I knew I said I’d get to work, but now that I actually had to start, I had no idea what to do. Should I hit the library and read some books on swordsmanship? Or should I just keep swinging my sword until something clicks?

  I stroked my nonexistent beard, deep in thought. “Basics… Basics…” I muttered to myself, pacing in a small circle.

  After a moment of consideration, I managed to list a few things I needed to improve on. First was my stance—without a solid foundation, everything else would crumble. Second were basic strikes, including horizontal and vertical slashes, thrusts, and lunges. Third was parrying—deflecting attacks rather than simply dodging or blocking. And finally, I wanted to develop something unique, a skill of my own.

  With a rough plan in mind, I got to work.

  For my stance, I decided to observe the other students. I copied what they were doing, recalling bits and pieces of lessons I had picked up during combat training. But the more I tried to mimic their forms, the more I realized how unnatural it felt.

  I stepped back and exhaled. "Maybe I should ask for help," I admitted. As much as I wanted to figure this out on my own, I had to face the truth—I really didn’t know what I was doing.

  So I did. Without wasting any more time, I set out to find Professor Garret Stein.

  The academy grounds were vast, but it wasn’t hard to track him down. All I had to do was follow the sounds of clashing weapons and sharp commands echoing through the training field. Sure enough, I found him in the middle of a sparring session, watching two students duel with wooden swords. His broad arms were crossed over his chest, and his sharp, weathered eyes followed their every move with unwavering focus.

  I hesitated for a moment. Professor Stein wasn’t exactly the type you casually approached. His presence alone was intimidating—towering over most students, his muscular build and rugged features made him look more like a seasoned warrior than a teacher. His greying beard and rolled-up sleeves gave him the air of someone who didn’t tolerate nonsense.

  I took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Professor Stein.”

  He didn’t look at me at first, merely raising a hand to signal the sparring students to pause. Then, his sharp gaze landed on me. “Dela Cruz,” he grunted. “What do you want?”

  “I need help,” I admitted. “With my basics—my stance, strikes, and parrying.”

  He eyed me for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Good. At least you know you need work.” He jerked his head toward the open training area. “Get in position. Let’s see how bad you are.”

  I nodded and moved to the center of the field, gripping my sword.

  I had a feeling this was going to hurt.

  Professor Stein stood before me, arms crossed as he assessed my stance. His gaze was sharp, dissecting every minor flaw before I could even attempt to correct it.

  "Too stiff," he muttered, walking around me. "Your knees are locked, and your center of gravity is off. If someone hit you now, you'd topple over like a damn twig."

  I adjusted my footing, bending my knees slightly.

  "Better," he nodded. "Now, show me a basic horizontal slash."

  I tightened my grip on my nameless sword and swung in a clean arc. It felt decent—smooth, controlled—but before I could follow through, Stein’s wooden training sword smacked mine mid-swing, disrupting my motion.

  "Too slow." He shook his head. "You’re thinking too much. Swing like you mean to kill something, not like you're in a dance recital."

  I gritted my teeth and tried again. This time, I swung faster, pouring more intent into the motion.

  "Good. Again."

  And so it continued. Strike after strike, parry after parry. Stein didn’t go easy on me. If I left an opening, he punished it. If my stance faltered, he knocked me off balance. Every mistake was met with a swift correction, and by the time we were done, my arms felt like they were made of lead.

  "You’re catching on," he admitted. "But raw talent won't be enough. You need discipline. Keep drilling these basics until they’re second nature."

  I exhaled, wiping sweat from my brow. "Understood."

  Stein studied me for a moment, then smirked. "Hmph. You might actually survive X-Day after all."

  I blinked. "Wait, you know about—"

  "Of course I do," he interrupted. "What, you think the student council gets to decide who participates on their own? The professors have a say too. And I’ll be watching."

  The weight of his words settled in. If he was involved, that meant I had more to prove than I thought.

