Both of them took their familiar positions.
Ryn stood in a ready stance, his sword gripped firmly in both hands. His breathing was still uneven, yet his gaze was steadier than it had ever been before.
Richard remained relaxed, as though he had not prepared for battle at all.
And then, once more, the oppressive atmosphere crashed down upon them.
An overwhelming killing intent surged forth like a raging storm, crushing every breath, every thought, every instinct for survival.
Ryn closed his eyes.
He did not resist.
He did not try to push it away.
Instead, he gathered his focus and allowed his mind to drift along with the current.
The storm continued to roar, yet Ryn stood unmoved.
His consciousness floated, but did not shatter.
He neither resisted nor clung to it—
He simply let the pressure flow through his body, through his heart, passing in wave after wave, layer after layer.
And when his mind finally grew still—
In that single heartbeat—
Ryn opened his eyes.
His body surged forward in an instant, his sword swinging with decisive force, free of hesitation.
Clang!
The clash of steel rang sharply through the air as Richard raised his blade to block the strike. The impact forced both of them back a step, and silence fell over the training grounds once more.
Richard looked at Ryn, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Not bad."
A short compliment—
Yet heavy with meaning.
For the first time, Ryn had managed to launch an attack against him while the full weight of that killing intent was being released.
And for the first time, this training had begun to shift—
From mere survival
To true endurance.
"Let's call it a day. It's almost nightfall. Go wash up and come back for dinner."
Richard spoke as he sheathed his sword, as though the training session moments ago had been nothing more than a trivial matter.
Ryn frowned.
"Why? I finally managed to do it."
Richard halted his steps and turned back to face his student, his gaze calm and steady.
"No need to rush."
He spoke slowly, clearly.
"Starting tomorrow, you will learn what real combat truly looks like."
Those words silenced Ryn without him even realizing it.
"Rest while you still can."
With that, Richard turned away, leaving no room for further questions.
That night, the final meal of the day was eaten in silence.
The flames of the campfire swayed, casting long shadows of the two figures across the ground.
Ryn was the first to speak.
"In truth… I've fought them many times before."
Richard lifted his gaze slightly and listened without a word.
"I know what battle is like," Ryn continued.
"But what you said earlier… I don't quite understand it yet."
Richard set his spoon down, his eyes fixed on the fire before him.
"What exactly have you been fighting?"
His voice was calm.
"The Karami?"
Ryn nodded.
"Of course. They're easy to deal with."
Richard let out a low chuckle.
It was not the sound of amusement—
but of someone who had walked far beyond such battles.
Richard lifted his gaze to Ryn, his eyes so calm and deep that they were impossible to read.
"But what I truly mean…"
"You'll find out tomorrow."
He rose to his feet.
"Go get some rest."
As he walked away, he spoke one final line without turning back.
"And tomorrow, we continue the training."
The campfire crackled sharply, as if it understood—
that this night was merely the calm before the real trial began.
At dawn, after finishing their first meal of the day, the two returned to their positions, and the training resumed.
Ryn steadied his mind, drew in a deep breath, and charged forward through the storm of Richard's killing intent.
The sword in his hands swung according to the rhythm he had envisioned.
Whoosh—
The blade sliced through the air.
Richard merely shifted his body slightly, as though the attack were no more than a passing breeze.
Ryn did not stop.
He continued his assault, striking again and again.
Yet no matter how fast, how heavy, or how unpredictably he swung, the tip of his blade never came close to Richard's body.
Before long, Ryn began to slow.
His breathing grew ragged, sweat drenched his entire frame.
He came to a halt, gasping for air—
even though, to him, the training had barely begun.
It had not even reached half an hour.
Ryn frowned in confusion.
Why was he this exhausted when he had hardly accomplished anything?
"What's wrong? Already out of strength?"
Richard spoke casually.
"Where's that confidence you had yesterday?
Gone already?"
Ryn clenched his teeth and charged once more, swinging his sword with every last ounce of strength he had left.
The result was the same—
empty air.
Not even a scratch.
In the end, he was forced to call for a break.
Richard said nothing.
He simply waited where he stood.
During the rest, Ryn sat on the ground, panting, his thoughts in turmoil.
Missing every strike—he could accept that.
But this unnatural, crushing fatigue…
What was it?
After only a short rest, the training resumed—
and the outcome did not change.
All day long, Ryn trained, stopped, trained again.
Over and over.
Each time he charged forward, he grew tired faster.
Each time he rested, his doubts piled higher.
Why?
Why?
Why?
The questions circled endlessly in his mind as the sun dipped low—
and slowly vanished beyond the horizon.