A month had quietly slipped away since Father took it upon himself to train me.
Time seemed to blur together beneath the endless cycle of dawn and dusk.
Compared to the first day, our schedule had become far more brutal.
“Wake up.”
Father’s deep voice echoed through my room before the first rays of sunlight reached the windows.
Every morning without fail, he would knock once before opening the door.
By the time I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, he would already be dressed in his training attire, arms folded as he waited.
“We start at five.”
There was never a need to remind me.
If I was even a minute late, he’d simply add another lap to my punishment.
Our training now began at five in the morning and ended around eight.
Those three hours felt like an eternity.
It always started with thirty laps around our estate.
At first, even ten laps had left me gasping for breath, but Father gradually increased the number every few days.
Before I even realized it, thirty laps had become my morning warm-up.
Then came strength training.
Push-ups.
Sit-ups.
Squats.
Planks.
Weighted carries.
Sword swings.
Every exercise grew heavier than the last.
Father never settled for my current limit.
Every time I adapted, he quietly raised the difficulty.
“Again.”
“Another set.”
“You’re slowing down.”
Those were the words I heard more than my own name.
By the final week of the month, the weight I trained with had increased nearly fivefold compared to where I had started.
Every muscle in my body screamed in protest.
Some mornings I could barely lift my arms after waking up.
There were days when I collapsed onto my bed without even changing clothes.
It honestly felt like Father was conducting some strange experiment.
He’s trying to find my limit…
Unfortunately for him…
Even I didn’t know where that limit was.
Each time I thought, This is impossible.
I can’t do anymore, my body somehow endured.
The exhaustion remained, but my recovery was abnormal.
By the next morning, the soreness would already be fading, allowing me to continue as if nothing had happened.
Father noticed it too.
During one sparring session, he lowered his wooden sword and stared at me with narrowed eyes.
“…Interesting.”
“Hm?”
“You recovered.”
“Is… that unusual?”
He remained silent for a moment before answering.
“Most children your age would be bedridden after yesterday’s training.”
“…Really?”
Instead of answering, he simply resumed his stance.
“Again.”
That was Father.
If something surprised him, he’d observe it rather than ask questions.
As the weeks passed, our training shifted beyond simple physical conditioning.
He began teaching me proper footwork, balance, sword forms, and the fundamentals of hand-to-hand combat.
“Strength means nothing if your footing is unstable.”
He lightly tapped my ankle with his wooden sword.
I immediately lost my balance.
“…Ow.”
Father sighed.
“See?”
“…I hate it when you’re right.”
“The enemy won’t care.”
“…Fair point.”
Little by little, I started understanding that combat wasn’t simply about swinging a weapon.
Every movement had purpose.
Every step controlled distance.
Every breath preserved stamina.
The more Father taught me, the more fascinated I became.
Mother’s lessons had also continued throughout the month.
Unlike Father’s relentless physical training, studying with Mother felt peaceful.
Well…
Mostly peaceful.
She transformed the living room into a classroom every afternoon, stacking books across the table before smiling elegantly.
“Now then, today’s lesson.”
She taught me the geography of the continent, the locations of neighboring kingdoms, important trade routes, and the dangerous regions where monsters were known to roam.
Apparently, this world wasn’t nearly as peaceful as it appeared.
Some forests were inhabited by magical beasts.
Mountain ranges concealed dangerous monsters.
Ancient ruins scattered across the continent were filled with monsters and forgotten relics.
She also introduced me to countless creatures I’d never seen before.
Wyverns.
Manticores.
Dire Wolves.
Treants.
Even creatures that existed only in legends.
Every lesson made me realize just how vast this world truly was.
Of course…
Subjects like mathematics and ethics were significantly easier.
Numbers hadn’t changed between worlds.
Neither had basic logic.
Mother often blinked in surprise whenever I solved a complicated equation almost immediately.
“…Already?”
I nodded.
“I think that’s the answer.”
She looked down at the paper before smiling helplessly.
“Correct… again.”
She rested a hand against her cheek.
“Luke… are you absolutely certain you’ve never studied this before?”
“…No?”
Well…
Not in this world.
I forced an awkward smile while silently swallowing the truth.
Sorry, Mother.
Telling you I’m actually someone who lived an entire previous life would probably give you a heart attack.
Eventually, she simply laughed.
“You must have inherited my intelligence.”
“…I suppose so.”
Honestly…
That probably wasn’t entirely wrong.
Mother was undeniably brilliant.
Still…
The greatest reason I learned so quickly wasn’t genetics.
It was the blessing I had received before reincarnating.
That ridiculous blessing accelerated my comprehension to an unbelievable degree.
