Edmund Ferrers had returned to his study, but little progress had been made on the documents waiting across his desk.
Afternoon light poured through the tall windows behind him, stretching across neatly arranged reports, sealed correspondence, and the silver Ferrers crest pressed into a stack of military papers near his right hand. The windows had been opened slightly, allowing the sounds of the training grounds to drift in from beyond the residence. Steel struck steel somewhere outside, followed by the distant voice of an instructor correcting a soldier and the steady thud of boots against packed earth.
Edmund finished reading the same paragraph for the second time before setting the page down.
A knock came from the door.
"Come in."
Captain Thomas Mercer stepped inside.
Mercer had served beside Edmund long enough that few people within the Ferrers estate bothered introducing him anymore. He was somewhere in his forties, broad through the shoulders without carrying the heavy build of a dedicated swordsman, and his close-cropped dark hair had gone noticeably gray around the temples. A pale scar ran from above his left eyebrow, crossed one cheek, and disappeared close to his jaw. His nose had healed slightly crooked at some point in his military career, though the immaculate dark uniform he wore made the old injuries look almost deliberate.
"Lord Ferrers."
Edmund looked up immediately. "Something happened?"
"The experiment appears to have worked."
Edmund’s hand stopped above the papers.
Mercer continued before he could ask. "The young master came out of his room carrying a sword. Gareth has taken him to the training grounds to test it."
For several seconds, Edmund said nothing.
Then some of the tension he had carried since leaving the Awakening Hall finally left his shoulders.
"You saw it yourself?"
"I did."
"It manifested normally?"
"As far as I could tell." Mercer paused. "Though I wouldn’t call the weapon itself normal. It appears to be fire-attributed."
A smile finally broke through Edmund’s usual restraint.
Mercer noticed it and allowed one of his own.
"I assume the reports can survive without you for a while."
Edmund glanced down at the papers.
"They’ve survived this long."
"Would you like to watch?"
Edmund was already rising.
Mercer stepped aside to let him pass.
"I thought you might."
Owen drew the sword across his body and stopped the cut before the blade passed his shoulder.
The movement felt right.
Mostly.
The Ferrers training grounds stretched across a wide section of the estate behind the family residence, divided into drill lanes, strength yards, target ranges, and several raised platforms used for formal sparring. Owen had spent so much of his childhood there that he rarely noticed the grounds as a whole anymore, but carrying an awakened sword into them for the first time made everything feel slightly different.
Ferrers banners moved lazily in the afternoon breeze above the surrounding stone buildings. Soldiers trained in pairs beneath them, their dark uniforms already marked by sweat and dust. Steel rang from the weapon lanes, instructors called corrections from one section to another, and the smell of leather, weapon oil, scorched targets, and sun-warmed earth hung over the grounds.
Gareth stood several paces away with his arms folded.
"Again."
Owen lowered the sword. "You said we were going to spar."
"We are."
"You’ve had me doing basic cuts for ten minutes."
"Because I’d rather find out what that weapon does before you try it against me."
Owen looked at the dark blade in his hand. Copper-colored markings ran beneath the surface like embers trapped inside the steel.
"I already know how to cut."
"With a normal sword."
"I’ve been using swords since I was six."
"And you’ve been using that one for less than an hour."
Owen couldn’t argue with that.
He reset his stance.
Gareth had taken him through the same sequence he had practiced countless times before. Guard changes first, then diagonal cuts, horizontal cuts, a controlled thrust and recovery, followed by forward and backward footwork.
The sword handled differently from the training blades Owen had grown up with, but not enough to make his experience meaningless. His feet still knew where they belonged. He understood distance, edge alignment, and how his weight should shift through a cut without having to think through each movement.
The strange part was the connection.
Every time he moved the weapon, he could feel it through his Armament Core as clearly as the pressure of the hilt against his palm.
Owen brought the blade through another diagonal cut.
Halfway through, he deliberately reached toward the energy resting within his core and fed a small amount into the sword.
The reaction was immediate.
The copper markings flashed bright orange.
Fire rushed along the blade in a sudden burst strong enough that Owen felt the heat against his face. He stopped the cut before completing it, staring at the flames crawling along the edge before they quickly died away.
Gareth had unfolded his arms.
"That was how much?"
"Not much."
"How much is not much?"
Owen considered the sensation in his chest. "I barely pushed anything into it."
Gareth stared at the sword.
"Do it again."
He led Owen toward one of the reinforced targets at the edge of the training lane. The thick practice block had already been scarred by years of strikes, its surface cut and dented enough that Owen could hardly find a clean section.
"Normal strike first."
Owen stepped in and cut.
The sword bit into the target and left a narrow groove before he drew it back.
"Again," Gareth said. "Same movement. Use the same amount you just did."
Owen took his position.
This time, he focused on keeping the rest of his body relaxed before letting energy pass from his Armament Core into the sword at the final part of the cut.
Fire flashed across the blade.
The impact landed with a heavy crack.
Heat struck Owen’s hands and forearms as he recovered his stance.
The second mark was nothing like the first.
A deep blackened cut ran across the target, its edges still faintly smoking. Heat shimmered above the damaged surface, and the sharp smell of scorched material reached them almost immediately.
Gareth stepped closer.
Owen watched his brother run two fingers near the edge of the burn without touching it.
"That doesn’t make sense."
