I Flash Stepped right in front of Lawson. Ember cut a streak of blue fire through the air, the hum of its power vibrating up my arm as I aimed straight for Lawson’s chest.

  How do you plan to block this one with no weapon or shield?

  For a heartbeat, I thought I had him.

  Then his body shifted just a fraction, just enough, and my blade met nothing but air.

  His fist slammed into my solar plexus like a hammer, driving the breath from my lungs in a single, brutal instant. My chest hurt like hell. The world snapped white around the edges, my knees buckling as I staggered back, choking on air that wouldn’t come.

  Lawson didn’t press. He just stood there, calm, composed, watching me fight for breath as if this was all part of the lesson.

  “Too eager,” he said, voice even. “You let the sword move you instead of the other way around.”

  I forced myself upright, lungs burning, Ember in my grip. “Again,” I rasped. Ember pulsed in my grip, heat flaring up my arm as if the blade itself had heard my demand. The fire deepened, blue energy sharpening into silver edges, alive, eager. It wasn’t just a weapon anymore; it was a heartbeat syncing with mine.

  I drew in a breath, forced the pain down, and let Limit Slash surge through me. The world snapped into razor clarity. Every flicker of Lawson’s stance, every shift of weight, every breath laid bare before me.

  I Flash Stepped. Once. Twice. The marble blurred beneath my boots as I circled him, Ember carving arcs of light through the air.

  Lawson turned to me every time I appeared, calm as ever, his eyes tracking each movement. He was never where I thought he would be. My blade cut nothing but air every time. I struck out with an overhead swing in which I put too much into, and the momentum dragged me off balance. In that instant, I lost him.

  Instinct screamed; I flared my armor, light snapping across my body in a desperate attempt to shield myself. A shadow flickered at the edge of my vision. Then his leg whipped around.

  The kick landed like a battering ram, hitting my ribs. Pain ignited through me, white?hot, stealing the breath from my lungs.

  I was airborne before I realized it, hurled sideways like a rag doll. The hard floor was there to meet me, and when I hit, the world spun.

  I lay there for a heartbeat, armor humming, Ember still in my grip. Pain radiating through me, but I was still conscious. I felt more than I saw a blow coming down. I rolled to the right, forcing myself upright.

  An explosion of marble in my ear told me I had guessed right. When I looked up, Lawson was several feet away. Hands in his customary pose behind his back. I tensed, ready for the next exchange.

  “Okay,” Lawson said, voice steady as stone. “That’s enough.”

  The words cut sharper than any strike. My shoulders sagged, pride stinging worse than my ribs. Less than thirty seconds, that’s all it had taken for him to dismantle me.

  Lawson’s gaze swept over us, unreadable. “It’s one thing to watch from the outside,” he said, tone even, almost instructional. “It’s another to step in and feel it for yourself. Observation teaches the mind. Experience teaches the body.”

  He flicked his wrist. Three chairs shimmered into existence, solidifying from threads of light until they stood neatly facing one another on the cracked marble. “Come. Sit.” His hand gestured toward them casually. “I’ve seen enough this morning."

  He rubbed his hands together and smiled. "Let's do a quick after-action report, then let's go over the training schedule for this week.”

  I exchanged a glance with Balt, still catching my breath. My chest still burned, but curiosity cut through the ache.

  “Riven, you telegraph your moves a lot. Tensing of shoulders, movement of hands, and several other things. I know you have never fought with a sword before coming to the System. So, we are going to work on that and your aura control."

  "Is that how you were seeing through all my Flash Steps?"

  Lawson Nodded. Unlike Balts blink technique, which is a true teleport, your Flash Step is essentially a movement ability. Those of us with Aura training or a sufficiently high level will see you coming clear as day. That’s why I was able to avoid you so easily.

  It will be the same for other higher-level opponents.

  They will sense you, and your advantage of sudden repositioning will mean much less. He produced a similar ring from the previous night. On the last floor, I gave you some basic drills, and we are going to expand on those. He threw the ring at me. This one was Silver.

  He held up a hand. Hold off on putting that on just yet. This week, you’ll both be splitting your days. Sword in the mornings for you, Riven. Aura control with me for both of you in the afternoons.”