Anything I studied seemed to organize itself inside my mind almost effortlessly.
Of course, I had no intention of revealing that secret.
Some things were better left unsaid.
When evening arrived, I headed toward Father’s study.
It was my favorite part of the day.
Unlike physical training, rune magic challenged my mind.
Shelves packed with ancient books surrounded the room while complicated symbols covered countless scrolls spread across Father’s desk.
At first, he’d only taught me the basic foundations.
Now…
He had moved on to intermediate rune theory.
“You’ve already mastered the basics,” Father said while drawing an intricate symbol across a piece of parchment.
“So it’s time you learn how runes interact with one another.”
I leaned closer, completely absorbed.
The complexity was incredible.
One misplaced line.
One incorrect angle.
Even a slight imbalance in mana flow.
Everything could cause the rune to fail.
Yet that only made it more enjoyable.
By now, I could freely create simple strengthening runes and agility runes.
I had even learned practical runes used in daily life—heating stones for cooking, preserving food, lighting dark rooms, and reducing the weight of heavy objects.
Rune magic truly was useful for almost everything.
…Which naturally led me to one brilliant idea.
Or so I thought.
One morning before training, I secretly carved a small agility rune onto the inside of my boots.
If my speed increased…
Running thirty laps would become much easier.
“Hehehe…”
I activated the rune just before Father turned around.
For exactly…
Three seconds…
“…Luke.”
“…Yes?”
“Deactivate it.”
“…”
“…Now.”
I slowly looked down.
“…How did you know?”
Father didn’t even glance at my boots.
“The mana around your feet changed.”
“…Seriously?”
“You’ve become predictable.”
I let out a defeated sigh before disabling the rune.
“…I thought I had you.”
A tiny smile appeared on Father’s usually expressionless face.
“You’ll need another twenty years before you can fool me.”
“…That’s unfair.”
“Experience usually is.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
Looks like I still had a very, very long way to go before I could outsmart my old man.
One morning, after finishing the usual round of training.
The first rays of dawn had already climbed above the distant mountains, bathing the training grounds in a warm golden glow.
The morning sun had only just begun to climb over the treetops when Father and I finished our usual physical training.
Sweat clung to my skin, and my muscles burned pleasantly from the countless laps, drills, and conditioning exercises that had become part of my daily routine.
As always, the next lesson was combat training.
Father reached for the wooden practice sword resting against the fence and tossed it toward me.
I caught it instinctively.
“Now then,” he said with his usual calm smile, “let’s continue where we left off.”
I looked down at the sword in my hand.
The familiar weight settled into my grip, yet instead of confidence, all I felt was discomfort.
“…Father.”
He paused.
“I don’t think… the sword is for me.”
His expression didn’t change, but he quietly waited for me to continue.
“I’ve been trying my best to follow your instructions, but every swing feels… wrong.” I slowly raised the wooden blade before lowering it again.
“It’s hard to explain. It’s like my body keeps resisting every movement. Whenever I imitate your forms, I can feel this strange dissonance, as if the sword and I simply aren’t meant for each other.”
For a brief moment, silence filled the training ground.
I feared I had disappointed him.
Instead, Father crossed his arms and fell into thought.
“Hmm…”
After a long pause, he smiled warmly.
“I’m glad you told me.”
“…Really?”
“Of course.” He nodded.
“The worst mistake a warrior can make is forcing themselves down a path that doesn’t suit them. If you had kept silent, we’d only waste precious time polishing the wrong skill.”
He gently patted my shoulder.
“A weapon should become an extension of its wielder. If it feels unnatural from the beginning, then perhaps it was never your weapon to begin with.”
He turned toward the house.
“Wait here for a moment.”
Without another word, he disappeared inside.
A minute later, he returned carrying a surprisingly small leather pouch, barely larger than the size of two clasped hands.
He placed it on the ground between us.
“This,” he said with a faint grin, “contains various kinds of weapons. Since the sword doesn’t suit you, let’s find the one that does.”
I blinked several times.
“…Father.”
“Hm?”
I pointed at the tiny bag.
“How can something that small hold so many weapons?”
My curiosity burst out before I could stop myself.
“It shouldn’t even fit one sword…”
Father couldn’t help but laugh.
“Hahaha! I suppose I should have expected that question.”
He picked up the pouch and gently tossed it in his palm.
“This is a Rune Storage Bag.”
“Rune… Storage?”
“It has been inscribed with high-level rune magic and reinforced with specially crafted materials capable of enduring dimensional compression.”
I stared blankly.
“…I only understood half of that.”
He chuckled again before simplifying his explanation.
“Think of it as a pocket connected to a much larger space.”
