The training hall slowly returned to its rhythm.
Steel clashed.
Voices rose.
Matches continued as if nothing had happened.
But for Liebe— everything felt different.
He stood near the edge of the arena, his wooden sword still in his hand.
It felt heavier now.
Wrong.
Like it didn’t belong to him.
“…You’re holding it too tight.”
The voice came from behind.
Liebe turned.
The instructor stood there, arms crossed, watching him.
“…I lost,” Liebe said quietly.
“That’s obvious.”
No sympathy.
Just fact.
The instructor stepped closer and took the wooden sword from his hands.
He turned it slightly.
Then handed it back.
“Again.”
Liebe hesitated.
But obeyed.
He raised the sword.
Awkward.
Unstable.
The instructor watched for a few seconds.
Then—
“…Stop.”
Liebe lowered it.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
Silence.
The words stung.
“…Then teach me.”
The instructor’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“I could.”
A pause.
“But I won’t.”
Liebe froze.
“…Why?”
The answer came without hesitation.
“Because this isn’t your weapon.”
The words hit harder than any strike.
Liebe looked down at the sword.
For a moment— the instructor didn’t answer.
Instead, he stepped closer.
His eyes shifted— to Liebe’s hand.
“The thing you used in the fight.”
A pause.
“That wasn’t instinct alone.”
Liebe’s chest tightened.
“…I don’t understand it.”
“Of course you don’t.”
The instructor turned away.
“But you will.”
He gestured toward the far side of the hall.
A different section.
Quieter.
Fewer people.
No clashing steel.
Only— light.
Soft.
Faint.
Controlled.
“Go there.”
Liebe followed his gaze.
“…Magic?”
“Light discipline.”
A pause.
“…If you can even call what you did that.”
Liebe’s grip on the sword loosened.
Slowly.
He lowered it.
“…And the sword?”
The instructor didn’t turn back.
“Keep it.”
A short pause.
“As a reminder.”
“Of what?”
This time— the instructor answered without looking.
“Of what you’re not.”
Liebe walked.
Each step felt… uncertain.
Different.
He crossed the hall.
Left the noise behind.
The air changed.
Quieter.
Heavier.
In front of him— a few students stood in silence.
Hands raised.
Light forming above their palms.
Small.
Stable.
Controlled.
Liebe stopped.
Watched.
His hand twitched slightly.
Like before…
He raised it.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Nothing.
He focused.
Tried to remember the feeling.
The warmth.
The moment.
Still nothing.
“…Wrong.”
A quiet voice nearby.
Not loud.
But clear.
Liebe turned.
No one was close.
But the feeling remained.
Like someone was watching.
Observing.
Measuring.
He frowned.
Then looked back at his hand.
And tried again.
Because this time— he knew one thing for certain.
This was his path.
Even if he didn’t understand it yet.