  "Rest up," he said, turning to leave. "Tomorrow, we’ll see if you’ve actually learned anything—or if you just got lucky today."

  I stood there for a moment, catching my breath, before finally making my way back to my dorm.

  X-Day, huh?

  I clenched my fists.

  I had two weeks to be more than just ‘good.’

  ...

  I planted my feet firmly, adjusting my stance to be more grounded. Taking a deep breath, I swung again—this time with real intent. My blade cut through the air, each motion carrying more weight, more purpose.

  Professor Stein nodded, his smirk widening as he watched me. "Better."

  Again and again, I swung, refining every movement under his watchful eye. Hours passed, the sun inching toward the horizon as sweat dripped down my face. My arms burned, my grip ached, but I didn't stop.

  "That's enough," Stein finally said, raising a hand. I exhaled heavily, lowering my sword. My breath came in ragged gasps, my body screaming for rest.

  "You're getting there," he said, stepping closer. "Your stance is solid now, and your swings actually look like they belong to a swordsman. But you still hesitate."

  I frowned. "Hesitate?"

  He nodded. "You're thinking too much. That'll get you killed in a real fight. Your body knows what to do, so let it do it. Trust in your instincts."

  I tightened my grip on my sword, mulling over his words. He wasn’t wrong. Even with Skill Eater, I was still overanalyzing every little movement.

  Stein clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Take a break. You're no use to me if you drop dead from exhaustion."

  I sighed, nodding. "Alright."

  I sheathed my sword and sat down on the cool stone floor, rolling my shoulders. My muscles were screaming, but the progress was undeniable.

  As I rested, I thought about what I still needed to improve. My basic strikes were getting there, but my defensive skills—blocking, parrying, counterattacking—were still lacking. Not to mention, I needed a special move, something that could set me apart.

  I clenched my fist. Something that belongs to me.

  I looked up at Professor Stein, who was watching me with an unreadable expression. "Professor," I said, "what makes a swordsman truly strong?"

  He chuckled, crossing his arms. "That’s a big question, kid. But if you ask me…" He smirked. "A real swordsman doesn’t just swing their blade. They define it. Your sword should be an extension of yourself, not just a weapon."

  An extension of myself, huh?

  I looked down at my sword. Not Nyxrend, but my nameless blade. Maybe that was part of the problem.

  It was just a weapon in my hands, not something that carried my mark.

  I exhaled. "Then I guess I’ve got a lot more work to do."

  Professor Stein grinned. "Now you're getting it."

  I stood up, rolling my shoulders. My break was over.

  "Alright," I said, gripping my sword again. "Let's go again."

  Professor Stein smirked. "That’s what I like to hear. Now, get ready."

  I nodded and assumed my stance once more. This time, I wasn’t just swinging—I was feeling each movement. Every step, every breath, every shift in weight. I wasn’t just imitating what I’d seen or learned—I was making it mine.

  Stein watched me closely, occasionally making adjustments. "Your footwork is improving. You’re not just planting yourself like a tree anymore."

  I scoffed. "Trees are pretty strong, you know."

  He chuckled. "Yeah, but trees don’t win fights."

  We went on like this for hours. Strike, adjust, strike again. Every correction Stein gave me clicked in my head, sinking into my muscles faster than it should have. Skill Eater was working overtime, helping me refine what I was learning.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  By the time we stopped, my arms felt like lead, and my shirt was drenched in sweat. But I wasn’t done yet.

  "One more round," I said.

  Stein raised a brow. "You’re pushing it."

  "I can still move," I replied.

  He studied me for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. But let’s change things up."

  Before I could react, he lunged. His wooden training sword came down fast—too fast. I barely managed to block, but the impact sent me stumbling back.

  My eyes widened. He wasn’t holding back.

  "Fights don’t come with warm-ups," he said, spinning his sword before attacking again. "React!"

  I gritted my teeth and moved, dodging to the side. But Stein was relentless. Every swing forced me to either block, dodge, or get hit. I barely had time to breathe.