“Oh…”
“Most mages rely on Requip Magic to summon and dismiss their equipment.”
“I’ve heard of that.”
“But our family specializes in Rune Magic.”
There was unmistakable pride in his voice.
“Unlike Requip, this storage isn’t limited to weapons. It can store almost any non-living object.”
His fingers lightly tapped the pouch.
“And thanks to the runes engraved inside, time is completely frozen within the storage space.”
My eyes widened.
“So food won’t rot?”
“It won’t.”
“Potions won’t expire?”
“They won’t.”
“Even books won’t get old?”
He nodded.
“Exactly.”
“…That’s ridiculously convenient.”
“It is.”
Father smiled.
“That’s one of the many advantages of our family’s unique Rune Magic. Although… it’s a magic passed down only through our bloodline.”
I couldn’t help but admire the little pouch even more.
No wonder Father carried it everywhere.
Without wasting more time, Father opened the storage bag.
A soft ripple distorted the air.
One after another, weapons emerged as though being pulled from an invisible armory.
Swords of every shape and size.
Elegant scimitars.
Single-edged katanas.
Massive greatswords taller than I was.
Slim rapiers.
Curved sabers.
Each was carefully placed across the training ground until the grass was nearly covered in polished steel.
“Since you’ve already tried ordinary swords,” Father said, “let’s see if another variation suits you better.”
I spent the next hour testing every blade.
Scimitars felt awkward.
Katanas flowed beautifully, yet something still felt…
off.
Greatswords were powerful but sluggish.
Rapiers felt too light.
Every single weapon shared the same uncomfortable feeling.
No matter how I swung them…
No matter how I adjusted my stance…
They never felt like they belonged in my hands.
Father watched quietly without rushing me.
When I finally set the last sword down, he simply nodded.
“So. You were right. The sword truly isn’t yours.”
The swords disappeared back into the storage bag.
In their place came axes.
Battle axes.
Double-headed axes.
Tomahawks.
Then came maces.
War hammers.
Daggers.
Morning stars.
Even shields.
One after another, I tested them all.
Again…
Nothing.
Some were easier to use than others.
Some were enjoyable.
But none of them gave me that feeling.
That certainty.
That sense of belonging.
Then Father reached into the bag once more.
This time…
Long weapons.
Spears.
Lances.
Halberds.
Pikes.
Polearms.
As soon as my fingers wrapped around the shaft of the first spear…
Something changed.
“…!”
It wasn’t perfect but it felt…
Closer.
And it is Much closer.
I practiced several thrusts.
The movements flowed naturally.
My footing felt lighter.
My reach made sense.
Unlike the sword, my body didn’t resist.
I looked toward Father.
“I think… This feels better.”
He nodded without surprise.
“I noticed.”
Encouraged, we continued testing every spear-type weapon he had.
Each felt comfortable.
Yet…
None of them completely satisfied me.
It was as though I was searching for something that hadn’t appeared yet.
Then my eyes wandered toward a weapon resting slightly apart from the others.
Unlike the polished spearheads surrounding it…
This one had none.
It was simply a long black staff made from an unfamiliar metal.
“…What’s that?”
Father glanced at it.
“That?” He picked it up with one hand.
“It’s merely a heavy staff.”
He gave it a casual spin before handing it to me.
“Though it does have one special characteristic.”
“What is it?”
“It reacts exceptionally well to Ethernano.”
I accepted the staff.
The instant my fingers wrapped around it…
It felt…
Comfortable.
More comfortable than anything I’d held all morning.
Almost instinctively, I circulated my magic.
Ethernano flowed from my body and into the staff.
The moment it entered— The runic patterns hidden beneath the black surface lit up with a soft azure glow.
A faint hum echoed through the air.
The staff grew lighter.
Then adjusted to my size.
No…
Not lighter.
It simply moved exactly as I wanted it to.
Every motion flowed naturally.
Every swing.
Every spin.
Every step.
It rested in my hands as though it had always belonged there.
Like meeting an old friend I’d somehow forgotten.
A smile spread across my face before I even realized it.
“…This is it.”
I looked at Father.
“This one. This is the weapon I want.”
Father silently observed my movements for a while before smiling with quiet satisfaction.
“I thought you might say that.”
He gave a single approving nod.
“Then from this day onward…”
He placed his hand on my shoulder.
“…that staff shall be your weapon.”
I tightened my grip.
“I’ll master it.”
“You should.” Father folded his arms.
“I can teach you the basics. I know how to use a staff.”
“But?” I ask knowing there is something else.
He smiled wryly.
“My expertise has always been the sword. Beyond the fundamentals, you’ll eventually have to discover your own path.”
I smiled back.