  He produced another ring and handed it to Balt. “Your Force Talents are under levelled. That ring will help with energy control and mana generation. Push yourself. If you put your heart into it, those Talents will improve quickly.

  Balt just nodded and held his ring in his hand as if he held the most precious thing in the world. “Holy shit, a mana generation ring. I have only heard of these.”

  Lawson stood up then. “At the end of this week, I will have a surprise for you both if you perform well. He clapped his hands. Now let’s get to it.”

  I stood up and put on the ring.

  "I'll see you both in a few hours. Work hard."

  "Wait, what?" The ring tightened on my finger, heat blooming against my skin. Darkness swallowed me whole. Streaks of light tore past like comets, pulling me faster, deeper, until the blackness cracked open. I blinked, and found myself sitting in a vast dojo, the polished floor stretching out beneath a ceiling lost in shadow.

  A ripple stirred the air.

  From the far end of the dojo, a figure stepped out of the shadows, broad?shouldered, his frame filling the space with quiet authority. He wore plain leather armor, scuffed and worn, the kind of gear that spoke of decades of use rather than vanity. His hair was streaked with gray, his face lined but steady, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “So,” the man said, his voice low and rough with age. “He finally chose to use it… after all these years.”

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  The words hit me like a blade drawn in silence. Does he mean the ring? I tried Identify. The system screen flickered.

  My pulse quickened. The man, Matt, the name surfaced unbidden. There you go, kid,” the man said, his tone carrying a dry edge. “You know you could’ve asked. No reason to be rude.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, studying me as though weighing something unseen. Then he tilted his head. “What kind of timeframe are we looking at?”

  “A week,” I answered, forcing my voice steady.

  Matt’s eyes looked pensive. For a moment he seemed lost in thought, gaze drifting past me as if measuring the weight of that answer against years I couldn’t see.

  Finally, he gave a single nod, the lines of his face hardening into resolve. “A week, then.”

  His eyes snapped back to me, sharp and unyielding. “Summon your weapon,” he said, voice low but commanding. “Show me what you can do.”

  A shimmer rippled across the dojo floor. In the space between us, a training dummy materialized, much larger than me, broad?chested, its surface a dull gray that seemed to drink in the light.

  I called Ember forth. The blade flared into being with a rush of heat, blue fire edged in silver, its hum resonating in my bones.

  Matt’s eyes flicked to the weapon, unreadable. “I see,” he murmured.

  Then his gaze locked on me, sharp as a blade’s edge. “Show me everything, hold nothing back.” Matt didn’t move after those words. He simply waited, his silence heavier than any command.

  I exhaled, forcing the doubt away. Fine. He wants to see everything. Let’s give the man what he asked for. I Flash Stepped. The dojo blurred, the polished wooden floor streaking beneath me as I reappeared at the dummy’s flank. Ember’s glow flared brighter, eager.

  Limit Break surged through me. I darted to the front of the dummy with increased speed, showing off the boosting skill.

  I raised Ember high, the blade thrumming with power. “Limit Slash!”

  The strike came down in a blaze of blue?silver fire. The impact created a shockwave rippling outward.

  A voice rang out. “Keep going!”

  I did. Swinging and pivoting. I even activated my armor. I sent Mana Ball out for good measure. When I finished, the dummy unfortunately still stood tall, with only a slight cut on its chest. To show for all my efforts.

  Matt hadn’t moved. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes. Those sharp, hawk?like eyes, were fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “Is that all you got?”

  “I can use one last move, but it drains the shit out of me and is limited to once per day or level.”

  Matt just raised an eyebrow.

  Screw it. I need to know with the upgrade what it does now, anyway. Ember began to thrum in my hand like it knew what was coming. Heat surged up my arm, into my chest, into my very bones. Limit Breaker Slash. The words weren’t spoken; they roared through me; a command etched into my soul.

  Ember erupted. Sapphire and silver fire blazed outward, the glow so fierce it painted the dojo walls in living light. The air itself seemed to recoil, rippling with the force gathering at the edge of my blade.

  I lunged.