  "Stop thinking!" he barked as his sword came down again.

  I blocked, but my grip faltered, and the force knocked my blade aside. The next thing I knew, his sword was pressed lightly against my neck.

  I froze.

  Stein grinned. "Dead."

  I let out a breath, frustration bubbling inside me. "Damn it…"

  He pulled back, resting his sword on his shoulder. "You’re improving fast, but you’re still hesitating. You're letting your mind get in the way of your body. Trust what you’ve learned. Trust your instincts."

  I exhaled and nodded. He was right. Again.

  "That’s enough for today," he said, patting my shoulder. "Go rest. You’re gonna need it."

  I sighed. "Fine."

  As I walked away, my muscles screaming in protest, my mind was already running through everything I’d learned. I was getting stronger. But it wasn’t enough.

  Not yet.

  I needed to push further.

  And with X-Day coming up, I didn’t have much time.

  ...

  The next morning, before heading to Professor Stein, I decided to take a walk around the campus. I had been so caught up in training and studying that I hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate the world I was in. It wasn’t every day that someone got a second chance at life—well, I didn’t exactly die, but being summoned to another world had to count for something, right?

  As I wandered through the academy grounds, I took in the scenery—the towering spires, the carefully maintained gardens, the cobblestone pathways winding between buildings that looked like they belonged in some high-fantasy epic. Students bustled past, chatting, laughing, and going about their day.

  Then, I noticed something strange.

  Everywhere I looked, people were walking in pairs, their fingers intertwined, their expressions soft with affection. Another couple passed by, and then another.

  What was this? National Hand-Holding Day?

  I narrowed my eyes. Did I miss an event or something?

  I sighed, shaking my head. “Tch. Must be nice.”

  Not that I cared. It wasn’t like I had time for that kind of thing anyway. Between training, studying, and the whole fighting-for-my-life-in-a-world-that-wasn’t-mine situation, romance wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities.

  Still, as I kept walking, I couldn’t shake the slight feeling of... being left out.

  The walk to the training grounds was familiar by now, the path lined with students either heading to their own practice sessions or engaged in conversation. The sun hung high, casting a golden glow over the academy, but I barely noticed. My mind was already fixated on training.

  When I arrived, I saw Professor Stein standing with his arms crossed, observing a group of students sparring. His sharp eyes flicked toward me the moment I stepped onto the field.

  "You're late," he grunted.

  I scratched my cheek. "Got a little... distracted."

  He huffed. "Distractions will get you killed on the battlefield. Now, pick up your sword."

  Without another word, I unsheathed my nameless blade and took my stance. I had spent the past few days refining my basics, making sure every movement was sharp, efficient. But today, I wanted to push things further.

  Professor Stein watched as I executed a series of strikes—horizontal, vertical, diagonal, thrusts. Each swing felt smoother than before, more precise.

  "Hmph," he muttered. "At least you’re learning. But your footwork is still sloppy. If your enemy reads your movements, you'll be on the ground before you can even swing that sword of yours."

  I frowned. "Then what should I do?"

  "Simple," he said, stepping forward. "We fix it. Now, try to hit me."

  I barely had time to process his words before he lunged.

  But this time, I reacted.

  Why?

  Usually, Skill Eater works in the middle of a fight, adapting and absorbing techniques as I go. But if my opponent is, let’s say, ten times stronger than the one I’m currently facing, the process isn’t immediate.

  Yet here I was, already moving before I could think.

  Professor Stein’s fist shot forward, but my feet had already shifted, my body instinctively ducking beneath the strike. The moment I evaded, my hands tightened around my sword, muscle memory guiding me into a counterattack.

  Did I just predict his move? No—Skill Eater kicked in faster than usual.

  Stein raised a brow as I twisted my blade, aiming for his side. Just before my strike could land, he sidestepped and tapped my wrist with two fingers. A sharp jolt ran up my arm, making me loosen my grip for a fraction of a second.