“That’s okay.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I think… that’s part of the journey.”
For a second, Father stared at me.
Then he burst into laughter.
“Hahaha! Well said.” His laughter slowly settled into a proud smile.
“Very well. Let’s begin your journey.”
Father wasted no time after that.
The moment the we decided that it is the weapon of choice were finished, we walked into the training yard with a long wooden staff resting on his shoulder.
The weathered weapon looked ordinary at first glance, but the way he carried it made it feel as if it possessed a life of its own.
“Don’t just hold it,” Father said with a stern expression.
“Feel its weight.”
I tightened my grip, surprised by how light it was compared to the other weapons I used to train with.
It wasn’t enough to simply swing it around.
Every inch of the polished staff demanded balance and control.
“We start with the basics,” he continued.
“Forget fancy techniques. A tree doesn’t grow branches before it has roots.”
I nodded and planted my feet as he demonstrated the proper stance.
“The long staff is an extension of your body. If your hands are weak, the staff is weak. If your stance is unstable, the staff becomes your burden instead of your weapon.”
The training began with exercises that looked deceptively simple.
First came grip training.
Father had me repeatedly tighten and loosen my grasp while holding the staff at different positions, forcing every muscle in my fingers and forearms to burn.
“Your hands will give out before your enemies do,” he said.
“Strengthen them.”
By the time we finished, my palms already ached.
Next were wrist flexibility drills.
He demonstrated slow figure-eight motions, the staff flowing around his body as smoothly as a stream winding through a valley.
“This isn’t spinning for show,” Father corrected after watching my clumsy attempt.
“Every smooth motion lets you attack again without wasting energy.”
I copied the movement over and over, tracing invisible eights through the air.
At first the staff felt stiff, jerking awkwardly whenever I changed direction.
More than once, I nearly smacked myself in the shoulder.
Father sighed.
“Relax your wrist.”
“I am relaxing.”
“No. You’re strangling the staff. Tighten the grip enough to hold it but relax your wrist to flex it.”
“…Right.”
Embarrassed, I loosened my grip just enough.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the motions became smoother.
The staff no longer resisted every turn.
It began to follow my movements instead of fighting against them.
Afterward, Father shifted to body coordination.
Every step, every twist of the waist, every movement of the shoulders had to synchronize with the staff.
Swinging with only my arms left the strikes slow and weak.
“Power doesn’t come from your muscles alone,” Father explained, tapping my waist with the end of his staff.
“It begins here. Your hips, your legs, your footing. Your arms simply deliver it.”
Only after drilling those fundamentals did he finally teach me actual attacks.
A downward strike.
Again and again.
The staff sliced through the air with a dull whoosh before crashing against the wooden training post.
“Don’t lift your shoulders.”
Thud.
“Keep your elbows loose.”
Thud.
“Drive from your hips.”
Thud.
Before long we added temple strikes, aimed at an imaginary opponent’s head.
They demanded speed instead of brute force, forcing me to redirect the staff without breaking my rhythm.
Finally came defensive drills.
“High block.”
Clack.
“Middle block.”
Clack.
“Low block.”
Clack.
Each impact rattled my arms as Father’s staff collided with mine.
Even though he wasn’t using much strength, every successful block left my muscles trembling from the shock.
By noon, sweat soaked through my clothes.
My hands were red, my forearms throbbed, and every swing felt heavier than the last.
Yet Father showed no sign of stopping.
“We’ll do another set.”
“…Another?”
“You’ve only just begun.”
So we repeated everything.
From Grip training to Wrist rolls going to Figure-eights and then Downward strikes and Temple strikes lastly High, middle, and low blocks.
Each exercise was divided into several sets.
Father refused to let me rush ahead.
Only after I could perform a movement consistently would he increase the repetitions.
If my form deteriorated, we started the count all over again.
It was frustrating and painfully repetitive.
But with every repetition, the staff felt a little less foreign in my hands.
By the end of the session, I realized Father wasn’t trying to teach me techniques.
He was engraving the basics into my body.
After all, there was truth in the old saying.
“It’s better to practice one strike a hundred times than to practice a hundred different strikes once.”
A single perfected movement, repeated until it became instinct, would always surpass a collection of flashy techniques that crumbled under pressure.
As my exhausted arms trembled from holding the staff, I silently accepted that today’s lesson wasn’t about learning to fight.
It was about learning the discipline to master the fundamentals.
<Hey!
New Author here!
i just want to tell anyone who is reading this, thank you for taking a little time for reading my creation, this is just a little hobby for me.
hope you enjoy it and any comment, suggestion and opinion don’t be shy to tell me.
just be kind as much as possible that’s it thank you and i hope you have a nice day!>