The Order’s training hall was vast.
Stone walls, polished floors, and dozens of students.
The sound of clashing blades echoed through the air.
Liebe stood across from his first opponent.
A swordsman.
Calm.
Confident.
Precise.
“Begin,” the instructor said.
The opponent moved immediately.
Clean.
Controlled.
Liebe tried to copy what he had seen.
Raise the sword.
Block.
Too slow.
Impact.
The wooden blade was knocked from his hands before he even understood what happened.
“Pick it up,” the opponent said calmly.
Liebe clenched his teeth and grabbed the sword again.
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He attacked first.
Awkward.
Unrefined.
His strike didn’t even come close.
A counter— and he was on the ground again.
Silence.
A few students chuckled.
“He can’t even hold a stance…”
Liebe’s fist tightened.
I’m… too weak…
He tried to stand.
His body resisted.
The sword felt wrong.
Foreign.
Not his.
And then— he felt it.
A faint warmth.
Light.
He raised his hand.
Instinctively.
A second— and a flash burst from his palm.
Not powerful.
But real.
The opponent froze.
The instructor stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Silence filled the hall.
Liebe breathed heavily.
He had lost.
But for the first time— he understood.
The sword— was not his path.
Light— was.