The First Flame

After Rimer declared that the sparring matches would be held in a month, the children threw themselves into training, each one picturing the opponent waiting for them in the future.

They honed their swordsmanship and cultivated their aura with everything they had, determined to bring out their true skill no matter who they faced.

Two trainees, however, did not change at all.

Raon and Marta. With their opponents already decided, neither of them shifted their approach in the slightest.

Raon trained from dawn until night with the same all-out effort as always, while Marta, as the strongest among the trainees, carried herself with easy composure.

A month of everyone giving their all flew by, and the morning of the sparring day dawned.

It was a chance to prove the martial prowess they had forged over nearly a year, and to earn high marks from the instructors. Excitement and tension filled every trainee's face.

Marta, on the other hand, smiled as she gazed off to one side, as if none of that concerned her in the slightest.

Now I can finally pay him back.

She clenched the forearm Raon had struck in a counter seven months ago.

That was the first time.

Even in the back alleys before she came here, no one her age had ever landed a hit on her. It was the first humiliation of her life, and she still couldn't forget it.

She had been waiting for the chance to repay that day's disgrace. After eight months, that day had finally arrived.

Today, it ends.

Raon Zieghart had only been cultivating aura for a month. She had been at it for over three years. This sparring match was meaningless, frankly.

Some might call it unfair, but waiting forever for a talentless brat was a waste of time.

I have things to do.

This was no time to be stuck behind a thin wall like Raon. There was someone she needed to save, and she had to get stronger as fast as possible.

A low hum rolled through the air. Marta clenched the yellow aura surging from her grip, her lips pressed into a hard line.

Raon sat on the right side of the makeshift sparring ground and opened his status window.

The number of traits had grown considerably, but the stats themselves had soared beyond comparison through training that had pushed him past his limits again and again.

Not bad.

Raon smiled with quiet satisfaction at numbers that looked nothing like they had before.

"Alright, listen up!"

Rimer's voice rang out the moment he closed the window. The instructor finished inspecting every inch of the sparring ground, then nodded.

"Watching someone else's fight is just as useful as sparring yourself. Study how the other trainees move, and plan out how you'll fight before your turn comes."

"Yes, sir!"

"First up: Burren Zieghart. Dorian."

"Yes!"

"Hiek!"

Burren rose with composure and strode onto the sparring ground. Dorian shuffled after him in a sideways crab-walk, trembling from head to toe.

"U-um, Instructor?"

"What is it?"

"I forfeit!"

Dorian thrust his hand into the air and shouted it with everything he had.

That desperate cry shut every mouth on the field. The looks that followed needed no translation: What kind of guy is this?

"We haven't even started yet."

Rimer scratched his cheek, looking genuinely thrown.

"I-I'm not feeling well. I've had chills and body aches since yesterday. Cough!"

Dorian forced out a dry, awkward cough, his lips quivering.

"See? I'm really sick."

He pulled an ice pack from the pouch at his belly and plopped it onto his head. Whatever else could be said about him, his preparedness was airtight.

Pathetic. Were he one of this king's subordinates, I'd have taken his head on the spot!

I figured he'd pull something like this.

Raon had known Dorian would react this way. Given the boy's personality, it was only natural.

"Dorian. Fight at least once. Even if you lose, you'll learn something. I'll stop it before you get hurt, so don't worry."

"Th-then maybe you could at least change my opponent… hup!"

Dorian lifted his head, locked eyes with Burren, and flinched so hard his whole body jumped.

"Whatever status you held outside these walls, you are a trainee of Zieghart now. If you bring shame upon Zieghart's honor, I will take your head right here."

Burren's voice was far too savage to belong to a child.

"Hiek!"

Dorian's mouth fell open, and he scrambled to hide behind Rimer.

"Dorian. This is a sparring match, nothing more. Don't treat it like something to be terrified of. Think of it as showing us everything you've done so far."

"I-I understand."

Rimer's low, even voice eased Dorian's trembling, if only a little.

"Burren. You don't need to take it that seriously either. Honor is fine, but there are plenty of things in this world more important than that."

Burren said nothing, but he seemed to realize he had gone too far. The killing edge in his presence eased.

