The sun had climbed higher, its golden rays piercing through the thick canopy of the forest, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Zephyr stood before his father, his chest heaving, his tunic soaked through with sweat that stung his eyes.
"Zephyr," Seres said, his voice dropping an deep, "I had planned a standard routine. But you are already at the Novice (Early) rank. At five years old, that isn't just 'talented'—it's unheard of. Tell me, how did you reach this level?"
Zephyr wiped his brow, his heart drumming against his ribs. He couldn't exactly explain the memories or the drive that pushed him when the rest of the manor was asleep.
"Dad... I've been practicing secretly," he managed between breaths. "I guess I'm just very talented."
Seres stared at him for a long beat, his sharp eyes searching his son's face. Then, he let out a booming laugh that shook the nearby leaves. "Haha! Fair enough. Every genius has their secrets." His expression suddenly shifted, turning stone-cold. "But talent without a foundation is a house built on sand. Seal your mana. You are going to run five kilometers—purely physical strength."
Zephyr's smile froze. "Huh? Dad, are you joki—"
"I am not," Seres interjected, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Zephyr started to run. Because he was not using his magic to help him, his legs felt very heavy. Every step on the bumpy forest floor was hard. One kilometer became three. His chest hurt, and it felt like he was breathing in fire.
It took two long, hard hours, but Zephyr finally finished. He fell down onto the ground. Everything looked blurry because he was so tired.
"Dad... I did... it," he said, breathing very hard as he looked up at his father.
"Good. Take five minutes," Seres said, his gaze fixed on his son with a mixture of pride and calculation. He turned to Lina, who had been watching the entire display with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Lina, how many kilometers did you run at his age?"
Lina blinked, still looking at her brother as if he were a strange new species of monster. "I ran one kilometer, Dad... and I thought I was going to die afterward."
Seres whispered to himself, a grin spreading across his face. "It seems a monster has been born into our family. If your grandfather knew this, he'd probably try to drag the boy to the front lines immediately."
He looked at Lina—whose SS-rank potential already marked her as a 'once-in-a-century' genius—and then back at Zephyr. If her potential is a century, his might be an epoch, he thought. What luck I have to father such badass children.
It took two long, hard hours, but Zephyr finally finished. He fell down onto the grass.
"Dad! Five minutes are up! Let's do sword training!" Zephyr shouted, pushing himself off the ground with renewed vigor. The exhaustion seemed to have vanished, replaced by a frantic, buzzing excitement.
"As you wish, son," Seres replied, tossing him a fresh wooden practice sword.
"Take your stance, Zephyr," Seres commanded, his voice tight.
Zephyr didn't just take a stance he settled into it. His center of gravity dropped, his feet gripping the earth like roots. As Seres stepped forward, the air between them seemed to crackle with the weight of Zephyr's focus.
The moment their swords clashed, the atmosphere in the clearing changed. Seres's eyes widened.
Zephyr wasn't swinging wildly,he was moving with a fluidity that belonged to the Intermediate (Early) rank. His footwork was precise, his center of gravity perfectly maintained.
He's grasping my movements, Seres thought, parrying a sharp thrust from the boy. He's not just defending—he's calculating. He's countering. And there's no hesitation in his soul.
"Interesting!" Seres shouted. "Let's see how you handle this!"
Seres began to increase the pressure. His strikes became a blur, each impact sending a jarring shockwave up Zephyr's arms.
The "clack-clack-clack" of wood on wood echoed through the trees like rapid gunfire.
Zephyr felt his heart rate skyrocket. He wasn't scared; he was electrified. The world narrowed down to the tip of his father's sword. "Shit, Dad's getting serious," Zephyr thought, a wild, manic grin spreading across his face. "I have to give it everything!"
"Ha ha! Dad, this is amazing!" Zephyr yelled, his blood pumping with a primal heat he had never felt before. He began to enjoy the dance of battle, leaning into the danger rather than shrinking from it.
"This is the true path, Zephyr!" Seres roared, his own excitement mirroring his son's. "It's been a long time since I could truly train someone with this intent! But playtime is over!"
Seres pivoted, his wooden sword suddenly glowing with a faint, concentrated pressure. He put his true strength behind a final, sweeping strike. Zephyr raised his sword to parry, but the sheer force was like a tidal wave crashing against a twig.
Zephyr saw the strike coming. He knew his wooden sword couldn't stop it. Instead of fear, a transcendent joy washed over him. His blood felt like liquid fire. He gripped the hilt with both hands, channeling every ounce of his Novice mana into the grain of the wood.
BOOM.
The impact wasn't just a sound, it was a physical shockwave. The wooden swords met with the force of two falling stars. For a fraction of a second, Zephyr held his ground, his small frame trembling under the mountainous pressure of his father's strength.
The explosion of splinters was so violent they embedded themselves into the nearby tree trunks.
Zephyr was thrown backward, flipping through the air before slamming into the dirt. He rolled several times and finally came to a stop, lying flat on his back, staring up at the canopy of leaves through a haze of dust.
"Zephyr!" Lina screamed, rushing toward her brother.
But before she could reach him, a small, bruised hand reached up toward the sky.
Zephyr started to laugh—a wheezing, exhausted, but triumphant sound. He sat up, his face covered in dirt and a small trail of blood running from his nose, but his smile was terrifyingly bright.
"The sword broke," Zephyr whispered, looking at the jagged hilt in his hand. "But I didn't."
"My son," Seres whispered, his voice thick with an emotion Zephyr couldn't quite name—a mixture of profound pride and a deep, gnawing realization that his life had changed forever. "You are a god-given talent."