Richard's home was not far away, nestled among tall trees and cool winds.
Ryn took a deep breath and stepped forward.
He followed the narrow dirt path until it opened into a clearing at the northern edge of Central's forest.
Before him stood a raised bamboo hut.
Its thatched roof was old.
Some of the wooden pillars leaned slightly,
as if they were standing more by memory than by strength.
Beside it were six smaller huts, lined up in a row.
They resembled barracks for trainees—
but their doors were shut tight.
The wood was rotten.
The paint had faded.
Grass grew between the steps.
…There were no signs that anyone had lived there for a long time.
In front of the area lay a large pond.
Its surface was perfectly still,
a few leaves floating quietly.
Beyond it stretched a wide training ground.
The earth was packed hard by countless footsteps.
Some wooden practice posts were broken,
others leaned crookedly.
The ropes that had once been strung across the field now hung loose and frayed.
Ryn slowly scanned his surroundings.
Everything was silent—
so silent that he could clearly hear the wind brushing through the leaves.
This place felt less like a training ground…
and more like something that had been abandoned.
The door of the main hut slid open.
A tall man stepped out, his expression as calm as ever.
"Oh?"
"You're done already?"
"Yes, sir," Ryn replied.
Then he hesitated before asking,
"Is… no one else staying here? Other than you, Master?"
Richard let out a short, quiet laugh—
one that carried something more than amusement.
"There used to be."
His gaze drifted toward the six small huts,
as if looking beyond what his eyes could see.
"But the last one…"
"Couldn't even last two days before running off."
He scratched the back of his neck and smirked slightly.
"Must've been almost three years ago now."
Ryn remained silent.
The image of the armory surfaced in his mind—
the laughter,
the mocking remarks,
the officers' surprised stares.
…Now he understood.
Why every time the name "Richard" was mentioned,
people laughed as if it were an old, familiar joke.
Richard turned to look at him.
His gaze was calm—
but sharp.
"If you still intend to stay," he said,
"take the last hut at the far end."
He turned and walked back inside his house, leaving behind only one final word.
"Tomorrow… the real training begins."
Ryn stood alone in the training ground.
The pond reflected the sky.
The broken huts stood in silence.
The dirt field lay untouched.
He tightened his grip on his sword.
Deep down, he knew—
From this point on,
no one would laugh for him anymore.
Except himself…
If he could still remain standing.
After putting away what little belongings he had, Ryn stepped out into the training yard.
Richard stood beneath the shade of a tree, staring at the surface of the pond as if lost in thought.
When he heard footsteps, he turned.
"Let me see your sword."
Ryn drew the blade from its sheath and handed it over.
Richard took it, weighing it in one hand before slowly pulling it free.
The metal caught the afternoon light in a brief flash.
He didn't frown.
He didn't react.
He was simply… too still.
"You chose this yourself?"
His voice was calm, but his gaze was sharp.
Ryn nodded and explained about the armory—
the officer's words,
how he had simply picked it up, tested the balance,
and felt that it was right.
Richard listened in silence, then let out a low chuckle.
"Hmph…"
"So the weapon chose the man, did it?"
He slid the sword back into its sheath and returned it.
Turning away, Richard walked to the center of the training ground.
Ryn quickly followed and stood before him.
"From here on, listen carefully," Richard said.
"In Central, soldiers may choose whether or not to study magic. No one forces them."
"You may have as many instructors as you want—if you meet their conditions."
Ryn listened to every word.
"But you will only have one primary instructor."
Richard turned to face him directly.
"And for you… that will be me."
Ryn remained silent.
He wasn't surprised, but he didn't dare speak.
"I won't allow you to train in anything else yet," Richard continued.
"No magic. No special weapons. No arena battles."
He pointed at the ground of the training yard.
"You must understand your own power first.
Not just how to use it—
but how it can kill you."
He paused for a moment before adding,
"Don't rush.
Those who hurry usually die before they understand where they went wrong."
The wind swept across the training ground,
the shadows of the bamboo swaying with it.
"One last thing," Richard said.
"The primary instructor decides."
"When a soldier is ready… for the Divine Trial."
He turned and walked back toward the hut,
leaving Ryn standing alone in the middle of the field.
The young man watched his retreating figure for a moment
before lowering his gaze to the sword in his hand.
The metal was cold.
Yet inside his chest,
something burned strangely warm.
Tomorrow…
It seemed the real training
was only just beginning.
The next morning,
a thin layer of mist still drifted above the pond.
Ryn stepped out of his hut fully equipped—
weapon secured, armor in place.
His face was calm, but his eyes were focused.
He was ready.
At least, that was what he believed.
The supply unit arrived as usual, setting down breakfast before leaving.
Their glances lingered on him,
whispers and quiet laughter riding the wind in soft waves.
Ryn chose to ignore them.
If he listened to every laugh,
he wouldn't still be standing here.
The bamboo door slid open.
Richard stepped out, dressed casually—
no armor,
no sword in hand.
He didn't look like an instructor at all.
His eyes scanned Ryn from head to toe.
Then his brow lifted.
"…Who told you to wear armor?"
Ryn froze.
"Uh… I thought—"
"I already told you,"
Richard cut in.
"We're not training sword swings."
The words were short,
but heavy enough.
Ryn turned back to remove his armor without another word.
A moment later, he returned in simple clothes.
During that time, Richard calmly ate his breakfast.
Ryn was about to step closer to sit down—
"Not your time yet."
Richard pointed toward the pond.
"There.
Do you see that basket?"
Beside the pond, a woven basket lay on the ground.
At a glance, it looked ordinary.
"Take water from the pond and pour it into that tank over there," Richard said, pointing to a large wooden barrel about twenty meters away.
"Fill at least one third of it. Then you may eat."
Ryn lowered his head.
"Yes, sir."
He walked over and picked up the basket.
And in that very moment, his curiosity turned into shock.
The basket…
was loosely woven.
Water would pass straight through it—
as if it had been designed specifically not to hold water.
Ryn stood there for a moment, gripping it in silence.
Then he turned back.
"Master…"
He swallowed.
"You want me to use this to carry water?"
Richard looked up from his bowl of food, his expression calm.
"Why?
Is there a problem?"
The question left Ryn speechless.
He looked back at the basket in his hands.
Then at the pond.
Then at the large tank waiting in the distance.