Five days had passed since Ragna had discovered his purpose.
In those five days, the boy had trained relentlessly. From dawn to dusk, he honed his body, his reflexes, and his control of the flame. Every morning, laps and strength exercises; every evening, guided practice with Sir Aldren.
The result? Ragna had finally mastered the First Lower String—Blazing Strike.
He could hardly contain his joy, excitement. He'll do it over and over.
He could coat his blade in fire at will. He could release the explosive strike cleanly and without hesitation. His arms no longer trembled from exertion, and his mind had finally grown steady. The flames obeyed him. The sword obeyed him.
Aldren observed silently as Ragna performed strike after strike, the wooden posts around the clearing now scorched and shattered.
"Enough," Aldren finally said. "You are ready to proceed."
"Finally"
Ragna's chest rose and fell rapidly. "The Second String, sir?" he asked.
Aldren nodded. "Yes. The Second Lower String: Resounding Touch. It is far less straightforward than Blazing Strike. Where the first string relied on raw power, the second relies on agility, precision, and timing. You must move faster than your opponent expects, closing distance in a flash, striking multiple points in succession. Its efficiency comes from unpredictability and speed, not sheer force."
Ragna's eyes lit up. "So… it's a sequence attack?"
Aldren stepped forward and drew his sword. Flames flickered along its edge. "Yes. But understand this: Resounding Touch is not merely a flurry. You must sense openings, react instantly, and strike with intent. It is only effective if your movements flow naturally, almost as if the sword reads your opponent before they do."
He demonstrated.
In a blur of motion, Aldren dashed forward, striking the practice post at three separate angles in the span of a heartbeat. Sparks flew from each contact as flames licked the wood, leaving scorched marks in rapid succession. The final slash ignited a small controlled blaze along the ground.
Ragna staggered back in awe, eyes wide. "I… I've never seen anything or anyone move so fast…"
Aldren sheathed his sword, expression serious. "This is the Second String. Unlike Blazing Strike, which can end a fight in one blow, Resounding Touch extends a fight, allows you to manipulate your opponent's position, and strike repeatedly while conserving your power. But if your feet are slow, or your mind hesitates, the flame will misfire and the attack fails."
Ragna clenched his fists. "I understand, sir. I will master it."
"Good," Aldren replied. "For the next week, your focus will be on footwork and timing. You will move faster than your mind thinks possible. You will strike before your opponent sees the opening. And only when your body and will are in perfect harmony will the Resounding Touch flow naturally."
Ragna nodded, determination blazing in his chest.
As he picked up his sword, the morning sun hit the edge of the blade, igniting it faintly with the first flickers of controlled fire. He tightened his grip.
"This is an incredible technique that I must add to my arsenal. I cannot fumble " Ragna exhales.
"This is different from the Blazing Strike… this will test everything I've learned".
He stepped forward. Feet light, heart steady. Eyes sharp. Mind focused.
And as the first movement of the Resounding Touch flowed from his blade, the flames responded perfectly, slicing through the air in controlled, deadly arcs.
For the first time, Ragna felt the thrill of growth—the sensation of a skill being truly earned, not stumbled upon.
"Can I truly accomplish this? No, I must!."
The next week would not be easy. But he was no longer the boy who had stumbled in the knights' yard, mocked as a "Jack of all trades."
He was a boy on fire, and every string of the Lower Flame Will was a step toward becoming something far greater.
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The week began with the crisp chill of dawn.
Ragna arrived at the training clearing before the sun had fully risen, his sword in hand, legs already sore from morning conditioning. Sir Aldren waited as always, motionless, yet radiating the calm control that Ragna strove to emulate.
"Begin," Aldren said simply.
Ragna moved first.
His feet were hesitant at first, stiff from exhaustion and overthinking. The Resounding Touch demanded fluidity, but his mind wanted precision, which made him rigid. His first attempt was sloppy—three swings barely reached the post, flames sputtering and collapsing midair.
"Too cautious," Aldren said quietly. "You are not striking the post. You are striking your hesitation. Move through the opening, not toward it."
Ragna gritted his teeth. He tried again. This time, the first strike connected cleanly, flames wrapping the sword and leaving a scorch mark. The second strike hit slightly off-angle. The third fizzled completely.
"Closer," Aldren said. "You must close the distance faster. The Resounding Touch is a dance. One step behind and the rhythm collapses."
Ragna adjusted. Faster. Quicker. Each step precise. Each swing timed with the rhythm of his breath. The flames followed. A bright slash cut through the morning fog, then another. Sparks scattered like rain from the repeated strikes. By the fifth attempt, the strikes connected in succession, each one striking with controlled, deliberate force.
Aldren observed silently, nodding once. "Better. Faster. But your mind wavers. You are still reacting, not anticipating."
Ragna paused, sweat dripping from his brow. His muscles burned. His lungs screamed. And yet, he pressed forward again. He imagined the opening before it appeared. He felt the strike in his chest before it left his blade.
Strike. Strike. Strike.
By the third hour, the pattern became natural. The sword moved almost on its own, guided by his will and footwork. The flames obeyed, flowing along the arcs of the blade like liquid fire. Ragna's eyes widened as he realized the power—the efficiency—the potential.
"This… this is it," he whispered.
"Not yet," Aldren said, voice calm. "You must sustain it. Speed without control is meaningless. Let the attack flow for a full sequence. Ten repetitions. No hesitation."
Ragna gritted his teeth and began again.
Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike.
By the end of the sequence, the post was scorched, the ground singed, and Ragna staggered, breathing ragged. His arms shook. His legs threatened to give out.
And yet, his mind had never been clearer. The strikes had flowed, seamless, consecutive, powerful—but controlled.
Aldren stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Today, you have touched the essence of the Resounding Touch. Not perfectly—but you understand it. And understanding is everything."
Ragna dropped to one knee, chest heaving, sword still warm from the flames. He looked up at Aldren. "Sir… will I be able to master it fully?"
Aldren's eyes softened. "Yes. But mastery is not a destination. It is a path. You have begun walking it. And the fire will guide your steps, as long as your purpose remains steady."
Ragna's mind flashed to the dinner table. The mention of Hizosshu's recruitment, the children taken from orphanages, the lingering questions of his parents. His resolve hardened. This fire was no longer just for training—it was for a purpose far greater.
He sheathed his sword, flames extinguishing with a hiss, and breathed in the crisp morning air. The Resounding Touch had tested his body, his mind, and his will.
And he had passed—not by strength alone, but by clarity.
Tomorrow, he would continue. The next string awaited.
And Ragna knew, deep in his chest, that each string mastered would bring him one step closer to the truth he sought, and to the people he had yet to find.