  "Better," he said, stepping back, "but you're still hesitating when adjusting. You process the move, but you need to make it second nature. No thinking. Just act."

  I clenched my fist. He was right. Even though Skill Eater worked faster this time, I still hesitated to fully trust my body's instincts.

  "Again," I said, resetting my stance.

  A grin tugged at the corner of Stein’s lips. "Good. Let’s see if you’re just lucky or actually improving."

  And with that, the real training began.

  The next few hours blurred into a grueling cycle of attacks, counters, and relentless corrections. Professor Stein didn’t go easy on me—not that I wanted him to. Every mistake I made, he punished immediately. A missed step? A sharp strike to my ribs. An overextended slash? A firm push that sent me stumbling. My instincts were sharpening, but there was still a disconnect between knowing what to do and executing it perfectly.

  I wiped sweat from my brow, breathing heavily as I reset my stance. My body ached, but my mind was working overtime, analyzing every mistake, every adjustment.

  "You’re improving," Stein admitted, rolling his shoulder. "But you still hesitate when it comes to finishing your strikes."

  I exhaled, gripping my sword tighter. He was right—I was still holding back. Maybe it was because I was training, or maybe some part of me feared losing control again like I did during my fight with those mercenaries.

  Stein smirked, as if reading my mind. "You’re thinking too much again, kid. That’s good for strategy, but not when you’re fighting in real time." He crossed his arms. "Take a break. Then we’re going again."

  I nodded, stepping back. As much as I wanted to keep going, I needed a moment to catch my breath. Skill Eater was working, I could feel it, but I still wasn’t making the most of it.

  As I sat down near the training hall, I clenched my fists. Two weeks until X-Day. Two weeks to make sure I don’t embarrass myself.

  I wasn’t just fighting for survival anymore.

  I was fighting to prove I belonged here.

  And I refused to be just another student.

  Haaa… I exhaled deeply, running a hand through my hair. I think I know the reason I’ve been holding back.

  It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t fear of losing control.

  It was this damn sword.

  I glanced down at the blade in my grip—my nameless sword. It had served me well so far, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t built to withstand the kind of battles I would face. If I pushed too hard, it might snap in half.

  But the alternative…

  Nyxrend.

  Just thinking about it sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t just any weapon. It was a soul-devouring sword, a blade that grew stronger with every life it claimed. Using it here, in a controlled environment, felt like throwing a rabid beast into a fenced yard. If I drew it, I’d attract the wrong kind of attention. People would start asking questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

  So what the hell was I supposed to do?

  I tapped my fingers against my knee, deep in thought. I needed a weapon that could handle my growth—something that wouldn't limit me, but also wouldn’t expose me.

  Maybe… I should find a blacksmith?

  Or maybe… I should just risk it.

  "Ah, fuck it," I muttered under my breath.

  Without another thought, I sheathed my nameless sword and reached for the weapon I’d been avoiding. The moment my fingers wrapped around its hilt, a familiar, almost eerie sensation coursed through me. Nyxrend.

  A blade that had tasted souls. A blade that would only grow stronger the more it was used.

  I unsheathed it in one smooth motion, the black metal gleaming under the light. The air around it felt heavier, as if the weapon itself demanded to be acknowledged.

  "I'm ready," I said, locking eyes with Professor Stein.

  He raised a brow, clearly noticing the shift in the atmosphere. His gaze flickered to my sword, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

  "Finally decided to stop holding back, huh?" he rumbled, crossing his arms.

  I nodded, gripping Nyxrend tighter.

  "Good," he said. "Then let's see what you're really capable of."

  Professor Stein didn’t waste any time. The moment I declared I was ready, he lunged at me without warning, his massive frame moving far faster than someone his size should be able to.

  Instinct kicked in—I barely had time to raise Nyxrend before his training sword came crashing down. The impact sent vibrations up my arms, but unlike before, I didn’t stagger. The weight of Nyxrend in my grip felt right. Like an extension of myself.

