After a brief moment, he reached the doors to the training hall and quickly opened them. Inside, standing at the center of the room and casually holding a sword, was his sister, Elie. As if she could sense his presence, which was almost true, she turned to him with an intense look.
"Finally here; it took you long enough."
His heart skipped a beat.
"I'm s-sorry for being late," he stammered.
Elie studied him for a moment before responding.
"Pick up your sword; let's start with some drills."
He walked to the racks in the corner of the spacious training hall, characterized by its gleaming white tiles and the solitary elevated platform where Elie stood. At the rack, he selected a double-edged short sword with a blade measuring about 45 to 60 centimeters. Although he wasn't on the knightly path and avoided close combat, had he been, this short sword would have been his weapon of choice. As he moved away from the rack, he traced the sharp edge with his fingers.
"It's a newly sharpened sword," he noted.
Indeed, this was a real sword; the warriors of House Valerius never trained with wooden or dull blades. Why would the direct line of the house settle for anything less?
As he approached the edge of the platform, he looked up to see Elie watching him intently since his entrance. In a voice that was both serious and playful, he attempted to lighten the mood.
"Once again, I apologize, Elie. I didn't mean to be late, and it won't happen again."
Yet, seeing her expression still serious, he felt a peculiar sense of déjà vu.
'Wait, should I be the one experiencing déjà vu here?'
Before he could ponder further, Elie commanded, "Get in," prompting a sigh from him as he stepped onto the platform and assumed an attacking stance.
"Your posture is improving; that's good," Elie remarked as she took her own position.
She raised her long sword, its tip aligned with her face. "Now, let's get straight to it—attack."
With that, their training commenced.
El launched an immediate thrust toward her guard, but she effortlessly stepped back and parried with exceptional agility. El, exposed from the engagement, was unable to block as she turned her sword towards it's butt during the parry, knocking him in the chest with the head, which caused him to stagger backward with a pained grunt.
"I've told you before about leaving openings," Elie chided. "What have you been doing?"
"I'm not a knight, you know," El replied, still wincing from the blow.
"It doesn't matter if you're a mage or a knight; personal defense must be a priority," Elie insisted. "And you have a significant advantage—it would be foolish not to utilize it to its fullest," she pointed out, alluding to his glowing grey eyes.
"You possess a deeper perception of mana than 99% of the world's population, even more so than me, despite my higher stage, if you deliberately focus on it," she continued.
"Now reflect on this, concentrate your mind."
El had been able to push his perception to the limits before, but it was a fleeting experience, lasting only a second, followed by a month-long coma. However, that moment reshaped his understanding of the physical realm. He had seen a transcendent state where the entirety of a tree's existence unfolded before him: intricate inner workings flowing like lifeblood, a small glimmering orb enveloping the tree in an ethereal flame that seemed to nourish instead to burn, and the simplistic thoughts of the tree expressing itself in a childlike manner. He glimpsed a profound darkness linked to the tree, taking on its form, beyond the capacity of his eyes to fully grasp. All this information that should have been beyond his reach was forced into his consciousness in an instant.
And now, he was ready to do it all once again.
However, this time he restrained himself; he didn't want to lose consciousness as soon as he engaged.
Upon waking from his coma, he had realized a few new insights about his abilities. When his eyes were in passive mode, he discovered that he could adjust his focus with mere subconscious commands, without needing to concentrate consciously on it. This was a revelation for him, as the first inheritor had left behind only basic information rather than comprehensive instructions.
As he pushed his eyes to nearly their full capacity, they honed in on his sister's figure, revealing every physical detail. He could see the subtle twitching of her shoulder muscles, the tightening of her grip around her blade, and even the intricate pathways of her mana as it flowed in various directions. He was bombarded with a wealth of information all at once.
Sensing a shift in him, her smile broadened as she said, "Good, hold it steady and defend against the attack." With that, she launched into action, reaching him in an instant and swinging her sword in a horizontal arc at such speed it might have been impossible to track. Yet he managed to follow her movements, twisting his hand so that his blade pointed downward and angling his short sword to absorb most of the force of her strike. However, she smiled mischievously and quickly jabbed at his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs and making his ribs protest as he was sent flying backward, landing on his back at the edge of the platform, nearly dazed.
"You're still falling short," she observed thoughtfully. "Ah, I see—the issue is your combat sense. You're fighting primarily with the intent to block or strike, right?" She approached him as he lay on the ground and squatted beside him. He turned his face away, avoiding her gaze, and she smiled teasingly, knowing that his reaction spoke volumes.
"But that intent, while not inherently wrong in a duel, is insufficient," she said, rising to a notable distance before facing him again. "Now stand up; I have something to impart to you." She helped him sit up in a lotus position.
"But first, what do you believe is the intent of battle?"
"...."
"I'm not talking about this duel; I mean a true fight on a battlefield."
"... winning."
"Not quite there yet," she continued. "The intent of battle is kill or be killed. In its most literal sense, all battles are about killing your opponent—not merely winning or contemplating defeat. Sure, survival can come into play, but only after your intent to win falters, then you look for ways to survive."which made him contemplate it for some few moments.
"Now, stand up." She urged him to rise, sword in hand. "Channel that intent and attack; defend and shield with everything you have!"
He complied, seeking methods to effectively defeat his sister in their duel. They fought for hours until the sun dipped below the horizon, making them to pause as darkness enveloped the area, making it early darkhours. Ultimately, despite their efforts, they couldn't find a way to actually harm each other; rather, they had intentionally held back, relishing the thrill of the duel—and they indeed enjoyed every moment of it.
"Now let's freshen up and grab some dinner," she said as they started toward the entrance.
"Okay," El replied, still feeling the weight of fatigue.
"Oh, and about doing this again—"
"No," he interrupted, prompting a laugh from Elie.
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