  The strike came down with everything I had, every ounce of strength, every drop of will. The impact detonated against the dummy in a cataclysm of fire and force. Sapphire flames spiraled upward, silver arcs tearing through the air like lightning. When the smoke cleared, the dummy still stood tall with only a slight singe mark.

  Well, shit, what the hell is this thing made of?

  I staggered, chest heaving, Ember’s glow flickering as if even the blade had spent itself in the effort. Sweat dripping down my face, every muscle trembling from the strain.

  Ember takes a lot more out of me than Ashbourne used to activate Limit Breaker Slash.

  Matt hadn’t moved. He stood exactly where he had been, arms folded across his broad chest, eyes locked on me with the same unreadable intensity. “I see,” he said at last, voice low, almost thoughtful.

  Matt finally moved. With a flick of his wrist, a sword appeared in his hand, plain, unadorned, its blade a deep, matte black. No glow, no hum, no theatrics. Just steel, simple and absolute. “Watch me close, kid,” he said.

  He strode toward the dummy with the ease of a man who had done this a million times. His stance was relaxed, almost casual. Then he lifted the blade.

  The strike that followed was nothing flashy. No explosion of fire, no storm of light. Just a single fluid motion. Clean, precise, beautiful in its simplicity.

  The dummy split in half. The cut was so smooth it took a heartbeat before the top half slid away and crashed to the floor.

  Matt turned back to me, his expression calm, his voice steady. “I used the same power you did,” he said.

  “The difference is technique. Control. You’re pouring everything out in a flood. All that energy of your strike is damn near negated by the energy not being focused.”

  I swallowed hard, the truth of it sinking into my bones. I could feel the difference, even from where I stood. His strike hadn’t just been stronger; it had been right. Matt waved his hand, and another dummy shimmered into existence, standing tall and unmarked. He looked back at me, eyes sharp. “Come over here.”

  I stepped forward, Ember still flickering faintly in my grip.

  Matt moved to my side, close enough that I could see the small scars along his forearms, the weight of years etched into his posture. He raised his black blade slowly, deliberately, and guided it through the air in a measured arc.

  “Like this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Every part of the swing matters. Every breath. Every thought. You don’t force the blade, you become it. Practice this overhead strike slowly, and we will work on speeding it up little by little.”

  He glanced at me, then back at the dummy. “We have a lot of work to do.” He crossed his arms. “For you to be here means that man saw something in you. Show me he was not mistaken.”

  Matt was an exacting but fair teacher throughout the day. He never lost his patience with me. Only correcting a leg placement or my sword angle. I hit that dummy nonstop for hours, and by the end, I was still being corrected, but it was no longer as soon as I twitched; he was there to show me what I did wrong.

  We went on like that for hours. I did the overhead strike; he corrected my stance. Demonstrated what I should be doing, rinsed and repeated a thousand more times as the hours went by. Eventually my ring started to light up.

  “Time’s up for now. He handed me a silver bracelet. That will show you sword techniques. When you sleep tonight. It will show you the techniques we will be using tomorrow. I’ll see you here in the morning.”

  With those last words, I entered the darkness again.

  A ripple stirred the air, and Lawson stepped forward into the dojo. He bowed his head low. “Master Matt.”

  Matt turned, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his weathered face. “I thought you were never going to use that thing,” he said, voice carrying both amusement and reproach.

  Lawson straightened, his expression solemn. Matt’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Tell me about the boy.”

  Lawson began to speak, his voice low, steady. The words blurred at the edges, fading into the stillness of the dojo, snatches of hardship, fragments of battles survived, the weight of choices made. Matt listened in silence, arms folded, gaze distant as though measuring every word against what he had already seen.

  When Lawson finished, Matt exhaled slowly, his eyes sharpening again. “His potential is crazy,” he said at last. "I had to reinforce that dummy on that last move of his. That thing is rated for level 50. Insane really. If he can learn some actual fighting techniques, and have more than only a week of training, he’ll be dangerous in ways even he doesn’t understand yet.”

  Lawson bowed his head again. “Thank you for training him, Master.”

  Matt’s smile deepened, the lines in his face softening. “Anything,” he said quietly, “for my favorite student.”