************
Scarlette continued observing him for several seconds, then finally spoke.
"You have talent, Ryan."
Her voice was calm.
Monotone.
But every word landed with weight.
"However," she continued, "your sword form and your body do not agree. They contradict each other."
Ryan blinked. "C‑contradict?"
Scarlette nodded and circled him like a predator assessing prey.
"Your shoulders tighten when you swing. Your grip is too forceful. Your footwork is unstable when your attack fails."
Ryan's face flushed.
He didn't realize she had been watching him that closely.
"Also," she added bluntly, "your hesitation is obvious."
"H‑hesitation…?"
"You fear something," she said. "Something holds you back. Your aura recognizes your doubt, so it constricts instead of flowing freely."
Ryan's throat tightened.
She was frighteningly accurate.
She stepped back slightly and lifted the tiny tree branch — now void of aura.
"The technique you are trying to create…" she said thoughtfully, "it is not wrong. But it isn't yours."
Ryan looked confused.
Scarlette turned her gaze toward the forest.
"Do not rely on your sword alone to define your strength. Create something that belongs to you — not to the shadow of someone else."
Her words struck him hard.
Uncomfortably hard.
She… she understands me more than I expected.
....
.......
.........…..
Scarlette's eyes narrowed beneath her veil as thoughts drifted back to a different incident.
A memory from weeks ago — when she had encountered the party led by Sigrid Anatole, surrounded by the monstrous beast known as Aquamera.
Aquamera — a beast of blue scales, burning sapphire eyes, and the silhouette of an ancient dragon. It was classified as an A‑Class threat — a creature that required entire elite squads to defeat.
Except…
The Aquamera they encountered was a mere imitation.
A weakened echo of the legendary species.
Even so, its appearance was strange.
Its timing bizarre.
It shouldn't have appeared yet… Unless something has changed.
For a brief moment, a flicker of concern crossed Scarlette's eyes — then vanished. She shook her head.
"That incident is not my burden," she murmured inwardly. "Let others solve it."
Her job was not to investigate the world's anomalies.
Not anymore.
........
...........
............
Ryan, meanwhile, sat numbly on the ground, reprocessing everything she'd said.
'Don't just rely on your sword? What does she mean by that…?'
He had followed the path of the sword his entire life. It was all he knew. All his father taught him. All he thought mattered.
If not the sword…
Then what else did he have?
He watched the crimson-haired woman turn and walk away, her cloak dancing behind her. Before she disappeared into the shadows, she spoke once more without looking back:
"Cleanse your injuries. Sleep. I will take the night guard."
No room for refusal.
No room for negotiation.
She was gone.
Ryan stared blankly as she vanished into the trees.
After several seconds, he released a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair.
"She's impossible…" he muttered. "Impossible to understand."
Still aching from battle, he stood and dusted off his pants before retrieving his sword.
As he turned, something caught his eye.
The small tree branch Scarlette had used.
He crouched down and picked it up carefully.
Despite being ordinary wood, its surface still tingled faintly with warmth — faint crimson aura residue, like leftover embers from a dying flame.
Even after the battle ended, traces of her power remained etched into the bark.
'An ordinary stick… yet she wielded it like a blade. And it never broke. It cut through the air like steel…'
He clenched the branch tightly.
If Scarlette truly was a Swordmaster, then everything made sense.
But—
Another thought surfaced.
A dangerous one.
She also used chantless magic. And only high-tier mages can do that…
He shook his head violently.
'No—impossible. A person can't have both Aura and Mana. It's suicide.'
His mind drifted to what he learned growing up:
Aura cultivated the elixir field — strengthening the body.
Mana cultivated the heart — strengthening the spirit.
The two energies were inherently opposite.
If someone tried to cultivate both…
The energies collided.
Devoured each other.
Exploded inside the body.
He remembered an old tale his father told him:
A young prodigy once tried to learn both paths.
He survived three months.
Then his veins ruptured.
His organs scorched.
He died screaming.
That was the fate of anyone foolish enough to desire both power and magic.
Magic Swordmasters…
They weren't just rare.
They were fairy tales.
Only once in recorded history had such a person ever existed:
The First Founding Emperor of Silveria Empire.
The Hero of the Dark Abyss War.
The sole Magic Swordmaster.
But even then, some scholars debated whether he truly existed — if he was simply a metaphor, a myth created to inspire unity.
Ryan exhaled sharply and dragged himself back to reality.
He had no proof.
No answers.
Only questions that grew with each passing moment.
He stared down the trail Scarlette had taken.
'I don't know what to think anymore… Every time I learn something new about her, even more questions appear. She's… an unreadable mystery.'
He clenched the branch one last time, then tucked it under his arm and began walking back toward camp.
The night felt colder than usual.
And Scarlette Overland felt more distant — and more dangerous — than ever.
........
He sighed as he suddenly remembered that advice coming from the crimson‑haired woman, and Ryan felt like his thoughts would explode trying to decipher Scarlette's words.
Don't just rely on your sword.
What did that even mean for someone like him? The sword was all he knew, the one constant he had never questioned. The idea of looking beyond it felt like stepping off a cliff and hoping the wind would remember him kindly.
For now, he was exhausted. His body throbbed with dull aches—bruises blooming beneath his clothes, muscles trembling after the spar that had not felt like a spar at all. His pride, too, ached in a place no salve could soothe.
He pushed that aside. Scarlette had taken the night watch in his stead—probably because she deemed him too battered to stand properly, much less guard. That silent gesture only made guilt prick sharper.
I'll apologize tomorrow… and make it up to her somehow.
With that thought, Ryan finally left the clearing and returned to camp.
*************