  A grin spread across Stein’s face. "That’s more like it!" he bellowed before twisting his body and swinging at my side.

  Predictable.

  I sidestepped just in time, pivoting on my heel and bringing Nyxrend around in a quick counter-slash. He barely managed to block, his blade sliding against mine with a sharp clang.

  But something was different.

  Stein’s expression shifted—just for a second. His eyes narrowed at my sword before he pushed back with full force, creating distance between us.

  "You’ve been hiding something," he said, rolling his shoulders. "That sword… it’s not just any blade, is it?"

  I remained silent. I wasn’t about to explain Nyxrend to him.

  He studied me for a moment, then chuckled. "Fine. If you don’t want to talk, then show me what you can really do."

  He shot forward again, faster this time.

  I met him head-on.

  Our blades clashed, over and over, ringing out in rapid succession. My body moved on instinct, every block, every parry, every strike coming together fluidly. It wasn’t just me fighting anymore—it was Skill Eater kicking in, adapting to everything Stein had taught me, refining it further.

  For the first time, I wasn’t struggling to keep up. I was matching him.

  A new thought entered my mind.

  What if I surpass him?

  No… I should surpass him.

  This might sound corny, but I don’t care. I want to be the strongest swordsman in this world.

  The realization sent a jolt through me, igniting something deep in my core. I tightened my grip on Nyxrend and charged, my movements sharper, faster, more precise.

  Stein’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he raised his sword to block. But this time, I wasn’t just swinging blindly—I was reading him. Skill Eater had already processed every one of his movements, every stance, every muscle twitch.

  I feinted a slash to his left. As expected, he shifted to intercept.

  Too slow.

  I twisted my wrist mid-swing, redirecting the attack at the last second, and slammed the flat of my blade against his exposed side.

  THWACK!

  Stein grunted as he stumbled back, the force of the blow enough to send a sharp exhale from his lungs. But he recovered quickly, planting his feet firmly on the ground, his rugged face breaking into a wide grin.

  "Now that’s more like it!" he bellowed, shaking out his arm. "You’re finally fighting like someone who wants to win!"

  I exhaled, feeling my pulse race.

  No… I wasn’t just fighting to win.

  I was fighting to be the best.

  "Let's end this."

  I took a deep breath and stepped back, putting as much distance between us as I could. My heart pounded in my chest. I don't know if this will work… but if I don’t try, I’ll never know.

  My grip on Nyxrend tightened. Power thrummed beneath my fingertips, a restless storm waiting to be unleashed.

  Am I supposed to scream it?

  Screw it.

  I raised my sword, channeling everything I had into this one moment.

  "GOD ENDER!"

  The air trembled. A surge of power exploded from my blade, the sheer force cracking the ground beneath my feet. A dark aura spiraled around Nyxrend, howling like a living entity, and in that instant—

  I moved.

  Everything blurred. My body felt weightless, as if I had become one with the wind itself. I surged forward, Nyxrend humming with unrestrained power.

  Professor Stein's eyes widened—a split-second reaction before he raised his sword in defense. But it was too late.

  I slashed.

  The force behind my strike sent a shockwave tearing through the air. The very ground trembled beneath us as a deep scar carved itself into the training hall’s stone floor. Professor Stein, despite his monstrous strength, was forced back, his boots dragging against the dirt.

  For a moment, silence reigned.

  Then—

  “Hah…” He exhaled, shaking his arms before rolling his shoulders. “Now that was something.”

  I stood there, my breath uneven. My muscles ached from the sheer force I had just unleashed. This was different. This wasn’t just a stronger attack—it was something more.

  Professor Stein’s gaze met mine, and for the first time since our training began, he smiled. A wide, knowing grin.

  “Congratulations, kid,” he said, slamming his sword into the ground and leaning on it. “You just took your first real step towards becoming a true swordsman.”

  I stared at Nyxrend, the dark glow still pulsing faintly along its blade.

  God Ender…

  This was only the beginning.