Raon narrowed his eyes at Rimer, who stood between Burren and Dorian with a faint smile.

He reads them well.

The advice had landed on both of them in exactly the right place. For someone who looked like he did nothing but loaf around every day, he had clearly been watching his trainees closely.

So this is what a real teacher looks like.

In his previous life, when he had been raised as an assassin, an instructor faced with this situation would have taken both Dorian's and Burren's heads without a second thought.

Talking them down like this, drawing out what they were actually capable of—that, Raon thought, was what a true teacher did.

"All right. Ready."

With Rimer's help, the matter was settled. Burren and Dorian faced each other.

"Begin!"

The instant the word left Rimer's mouth, Burren lunged and thrust his sword.

He was circulating aura now. The speed was on a completely different level from their previous clash.

"Hiiiek!"

Dorian screamed and twisted his body. Burren's blade stabbed empty air by the width of a sheet of paper.

"Stop running!"

Burren scowled and brought his sword down. Dorian flailed his training sword around and did nothing but move his feet.

"Uwaaagh!"

Burren swung more than five times. Dorian ran the entire way.

"How long are you going to keep running?"

Burren narrowed his eyes and kicked off the ground. The distance closed in an instant—he had brought out the skill he had been holding back.

"Uheok!"

Dorian tried to wrench himself away, but he was too late. Burren's training sword was already at his waist.

A heavy crack rang out, and Dorian's body went flying to the right.

"Urgh— I-I surrender! I surrender!"

Dorian clutched his waist, thrashing on the ground as he shouted it.

Flexible as ever.

Raon looked at Dorian lying on the floor and let out a quiet snort of laughter. The boy's talent wasn't bad. His aura circulation speed and footwork, in particular, wouldn't have shamed a direct descendant.

Even so, it was nowhere near enough to handle Burren.

"Burren. You still can't control your emotions. If you'd faced him properly, your sword would have touched him within five exchanges."

"…You're right."

Burren nodded in silence and stepped back.

"Dorian. Why do you keep doing nothing but run? You can do this. If you'd stood your ground and fought, you would have lasted a lot longer."

"I-I'm sorry. I was just s-scared…"

"Being scared is fine. But if you can't overcome it here, you won't even be able to stand in a real fight. If you want to become a swordsman, you have to beat that fear."

Unlike Burren, Dorian had to sit through a long lecture before he was allowed to go.

"Next: Runaan and Crain."

"Yes."

"Yes, sir!"

Runaan and Crain of the collateral line walked onto the sparring ground.

Crain was a fairly strong child from a collateral branch—one of Burren's lackeys who had come at Raon once before. His skill was decent, but he was no match for Runaan.

"Begin."

The instant Rimer's hand dropped, Runaan and Crain sprang forward.

"Hrah!"

Crain took the first move. Teeth clenched, he swept his training sword in a horizontal cut from where he had cocked it to the left.

Runaan's expression did not change. She brought her sword up to meet him, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠white frost pouring from the blade.

A sound like crumpling metal rang out, and Crain's sword tore free of his grip and buried itself in the packed earth of the sparring ground.

Runaan had struck second—and still knocked his sword clean away.

"Kh…"

Crain's hands trembled as he stumbled backward.

"That's enough."

Rimer scratched his chin and stepped onto the field.

"Crain. You were far too tense. You put too much strength into your wrist and grip. When you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hold a sword, you have to leave it some room to breathe."

"I-I'm sorry."

"And Runaan. The principle of striking second to seize the initiative was good, but your aura didn't reach the tip of the blade."

"Yes."

Runaan dipped her head, her face as plain as ever.

"Good work. Next…"

The sparring drills continued until dusk. Only two people remained.

"Raon Zieghart. Marta Zieghart. Step forward."

"I thought I was going to die of old age waiting."

Marta's dark eyes glittered with excitement. Raon, by contrast, met her with a calm, even gaze as they took their places.

"Eight months is a long time for me to wait. Let's end this."

"How about one more wager?"

Raon lifted a single finger toward Marta, who was baring her teeth.

"What?"

