Darkness still enveloped the palace grounds when Grim dragged himself from bed the next morning. His muscles ached from yesterday's river training, and his head throbbed with the lingering cold sensation of the frozen dew berry. But anticipation pushed away his discomfort—today he would prove himself worthy of seeing the Ambrose scrolls.
The eastern training ground was different from their usual practice area—larger, more open, with scarred training posts and weathered stone tiles that had seen generations of combat practice. Dawn was just a faint promise on the horizon when Grim arrived, his practice sword in hand.
Rowan was already there, standing motionless in the center of the grounds. He wore no armor, just his standard training clothes, and carried his wooden practice sword loosely at his side.
"You're late," he said, though Grim knew he was actually early.
"The sun's not even up," Grim muttered, taking position across from his father.
"Your opponents won't always wait for daylight." Rowan raised his sword to a defensive position. "Today's test is simple. Land a single strike on me."
Grim blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it. I won't attack, only defend. You have until the breakfast bell rings—about two hours. Begin whenever you're ready."
Grim studied his father carefully. Simple, Rowan had said. But nothing with his father was ever truly simple. There had to be a catch.
"Fine." Grim took his stance, sword raised. "Let's do this."
He lunged forward with a basic strike—a probing attack to test his father's defenses. Rowan barely seemed to move, yet his practice sword intercepted Grim's with effortless precision.
Grim followed with a series of quick slashes, each met with the same casual defense. It was like striking at a wall that moved just enough to deflect each blow.
"Shit," Grim thought as he backed away to reassess. "He's not even trying."
[Your basic attacks won't work,] the voice in his head observed. [He's analyzed your patterns over months of training.]
"No fucking kidding," Grim shot back mentally as he circled his father. "Any useful advice?"
[You have a fully filled mana heart now. Use it.]
Right. The Ethereal Mist technique. Grim tightened his grip on the practice sword. He started channeling water mana from his heart down through his conduits and into his blade. It was slightly foggy out, giving Gfim extra water mana to draw from.
With a quick slash, he released the mana, and a thick fog erupted from his sword. Within seconds, it spread across the training ground, obscuring Rowan from view.
"Better," his father's voice came from within the mist. "But not enough."
Grim moved cautiously through the fog, reaching out with his water senses to track his father's position. There—a slight disturbance to his right. He struck quickly, only to hit empty air as Rowan sidestepped.
"Damn it!" Grim swore aloud this time, frustration breaking through his control.
"Language," Rowan's disembodied voice admonished, now from somewhere behind him.
Grim spun and slashed his sword in a wide arc. His blade met Rowan's and a loud thwack was heard. For a moment, they were locked together.
"Better. You're learning to sense through the mist." Rowan disengaged and vanished again into the fog.
For the next half hour, Grim tried every variation of attack he could think of. High strikes toward Rowan's head, low sweeps at his legs, thrusts aimed at his torso—nothing came close to landing. Each time, his father's practice sword was there to block, parry, or deflect.
Sweat soaked through Grim's training clothes despite the cool morning air. His arms ached from the constant striking, and he could feel his mana reserves rapidly depleting. Maintaining the mist while attacking was draining him faster than expected.
"Shit, I'm running low already," he realized. He hadn't mastered cultivating while moving as his father had mentioned yesterday. At this rate, he'd be completely drained before the test ended.
"This is fucking impossible," he thought bitterly. "He's got decades of experience on me, and I'm in a five-year-old body with stubby little arms."
[You're approaching this wrong,] the voice cut in. [You're thinking like a child trying to hit an adult.]
"I AM a child trying to hit an adult," Grim snapped back mentally.
[No. You're a tactician trapped in a child's body. Think strategically. What advantages do you have that he doesn't expect?]
Grim paused, considering. His small size? Possibly, but his father would be accounting for that. His dual affinity? Maybe, but he hadn't practiced enough with light mana to use it effectively yet.
Then it hit him. The dew berry. His enhanced water affinity. His father knew about it, but might not fully understand how much it had amplified his abilities.
"I need more mana," Grim decided, backing away to create distance between himself and Rowan. He let the mist thin slightly to conserve energy and focused on drawing in water mana from the morning dew surrounding them.
Thanks to yesterday's training and the berry's effects, he could feel the water responding eagerly to his call. Not enough to refill his heart completely—that had taken an hour by the river—but enough for what he needed next.
[Now you're thinking,] the voice approved. [Try channeling mana directly into your muscles, not just your sword.]
