Morning came with steel in my hands.

  Today’s training was different from usual.

  Until now, Hayakiri had been nothing more than footwork, guards, and empty forms—movements practiced without purpose.

  But that changed the moment Sir Alric stopped me before the first drill.

  “You’ve learned basic wind manipulation,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Then it’s time,” he continued, resting his hand on his scabbard, “for the first technique.”

  He didn’t rush.

  His thumb settled against the back of the hilt, grip loose, posture relaxed.

  “Watch carefully,” Sir Alric said.

  I felt the wind move before the blade did.

  Air flowed inward, guided into the narrow space of the scabbard. Slowly. Evenly.

  The pressure built without a sound.

  He didn’t pull the sword.

  He let the wind push it out.

  The blade slid forward in a smooth, controlled motion, steel whispering as it left the scabbard.

  Sir Alric stopped halfway, just enough for me to see.

  “This,” he said, “is the first technique of Hayakiri.”

  I frowned slightly.

  Isn’t that slower than drawing a sword normally?

  For a moment, I wondered if this was just some elaborate—

  Sir Alric’s gaze shifted to me.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “…You’re thinking it’s slow,” he said.

  I stiffened.

  He turned back to his scabbard.

  “What you just saw,” he continued, “was the slowest way this technique is ever performed.”

  Sir Alric’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer.

  Then his thumb touched the back of the hilt.

  That was all.

  The sword was already drawn.

  Steel flashed, and in the same instant it was in his hand, the tip pointed toward me, steady and precise.

  I hadn’t seen the blade leave the scabbard.

  Sir Alric lowered the sword.

  “When done properly,” he said calmly,

  “it’s instantaneous.”

  I stared at the spot where the blade had been an instant ago.

  I hadn’t even felt the wind move.

  My grip tightened around my own sword.

  So that’s what he meant by instantaneous.

  Sir Alric noticed my reaction and smiled faintly.

  “Don’t try to copy the speed,” he said.

  “You start by learning control,” he added. “Speed comes later.”

  A quiet thrill ran through me.

  Not fear. Not doubt.

  Anticipation.

  My hand moved to my hilt before I realized it.

  Sir Alric stepped aside.

  “Go on,” he said.

  I placed my thumb against the back of the handle, just as I had seen him do.

  I gathered the wind—

  Too fast.

  Or too unevenly.

  Sometimes the pressure leaked out before it could build. Other times it surged all at once, jamming the blade instead of pushing it free.

  The sword rattled.

  Stopped.

  Or slid out halfway before losing momentum entirely.

  Sir Alric corrected my stance. Again.

  And again.

  “Don’t worry,” he said at last. “It takes time.”

  He adjusted my grip once more, slower this time.

  “Just take it slow.”

  With that, the morning training session came to an end.

  --

  By evening, I had traded steel for silence.

  Lyra was already waiting.

  “Sit,” she said, gesturing toward the mat.

  She didn’t bother with ceremony.

  “Dark,” she said, settling across from me, “is control over weight and density.”

  “For now,” she said, “I’ll show you how to add weight to objects.”

  I glanced around the room. “Not the surroundings?”

  She shook her head. “That’s beyond what I can demonstrate. Dark isn’t my attribute.”

  There was no embarrassment in her tone—just a statement of fact.

  “I understand the theory,” she continued, “but application depends on proficiency. What I can do reliably is weight transfer to a fixed target.”

  That made sense to me.

  It was the same principle, really.

  Some people handled numbers with ease but struggled with maps. Others understood politics instinctively yet stumbled over science.

  Magic wasn’t any different.

  The attributes were there for everyone—but not everyone could handle all of them equally.

  “So,” I said after a moment, “if someone has enough proficiency in dark… can they add weight to anything?”

  Lyra paused, considering her words.

  “In principle? Yes.”

  She tapped the floor lightly with her foot.

  “Objects, space, even mana itself. The attribute doesn’t change—only how broadly you can apply it.”

  She leaned back.

  “I can teach you the fundamentals. What you do with them later depends on how far you’re willing to refine it.”

  At that moment, something clicked.

  It wasn’t a solution—not yet—but an insight. A direction.