The two of them sat around the campfire for dinner.
The soft crackle of burning wood echoed through the air, but this time, there was none of the awkward tension from the previous days.
Ryn ate slowly, fully aware of the taste of each bite—
as though his body had only just remembered what it meant to rest.
Richard ate in silence before speaking without turning to look at him.
"Today, you didn't get any closer to me."
Ryn paused slightly, but continued listening.
"But you lasted longer. And that's more important than landing a hit."
Ryn clenched his fist beneath the table.
He was beginning to understand now—
that the "battle" Richard spoke of wasn't only at the tip of a blade.
It was about whether he could still remain standing
when everything came crashing down upon him.
After the late meal, Ryn quietly excused himself.
The campfire outside slowly died down, leaving only a faint orange glow that cast wavering shadows of the trees across the ground.
He walked back to his hut, his body heavy—as though he were carrying more than just exhaustion.
When he closed the wooden door behind him, Ryn collapsed onto the mattress at once, not even bothering to adjust his posture.
In the darkness, his breathing gradually slowed.
The memories he had tried not to think about
rose to the surface on their own.
Tarin's face.
That mischievous smile.
Words that never sounded serious—
yet had pulled him back from the edge of despair today.
Ryn lifted his arm to cover his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat, and murmured softly into the emptiness,
"Thank you…"
No one answered.
Only silence embraced him.
Before long, fatigue overcame every lingering thought.
Ryn's consciousness faded, his breathing growing steady.
Tonight, for the first time since arriving in Central,
he truly slept.
At dawn, after the first meal of the day, the training began once more.
Ryn stood facing Richard, sword in hand, his mind calmer than it had ever been.
He charged forward, striking with what he believed was the best possible timing—
yet Richard still evaded with ease, as though he could read every movement in advance.
But unlike before, exhaustion no longer gnawed at Ryn's mind.
His breathing remained steady.
His focus did not waver, even as his attacks failed again and again.
Day after day passed, the training unchanged.
Ryn attacked.
Richard dodged.
No scolding.
No further explanations.
Until one evening—
after a dinner quieter than any before.
Ryn finally spoke.
"Master…"
Richard lifted his gaze slightly.
"Why?"
Ryn tightened his grip on the sword before continuing.
"Even though I've tried everything, you still dodge my attacks as easily as ever."
Richard let out a low chuckle.
It wasn't mocking—
but it wasn't comforting either.
"Well, you're slow as a crawling turtle,"
he said bluntly.
"And your movements are easy to read. Why wouldn't I be able to dodge them?"
The words struck deep, but Ryn did not argue.
He lowered his head, accepting the truth before him.
"Then… what should I do?"
Richard stood up and stretched slightly before turning his back.
"That's something you have to figure out yourself."
He took a few steps, then stopped and turned back with a faint smile.
"But if I were to give you a hint…"
"Right now, you look like you're trying to chop vegetables. Heh."
A quiet laugh followed as Richard disappeared into the darkness,
leaving Ryn sitting there alone.
Those simple words echoed endlessly in his mind.
— Chopping vegetables. —
What vegetables?
Why chopping?
And what exactly was he doing wrong?