"The loser obeys the winner. Meaning they follow the top student's orders. How about it?"

"Obedience, huh. I don't need the submission of a dullard like you—but whatever."

Marta narrowed her eyes and nodded. The possibility of losing had not crossed her mind even once.

"Last match of the day. All of you, watch closely. Then…"

Rimer raised his hand, an unreadable smile on his face.

"Begin!"

The instant Rimer's hand dropped, Marta kicked off the ground. A heavy thud, and her face was suddenly right in front of him.

A rush of air. Raon thrust his sword to meet Marta's descending training blade.

Steel crashed against steel, and sparks scattered into the empty air.

"Wondering why I haven't used aura?"

Marta shoved her sword forward, a crooked grin on her face.

"Let's start with swordsmanship. After that, I'll show you what kind of power aura actually has!"

The moment her voice brushed his ear, her swordsmanship changed. Not just the speed and the force—the trajectory itself turned subtle and strange.

Raon knocked her training sword aside and narrowed his eyes.

An unfamiliar sword art.

Fast, powerful, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠intricate besides. It seemed to be an advanced technique she had learned during her education as a direct descendant.

Strong, but…

It wasn't complete. She would have been better off using the Yeonseong Sword that everyone already knew.

Clang! A ringing crash!

Raon unfolded the five forms of the Yeonseong Sword in succession and turned Marta's technique aside.

"You're blocking all of it?"

She had driven the new sword art at him dozens of times and still failed to break his defense. Marta's expression went cold and still.

"Every sword art begins from five forms. If you know that much, stopping them isn't difficult."

Raon parried her thrust, closed the distance, and threw a punch.

A rush of displaced air. She stepped to the right and slipped the fist, then whipped her sword at his waist as if she had been waiting for the opening.

A sharp crash. Raon set his blade on a diagonal, let the attack slide off, and pressed in on her.

"Fine."

Marta whirled her sword and gave ground.

"I'll give you that. You've got talent. But that's only swordsmanship. The path of a half-baked martial artist with weak aura is already decided!"

A yellow current of energy bloomed around her. Earth-attribute aura, and the sparring ground trembled in fine, shivering ripples.

A heavy boom. Marta stamped her foot. The earth tore open, and her training sword punched through the air.

"Hup!"

Raon raised his blade to meet the yellow force crashing down on him.

A thunderous impact. Just blocking it made his legs buckle. It was the same kind of charge as before, but the speed and the power were on a completely different level.

"Oh? You blocked it?"

Marta's eyes, visible between the blunt edges of their blades, curved into crescents.

"Starting to get it? This is the kind of power a sword carries when it's filled with proper aura."

She lifted her chin, looking down at Raon as his wrists and thighs trembled.

"Aura takes talent even more than swordsmanship does. With the kind of talent that made a pea-sized scrap of aura in seven months, becoming a swordsman is a stretch."

The force and speed of Marta's descending blade climbed higher and higher. Every time he caught a strike, his whole body shuddered.

"And this aura isn't even my full strength. I'll give you one last chance. Surrender now. Next time, I'll break your bones."

"You talk a lot."

Raon brought his sword down to the right. A crash, and Marta was driven back.

"You kick away my last bit of consideration. You really are an idiot."

Marta's voice dropped, cold as a north wind.

"Talent, talent, talent, every time you open your mouth. The people in this house love that word so much it's exhausting."

Raon snorted.

Talent matters, of course.

But a martial artist's temperament mattered more. No matter how powerful the arts you learned, no matter how brilliant your talent, it meant nothing if the person themselves was weak.

"It probably just sounds like noise to someone with no talent. Me, I enjoy it every time I hear it."

The corner of Marta's mouth curled up like a blade of grass.

"So I'll show you clearly. What real talent actually is!"

The brown energy rising from her body deepened. It felt as if a boulder, hewn to a killing edge, were about to come crashing down.

"I'll show you the opposite."

That there was something more important than talent.

Twilight gleamed in Raon's eyes, and a single crimson blossom of flame bloomed upon the cold blue edge of his blade.

Zieghart's legend, crossing a thousand years of time, blazed at the tip of Raon's sword.