The days at the village unfolded in a relentless cycle of dawn drills and twilight trials, each more grueling than the last. Aric's muscles ached constantly, a soreness that settled deep in his bones, making even the smallest movement a reminder of the day's harsh lessons .He had just barely made it through the first test, which according to Krael was to check his aptitude. Yet with each dawn, he forced himself to rise, driven by pride and the unshakeable knowledge that this training was essential for what lay ahead.
Krael's methods were harsh and exacting, exposing every weakness. The mornings began with punishing strength exercises that left Aric's arms and legs trembling, followed by footwork drills that demanded precision and agility.
"Balance!" Krael shouted, striding around the training field as Aric staggered under the weight of a wooden beam balanced across his shoulders. "Your power is meaningless without it."
Aric gritted his teeth, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. He focused on taking one step at a time along the narrow log suspended over the muddy ground, each movement a battle against the beam pressing down on him and the ache gnawing at his calves.
"Keep your core steady," Krael said, his sharp eyes catching Aric's slightest misstep. He stepped closer and adjusted Aric's posture with a firm hand on his back. "Feel the center of your balance and move from there."
Aric corrected himself, the tremble in his muscles easing as he found his center. Despite the burn in his limbs, he pushed forward, the sting of Krael's sharp criticism spurring him on. After hours of relentless drills, Krael finally motioned for him to stop.
"Good," Krael said, his tone grudging but carrying a trace of approval. It was rare praise, but enough to ignite a flicker of pride in Aric's chest.
"Rest, but not for long," Krael added, his gaze holding a promise of more to come.
The afternoon's challenge was different. Krael led Aric to the edge of the forest, where the trees loomed tall, their shadows casting dark, shifting patterns on the ground. The air hummed with anticipation, and Aric felt the weight of Krael's eyes on him as he waited for instruction.
"Magic isn't just an external force," Krael said, folding his arms as he studied Aric. "It is an extension of will, meant to be circulated within, alongside technique. You will need it not only to enhance your body but to master your swordsmanship and prepare for your journey."
Aric's brow furrowed with confusion, and he took a breath before asking, "Why are you teaching me magic? I'm supposed to be a swordsman, not a magician."
Krael's expression shifted, a shadow of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "A true swordsman channels magic within and moves with precision. Such a warrior is called a Spellblade. You, Aric, are not just any swordsman. For you to master the sword techniques and survive what lies ahead, you must walk both paths. The Circulators—those who enhance their bodies with magic—are just as vital as pure magicians. You will cultivate both skills, and though they will progress at different levels, you must aim to bring them both to their peak."
Aric absorbed the revelation, feeling the weight of Krael's words settle into him. The idea of balancing two paths felt daunting, yet empowering.
"Close your eyes and reach within," Krael instructed. "Feel the energy as it stirs. Don't force it. Guide it."
Aric shut his eyes, blocking out the rustle of leaves and the murmurs of the village in the distance. He took a deep breath, and at first, there was only the sound of his heart thudding in his ears. Then, the familiar warmth flickered beneath his skin, a subtle thrumming that pulsed with life. It felt like thin, glowing threads weaving upward, drawing together until they coalesced in his core and flowed toward his outstretched hand.
The warmth grew, spreading like a slow, steady flame until it became a sharp, vibrant heat. It wasn't painful but charged, as if his veins were filled with liquid light.
"Guide it," Krael's voice cut through the moment, grounding Aric. "Don't let it control you. You control it."
Aric's breath quickened as the light in his palm flickered like a hesitant spark. He concentrated on circulating it through his limbs, allowing it to fuel his muscles and sharpen his senses. The energy hummed, resonating deep within him, making him feel both powerful and precariously balanced on the edge of control.
The doubt threatened to creep in, and for a moment, the light wavered. But he took another deep breath and steadied himself, forcing the energy to align with his will. The glow stabilized, a warm pulse that spread through his body.
"Good," Krael said, stepping back, eyes narrowing in satisfaction. "Again."
Hours passed, each attempt chiseling away at Aric's initial uncertainty and teaching him the delicate balance between exertion and guidance. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and deep purple, Aric's limbs were heavy, but he managed to hold a steady glow that coursed through his entire form.
Krael nodded, the hint of approval more pronounced. "Progress. Tomorrow, we build on this."
As night fell and the village settled into a quiet hum, Aric returned to the small hut that had become his refuge. He sat on the cot, the rough fabric scratching against his skin, and exhaled, feeling the day's exhaustion wrap around him. But beneath it, there was a newfound hope—he was beginning to understand the power within him and how to wield it.
Sleep claimed him quickly, carrying with it the pulse of energy that still thrummed softly, a promise of the strength he would continue to forge.