm but tinged with anticipation, "we can start preparing for the boot camp coming up in three months."
Ryker frowned slightly, tilting his head in confusion. "Boot camp? What boot camp?"
Aiden chuckled lightly, realizing he'd never mentioned it before. "Ah, my mistake—I forgot to tell you about this. The Noble Clans—essentially the leaders of humanity—organize a boot camp periodically for the scions of the various clans as well as promising talents who might not be affiliated with any clan. It serves multiple purposes: socializing, gaining true battle experience, and, most importantly, preparing participants for the Academy."
Ryker's interest was piqued. "Is there an age limit, or is it open to all noble scions regardless of age?"
"There's an age limit," Aiden clarified, his expression serious. "Only those between the ages of 8 to 10 are allowed to participate. The boot camp targets young talents who are on the cusp of entering the Academy."
Ryker nodded slowly, absorbing the information, but Aiden wasn't finished.
"Between you and me," Aiden added with a faint smirk, "the camp isn't just about preparation—it's a silent contest of power between the seven hegemons of the human domain. Of course, that includes us, so you're going to need to be cautious while you're there. Each hegemon will try to showcase their strength through their scions, and the competition can be… intense."
Before Ryker could respond, Aiden's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Oh, and there's a prize for the overall winner of the camp. It's an extremely generous one. Whoever wins that prize will gain a significant advantage against their peers. Not that it matters for you," Aiden added with a confident grin. "You don't need prizes to stand out. You simply have no equal."
Ryker sighed, rolling his eyes. "Father, stop overhyping me, or I'll lose focus."
Aiden laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, champ, but I'm just stating facts. And the fact is—none of those scions can compete with you. Why? Because you're Aiden Phoenix's son. That alone sets you apart."
Ryker couldn't help but crack a small smile at his father's exuberance, though he quickly masked it with his usual determination. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with his weapon in hand and the confidence his father had instilled in him, he felt ready for whatever challenges lay in store.
"First things first, Ryker," Aiden began, his voice firm yet brimming with pride. "You're going to have to master the swordsmanship techniques that have been honed within our clan for centuries. As I've told you before, our family is a family of swordmasters. Each generation has taken the craft to its utmost limits, refining their skills to perfection and passing down their insights to the next generation.
I can say with absolute confidence that when it comes to the sword, there is no one in the entire world who can compare to us. This isn't arrogance—it's a well-known fact."
Aiden crossed his arms and continued, his tone sharpening. "For the following month, I will drill you relentlessly on the fundamentals of swordsmanship. During this time, you will not draw your sword even once. You'll make do with a training sword, one that I will personally provide. Mastery begins with understanding the basics, and I will ensure your foundation is unshakable."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. "After that, during the second month, you will study the insights of our ancestors within the comfort of the clan library. The library holds generations of wisdom from the greatest swordmasters of our bloodline—knowledge that was painstakingly recorded and preserved. You'll study and internalize every piece of it."
Aiden's gaze shifted toward the sword now resting in Ryker's grip, his eyes gleaming with a reverence that few had ever seen. "And then… once you've proven yourself ready, I will grant you access to the greatest sword manual in existence. This isn't just any manual—it was passed down to us by the supreme being who forged our clan's destiny. It's a technique originally created for the wielder of Dragon's Edge—that little sword of yours there—and, by extension, for you. This technique was crafted to complement the very essence of the blade and its bearer."
Ryker's eyes widened as he listened, his grip instinctively tightening around the hilt of his sword. "The technique was made for Dragon's Edge?" he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
"Yes," Aiden confirmed. "It was. However, our progenitor, Ignis, along with the genius ancestors who came after him, managed to draw insights from the technique and create a variant. This variant was designed to be used by the rest of us—those who don't wield Dragon's Edge. While it has been a closely guarded secret, passed down only within the main bloodline, it is not the full technique. It's a shadow of the original."
He took a step closer to Ryker, his tone softening with pride. "You are different, though. Dragon's Edge has chosen you. The original technique was always meant for you. Once you've fully mastered the variant, I will hand you the original. It belongs to you, Ryker—it always has. You'll carry the legacy of our clan to heights no one has ever reached before."
Ryker squared his shoulders, determination burning in his eyes. "I won't let you down, Father.
Aiden smiled faintly, the pride in his son tempered with the weight of expectation. "Good. The path ahead won't be easy, but if anyone is worthy of it, it's you."
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