Two Years Later
Boom!!
The straw dummies lined up in the training yard cleaved clean in half and toppled over in unison.
“Hoo.”
Did I miss any?
The swing felt solid, but just to be sure, I scanned the area.
Not a single one left intact. Every dummy sliced through without fail.
It had been about two years since I learned Fleet.
Finally, I could call myself proficient—truly adept.
Clap, clap.
Rowell, who’d trained me all that time, watched the display and applauded.
“Fleet is now perfect, young master.”
“About time.”
It wasn’t just Fleet, either.
I’d reached a solid level of mastery with the other basics, too.
Well, two straight years of nothing but training—failing to handle them now would mean I ought to quit.
“That said, you’ve grown quite tall.”
“Ah, well, eating well and cultivating Aura—it’s like all the blockages burst open.”
I’d thought myself sturdy enough at sixteen, but good food and Aura practice had unleashed my growth. Rowell and I, who’d once differed by a head’s height, now stood nearly eye to eye.
“I must attend to some matters now, so for the remainder of your time, why not spar before heading back?”
“With who? Deron? Caiden?”
“Deron appears to have no schedule.”
“Ah.”
In this mansion, the only ones worth sparring against were Deron or Caiden.
Rowell was in a league of his own from the start, and the head guard, busy with security, was out of the question.
“Where is he?”
“I summoned him this way, so… yes, there he comes.”
Following Rowell’s gaze, I turned to see Deron approaching from the garden.
“Yo, mutt.”
When we’d first met, things were rocky with Deron and Caiden, Aria’s bodyguard knights.
But after years of joint training and spars, we’d grown… comfortable, in our way.
“Call me that again and you’re dead.”
“Try it. See what happens.”
Besides, for Aura users, numbers mattered in a fight.
Sparring with fellow practitioners was essential—you had to get along.
“Come at me, noob.”
I crooked a finger at Deron.
“This punk…”
Deron, the young knight in his late twenties back then, had hit thirty now.
And his skill had sharpened accordingly.
Whoosh—
Just like that, he vanished from sight.
‘Track.’
Activating it immediately, the world slowed, revealing Deron charging straight at me.
Bang!!
I countered with Fleet, wrapping my arm in Guard to block the wooden sword he swung the instant he arrived.
“Knights allowed to ambush now?”
“You do it all the time.”
After I’d ambushed him at the start of a few spars,
he’d taken to striking first now and then.
“More than that, you’re syncing them seamlessly now?”
“Gotta, at this point.”
Aura users’ official proficiency was ranked by the number of basic techniques they wielded with mastery.
One basic down pat: Entry.
Two: Beginner.
Three at will: Intermediate.
All four comprehended and handled fluidly: Complete—or Expert Aura user.
For reference, Deron and Caiden were both Experts.
And I’d barely scraped into that realm myself not long ago.
“...In just two years of proper training?”
“I’ve always been a quick study.”
Anyway.
“Got time to chat, huh?”
My turn, since he’d attacked.
I thrust my palm toward Deron’s gut.
“Rush.”
“Wha—hey!”
Instantly.
Boom—!
The shockwave erupted from my hand, sending Deron flying.
Seizing the gap, I snatched up a wooden sword from the ground and charged.
“Urgh.”
He’d managed Guard in that split second—unscathed, he rose and rushed me.
The next moment.
Clang!
Our wooden swords clashed.
Deron’s style was the Boyd house swordsmanship:
illusory blade work, disorienting the foe.
...Training here had shown me the Boyds favored that vein.
Esoteric Fleet for afterimage ambushes, Esoteric Rush exploding from thrown weapons.
Sneaky, almost un-noble.
Then again, a border house constantly checking enemies—practicality over honor made sense.
Against enemy states, who cared for chivalry?
Quick and efficient was best.
Anyway.
I’d picked up those Boyd techniques from Rowell too, putting them to good use.
Thwack—thud—thwack—!
Both relying on illusions, our blades grazed more than collided.
Each time, the tips scraped lightly across flesh.
“Swordplay’s gotten decent.”
“I’ve practiced plenty.”
Rowell hadn’t just taught Boyd arts;
he’d guided me through a broad arsenal.
‘...Where’d you learn this sword style?’
‘Former champion, same as always.’
‘...I see. Excellent form.’
With my eclectic mix, honed in countless real fights, Rowell opted not to reforge me Boyd-style but to expand my toolkit.
Which suited me fine.
Real combat was full of variables—
best to have Plans B and C ready.
Anyway.
Time to refocus.
Deron was swinging with sharp momentum now.
Whoosh—
His blade sliced right through me.
“Ngh!”
Precisely, the afterimage from my Esoteric Fleet.
Still clumsy, but faint phantoms like that were within my grasp.
In a clash of elites, it proved efficient enough.
I slipped behind his momentary flinch
and swung—
Thud.
Some odd barrier blocked me.
And right then,
familiar instinct triggered Guard.
Boom—!!
An explosion from Deron’s back hurled me away.
Roll—tumble.
I hit the ground, rolled to absorb the fall, and reset my stance.
“...Quick reflexes.”
“I’ve got ten years on you.”
What he’d used was the Boyd Esoteric Guard:
Guard detects incoming strikes and auto-blasts Rush in response.