Grim took a deep breath, shifting his approach. Instead of pouring all his mana into producing the mist. He directed streamsof water mana into his legs and sword arm. The effect was drastic. Grim was even surepised by what happened next. A cooling sensation went down his legs and arm.
"Okay, let's try something different," he thought.
He circled Rowan through the mist. Tacking Rowan's by feeling the water mana in the air. His father was standing still now, likely listening for Grim's approach.
Instead of charging directly, Grim moved to his left, then suddenly darted right—using his mana-enhanced legs to push off with unexpected speed. The burst of acceleration was startling even to him, carrying him faster than he'd ever moved before.
He cut sharply behind what he sensed was Rowan's blind spot. As he prepared to strike, he channeled a surge of water mana into his sword arm and blade. To his surprise, a faint blue aura formed around the edge of his practice sword, extending the blade's reach with a thin layer of condensed water mana.
Grim swung with everything he had. As his blade arced through the air, the water mana suddenly released in a crescent-shaped wave of energy—a technique he hadn't been taught, hadn't even known was possible. The blue arc sliced through the mist, heading straight for Rowan's unprotected side.
For a split second, Grim saw shock flicker across Rowan's face—he hadn't expected this technique, this manifestation of raw mana. The practice sword and its accompanying water arc whistled through the air, the combined attack far more powerful than anything Grim had attempted before.
But at the last possible instant, Rowan vanished in a blur of movement. The Drifting Mist Step. Grim's blade cut through empty air, the momentum carrying him forward into an ungraceful stumble. The water arc continued past where Rowan had been, slicing into a tree at the edge of the training ground with a sharp hissing sound.
A hand settled on top of his head from behind.
"Enough," Rowan said, ending the match.
Grim turned, breathing hard, frustration etched on his face. "I almost had you."
"Yes," Rowan agreed, surprising him. "You did."
The mist was beginning to dissipate now that Grim had stopped maintaining it. As the training ground cleared, Rowan's expression was visisble. It wasn't what Grim expected. Instead of his usual stern face, there was something else. "Pride?" Grim thought.
"You figured it out," Rowan said, his voice came out soft. "Not just channeling mana to enhance your physical strength. but creating a mana blade. A water slash beyond your physical sword. That's not something I taught you."
"I... just tried something different," Grim said, suddenly uncomfortable with the praise. He hadn't intended to create the water arc; it had just happened when he channeled too much mana into the blade.
"It was brilliant." Rowan knelt down to Grim's level, placing both hands on his shoulders. "Do you understand what you did? You just performed your own sword art."
The unexpected display of approval left Grim momentarily speechless. In their months of training, Rowan had never been this openly impressed.
"You're progressing faster than I could have imagined," Rowan continued, a genuine smile warming his usually stoic features. "If you hadn't telegraphed your final approach with that splash of water, you might actually have landed that strike."
Grim made a mental note to work on that. Every detail mattered in combat.
As they began gathering their practice equipment, Rowan suddenly froze, staring at something behind Grim. Turning, Grim saw a large tree at the edge of the training ground. A deep gash marked its trunk—a clean slice that penetrated at least nine inches into the solid wood.
"Did you... did your last attack do that?" Rowan asked, walking over to examine the damage.
Grim blinked in surprise. "I guess so? I wasn't aiming for the tree."
Rowan ran his fingers along the cut, his expression unreadable. "The water mana must have extended the reach of your blade, creating an invisible edge beyond the physical sword." He seemed about to say more, then simply nodded. "Interesting."
They walked back toward the palace in a companionable silence that was unusual for them. As they reached the entrance to the family's quarters, Rowan placed a hand on Grim's shoulder.
"Rest today. You've earned it. Tomorrow, I'll show you the Ambrose scrolls."
Grim couldn't contain his excitement. "All of them? Even the light techniques?"
"Yes," Rowan said. "Though they may not be what you're expecting."
"What do you mean?" Grim asked, confused.
Rowan hesitated. "The scrolls... there's more to them than just sword techniques. My grandfather left something specific for the next light wielder in our family." His expression grew distant. "A message, and a warning."
"A warning about what?"
"Tomorrow," Rowan said firmly. "When you're rested. This isn't something to be approached with an exhausted mind."
Grim walked away, lost in thought.
Any idea what this warning could be about?" Grim asked the voice silently.
[I have no knowledge of what your great-grandfather might have written. My guess would be as good as your own.]
"Yeah, I thought you'd be useless," Grim replied with a mental snort. "Convenient how you know everything about cultivation techniques but draw a blank on family matters."