Both of them lowered their blades—then charged at each other once more.
The clash of steel rang out again and again.
Clang—Clang—Clang.
From afternoon… to evening.
From evening… to night.
From night… to morning.
The rhythm of their swords never ceased, as though time itself had been left behind.
When the supply unit arrived that morning, the two men stopped and stared at the scene before them.
Two warriors were locked in combat in the middle of the training grounds, blades crashing together in relentless succession, sweat flying, steel ringing through the air.
"Damn…" the first man muttered.
"That's some brutal training."
The other nodded.
"Yeah… just watching it makes me tired."
They placed the food on the table and pushed the cart away.
But the sound of swords never stopped.
The training continued—
no rest,
no pause,
not even a meal.
By the morning of the fourth day, three full sets of food sat on the table.
Some dishes had gone cold.
Some bowls had begun to smell.
And some things… could no longer be called food at all.
The two supply men stared at the table, then slowly lifted their eyes toward the training grounds—
where the sound of steel still echoed.
Clang—Clang—Clang.
"Wait a second…" the first man said hoarsely.
"Are they… training without eating or sleeping at all?"
The other let out a dry laugh.
"If that were me, I'd be a corpse by day one."
They watched for a moment.
The first man rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"…You think we should ask Sir Richard to train us too?"
Silence fell instantly.
They turned to look at each other—
then, in perfect agreement, said nothing more.
Quickly, they packed up and pushed the supply cart away, moving slowly,
as though afraid that if they stayed any longer,
they might be dragged into training themselves.
By the late morning of the sixth day,
Ryn was still standing in the middle of the training grounds.
His mind was steady.
His breathing controlled.
His strikes no longer followed a single pattern—
sometimes fast,
sometimes slow,
sometimes heavy,
sometimes light.
His eyes were no longer fixed solely on Richard's body.
They swept across every movement, every opening, every fleeting moment of opportunity.
And then—
That moment came.
In a single heartbeat—
Ryn poured every ounce of his will into his blade.
His body moved before his thoughts could catch up.
The sword swung—fast, heavy, decisive.
Richard lost his timing for just a split second.
Ryn didn't let the opportunity slip.
He followed through immediately, his next strike even faster than before.
Richard couldn't raise his guard in time and was forced to leap backward, retreating several steps.
Silence fell.
The clash of steel faded.
Fresh red blood seeped from Richard's left arm.
The wound wasn't deep—just a graze—but after days of relentless training, his exhausted body allowed the blood to flow more than it should have.
Richard looked down at the injury.
Then he lifted his gaze and smiled at Ryn with clear satisfaction.
Sheathing his sword, he pressed his free hand over the wound.
A faint blue light flashed for a brief moment.
The bleeding stopped.
The cut sealed shut.
"You've passed," Richard said firmly, a trace of pride in his voice.
"Well done."
At those words, all the tension drained from Ryn's body.
He collapsed to the ground, breathing deeply, as if waking from a long, intense dream.
Richard ordered him to wash up and then come back for a proper meal.
After everything had settled, Richard spoke again.
"You have now completed all your training.
Starting tomorrow… we'll fight for real, to see just how far you've come."
Ryn's heart pounded in his chest.
The excitement of facing Richard again surged through him—even if it was only training.
And so…
The time of the trial arrived.
They clashed fiercely, trading offense and defense from morning until evening.
Swords struck again and again, the sound of steel echoing without end.
When the test finally concluded, Richard spoke first.
"That's enough.
You've passed.
You are now qualified to take the exam to become a high-ranking Divine Knight."
Ryn frowned.
"But… I still haven't beaten you yet, Master."
Richard burst into laughter.
"Beat me?"
"Kid, you're about a hundred years too early for that."
He shook his head with amusement.
"You only just stopped swinging a sword and started cutting with one yesterday."
Ryn fell silent, accepting the truth without arguing.
Richard continued, his tone growing slightly more serious.
"Even so, I still think it's too soon for you.
You've only been here for two months. Sure, your growth is impressive, but still…"
He paused, thinking.
"I believe you should start learning magic as well."
Ryn looked up immediately.
"Magic? Will you teach me, Master?"
Richard shook his head.
"Not me. I can use it, but I'm not suited to teaching it."
He gave a faint smile.
"But I can recommend someone."
He paused again before adding calmly,
"She's a scholar. Sharp-tongued. Strict."
"And she has never accepted a male student."
Then Richard turned to Ryn and added one more thing.
"Oh—and bring your sword with you."
Ryn blinked in confusion.
"My sword…? Why?"
Richard replied simply,
"Just bring it. You'll understand later."