"That sounds encouraging."
Gareth looked at him. "Your core is Kindled."
"I know."
"I’m Ascendant."
Owen waited.
Gareth straightened and pointed toward the damaged target.
"If we compared how much Armament energy we could release directly, you wouldn’t come close to me right now. You shouldn’t. There are three cultivation ranks between us."
Owen glanced at his sword.
"But that wasn’t what happened."
"No." Gareth studied the weapon again. "Your core didn’t suddenly release the energy of an Ascendant. I could feel what you pushed through the sword."
"Then the fire?"
"The weapon is producing far more from that energy than I’d expect from something wielded by a new Kindled."
Owen’s grip tightened slightly around the hilt.
That was considerably more interesting than simply having a fire sword.
It also raised another question.
If the sword could turn a small amount of energy into that much fire, what would happen when his Armament Core grew stronger?
His excitement lasted until another thought followed it.
The sword still needed his energy.
Efficiency wasn’t the same thing as having an endless supply.
His core had awakened that morning. Whatever the sword was capable of, Owen was still the person responsible for feeding it.
Gareth remained near the target, examining the damage, which gave Owen enough time to bring up the system window.
The familiar interface appeared.
[Sword Class — Unlocked]
[Fire-attributed Sword Form — Available]
A new line sat beneath them.
[Sword Class Mastery: 45%]
Owen stared at it.
"Forty-five?"
Gareth glanced over. "What?"
"Nothing."
Owen kept his attention on the window.
He had unlocked the Sword class less than an hour ago. Forty-five percent would have been ridiculous if the system were measuring only the time he had spent with the awakened weapon.
But it wasn’t as though today was the first time he had held a sword.
Twelve years of Gareth correcting his footwork.
Twelve years of practice cuts, guards, recovery, distance work and sparring.
His awakened sword was new.
His swordsmanship wasn’t.
Owen dismissed the interface.
If that was why the system had started him at forty-five percent, then reaching the mastery requirement might not take nearly as long as he had first feared.
That still didn’t mean he was halfway to mastering every form of swordsmanship in existence. Gareth could probably spend the rest of the afternoon demonstrating how much Owen didn’t know.
The percentage only mattered because it was the requirement standing between him and the next weapon class.
Gareth tapped the burned target once.
"Still want to spar?"
Owen smiled. "I thought you’d never ask."
They headed toward the main platform.
It stood above the surrounding drill grounds on a reinforced dark surface wide enough for two armed fighters to move freely. Old blade grooves crossed sections of the floor, mixed with pale impact marks and darker stains left behind by years of elemental abilities. A painted boundary marked the fighting area, while one side opened toward several low tiers where soldiers could watch formal training.
Four Ferrers soldiers were already drilling on the platform in pairs.
Gareth climbed the first step.
"We need the floor."
The soldiers stopped immediately.
"Yes, Young Master."
They began clearing away, though Owen noticed their attention shifting toward him as soon as they saw the sword in his hand.
One of the younger soldiers leaned toward the man beside him.
"I thought the young master didn’t manifest anything this morning."
The other soldier looked directly at Owen’s sword.
"Does that look like nothing to you?"
The first man frowned.
"So the rumors were wrong?"
"Looks that way."
Their conversation was quiet, but not quiet enough.
Owen ignored it.
Word had probably spread through half the estate before his family had even returned from the ceremony. At least this version of the rumor would have considerably less time to survive.
More soldiers slowed their training as Gareth stepped onto the platform.
A senior trainer from the far side of the grounds noticed the gathering and made his way over. He had supervised both brothers often enough that he didn’t need an explanation for why Gareth was holding a sword, though his attention lingered on Owen’s unfamiliar weapon.
"So that’s what came of this morning."
Owen nodded. "Eventually."
The trainer gave the dark blade one final look before climbing onto the platform.
"If you’re using awakened weapons, I’m refereeing."
Gareth shrugged. "I expected you would."
"I’m sure you did."
The trainer moved between them and began checking the boundary.
Owen had just stepped into position when the soldiers near the entrance straightened.
The shift passed through the training grounds quickly.
Owen looked over.
His father was approaching with Captain Mercer beside him.
Edmund slowed when he realized half the grounds had stopped what they were doing.
"Don’t let me interrupt," he said.
The soldiers gradually returned to their places, though considerably more of them remained near the sparring platform than before.
Edmund took a seat along the viewing side.
Mercer remained standing behind him.
Owen met his father’s eyes for a moment.
Edmund gave him a small nod.
He had left his study just to watch.
Owen found himself smiling before he turned back toward Gareth.
His brother rolled one shoulder and summoned his own awakened weapon. A narrow épée formed in his hand, its straight blade ending in a sharp point above a broad guard that covered most of his hand. Owen had trained against that weapon often enough to know Gareth preferred precision and distance over meeting heavier swords directly.
Gareth settled the épée point toward him.
"Ready to get beaten again?"
Owen laughed. "You’re very confident for someone who hasn’t attacked yet."
"We haven’t started yet."
"That hasn’t stopped you talking."
Gareth’s grin widened.
"You can have the first move. I’ll even go easy on you."
Owen shifted into guard.
"How generous."
The senior trainer looked between them.
"Keep it controlled. Stay inside the boundary. If I tell either of you to stop, you stop."
Both brothers nodded.
The trainer stepped back.
"Begin."