Reflexive counter.
I sucked at it, personally.
Guard and Rush never clicked with me.
A guy needs acceleration.
Plus, Deron specialized in Guard, Caiden in Rush—the mansion’s young Aura users balanced perfectly.
Rowell’s design?
That old fox just might’ve planned it. Sheathing my wooden sword like a scabbard, I settled into stance.
His technique had landed.
Time to show mine.
“Hey, don’t you dare.”
“Here goes.”
“I said don’t!”
I shut my eyes, then opened them.
The world slowed.
In that languid realm,
a red afterimage trailed like a line straight to Deron.
The instant I spotted it,
I Fleeted along that red path, sword tracing the optimal strike.
And soon.
Boom!!
I slammed into the mansion wall.
“Ow… dodging’s no fair.”
“You saw it coming—telegraphed as hell!”
“Ugh.”
What I’d unleashed was the Boyd Esoteric Track:
reveals the most efficient, devastating sword path to the foe. Paired with Fleet, usually.
Deron and Caiden, who’d tasted it, swore you couldn’t block or parry—dodge the activation pose preemptively or eat it.
“Shame. If only I could trigger it mid-stance.”
“Dream on, punk.”
Deron shot me a look of utter disbelief.
“First guy I’ve seen pulling esoterics in two years.”
“Basics down, so I can manage the rough versions.”
Even those needed setup and were sloppy.
“Next round, no Aura?”
p>
“You chicken?”
“...No biting.”
Anyway.
The rest of training flew by in spars with Deron.
After, I retreated to my doghouse.
This place had changed plenty in two years, too.
Aria kept stuffing it with this and that— the once-spacious spot brimmed with clutter, space at a premium.
Time to request an extension soon.
Wouldn’t have room to lie down much longer.
Oh, and one more recent shift:
“Mutt here? Come out.”
“Yes, milady.”
“...Never mind, go back in.”
“Pardon?”
Aria had gotten prickly.
Her golden blonde hair tied in twin tails, her speech now curt where it once sparkled.
Early puberty, probably.
“Heading back in, then?”
“No, follow me.”
Teen girls’ moods were a mystery.
Tough to handle these days.
Even Rowell, dribble-master extraordinaire, struggled.
“Hand.”
“Yes.”
“Head.”
“Right here.”
Prickly words aside, her actions hadn’t shifted much.
Appearance-wise, maybe? She’d shot up in those two years.
I’d grown too, so our eye levels stayed close.
Pat, pat.
Now, petting her was default-kneel-on-one-knee height.
“Classes suck lately.”
“They always do, milady.”
“That lady’s no joke—homework’s insane, you have no idea.”
...Nostalgic for that innocent girl from two years back, sometimes.
Girls grow fast.
Early puberty turning that bright-eyed kid prickly? Wild.
“How’s your lesson progress lately?”
“Nothing major… oh, wanna see?”
“Sure.”
And growth wasn’t just height.
Talent shone through—her magic advanced daily.
Rumors swirled of a Boyd magic prodigy.
Even her special tutor stuck around post-contract, citing her gifts.
“Fetch the disc.”
“Yes.”
One unchanged habit: dropping by daily, no matter the busyness, for chats or play.
“Here.”
I dug the disc from my kennel and handed it over.
A custom magic workshop job—my training disc.
“Here goes.”
No special powers, just insanely durable.
Meaning…
Whoosh—
Even laced with her magic, it wouldn’t shatter.
Hm, the fireball’s bigger than before.
By adulthood, would it match that mansion-torching blaze from two years ago?
Anyway, then.
“Fetch!”
Her voice bubbled with excitement as the disc streaked off wreathed in flame.
I focused Aura into my eyes, watching.
Her throws subtly honed my training.
Magic speeding up daily forced desperate adaptation on my end.
Couldn’t drop it—wall’d shatter, and I’d catch hell…
In the slowed world,
a small, faint red afterimage appeared.
My body launched in sync.
Fleet’s acceleration felt less speed, more everyone else slowing while I cruised normal.
Thus,
I Guarded my hand, snagged the flaming disc,
and released the maxed Track.
Crash-tumble.
Rolled on landing but popped up smooth.
...Looked like a proper breakfall?
Back still smarted from earlier rolls.
“Kyaa! Good boy!”
Still.
She beamed like that—had to keep playing.
Moments like these? Pure original Aria.
“Head!”
“Yes.”
I approached, dropped to one knee; thrilled, she ruffled wildly.
Pat-pat-pat.
...Maids had styled it so carefully today.
Gonna hear it later.
“Oh, right. Guests might come soon.”
“Guests?”
Aria dropped it casually mid-pet.
...This mansion hosted that?
First I’d heard in two years.
“Yeah, another of that lady’s students.”
“...When?”
“Next week, maybe?”
Her magic tutor was Rowell-approved elite.
High odds a noble; visiting Boyds meant rank to match.
Servants’d scramble.
Me? Hide in the kennel, fur unseen…
“Oh yeah, gonna show you off first.”
“Me?”
...So much for vanishing.
“Why?”
“Huh? Who’s got a dog like you? Gotta brag!”
Her grin, saying it,
sparkled like a kid hyped to flaunt a treasure.
...Guess.
She really planned to parade me before guests.