"Ha!"
With a sharp shout, Ingrid raised her wooden sword, stepping forward as she poured all her strength into the blade, slashing down at the training dummy in front of her.
Crunch!
The sound of splitting wood echoed as the sword struck just shy of the ninth ring of the dummy.
Ingrid stepped back into a defensive stance, exhaling a long, steady breath. She used the breathing techniques taught at the academy to swiftly regain her energy.
At this pace, I should be able to summon my first Blade Spirit this month, Ingrid thought, her grip tightening on the hilt.
At Swordflower Academy, students had access to a wealth of training tools designed to guide them toward their magical potential. The training dummy in front of Ingrid was one such tool, designed specifically for sword mage apprentices.
The dummy appeared to be a simple wooden post but had an incredibly durable core marked by ten concentric rings. Penetrating the innermost ring with a strike indicated that a student's swordsmanship was sufficient to summon their first Blade Spirit.
For sword mages, the type of Blade Spirit they summoned could define their path. The most common were the Slash Blade, Thrust Blade, and Cut Blade. Ingrid was focusing her efforts on summoning a Slash Blade Spirit, practicing relentless, precise strikes.
After a brief moment to recover, she noticed the dummy had fully regenerated, as if her previous blow had left no mark at all. Such was the magic of the academy's training grounds—no matter how much damage the dummies sustained, they restored themselves instantly, allowing students to train until their legs gave out.
Boom!
The loud slam of the training hall's doors being thrown open snapped Ingrid out of her focus. She glanced toward the source of the commotion.
The training grounds were typically a disciplined environment, where the air was charged with grunts of exertion and the clang of wood on wood. It wasn't a place for drama. Anyone disrupting the serious atmosphere would quickly face the wrath of sword mage apprentices eager for an excuse to "train" on them.
Ingrid herself had dealt with her fair share of annoying admirers last semester, but none had dared approach her in the training hall. Disturbing a focused sword mage was an open invitation for retaliation, and Ingrid had plenty of classmates willing to defend her without hesitation.
But tonight, the realm of strength was invaded by the realm of beauty.
The intruder was impossible to ignore. A cascade of ruby-red hair caught the light of the training hall, framing a face so flawlessly sculpted it could've belonged in a master artist's gallery. Her pale, luminous skin and graceful figure seemed more suited for a ballroom than a sweaty training ground.
Yet, the most striking thing about her wasn't her appearance—it was the wooden training sword in her right hand.
"Sonia?"
Ingrid watched in disbelief as Sonia confidently crossed the training hall, found an unused dummy, and raised her sword in preparation for practice.
Her confusion deepened. Sonia was the last person she expected to see in the training hall.
Unlike the elegant, effortless female swordswomen depicted in fantasy dramas and knightly epics, real sword mages needed rigorous physical conditioning. Women pursuing the sword mage path often had calloused hands, well-developed muscles, and a strength that defied traditional notions of beauty.
Sonia, on the other hand, was a picture of delicate refinement. Every part of her appearance was carefully curated, from her flawless skin to her impeccable posture. To Ingrid, Sonia represented the opposite of what it took to master swordsmanship.
Yet there she was, awkwardly gripping a wooden sword.
Is this for real?
Ingrid's gaze shifted to a young man not far from Sonia—a tall, handsome youth wiping sweat from his brow despite the heat. He was clad in full training gear.
Felix Voslotta.
The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. Felix was a fellow first-year and a prodigy among the sword mage apprentices.
Unlike Ingrid, who was training to summon a basic Slash Blade Spirit, Felix was striving for something far more ambitious: the Voslotta family's secret Wave Blade Spirit.
The contrast between their goals was stark. Ingrid had talent and discipline, but Felix's superior training resources, lineage, and raw skill had earned him the title of first-year swordsmanship prodigy.
More than his sword skills, Felix was infamous for his charm. His reputation as a playboy preceded him; the son of Duke Voslotta and heir to one of the Starry Kingdom's most powerful noble families, Felix had no shortage of admirers.
Despite his seemingly endless romantic escapades, Felix was still the center of attention for many female students. Even Ingrid, who had defeated her share of admirers in duels, was wary of Felix's charisma.
So that's it. Sonia's here for Felix.
The thought irked her. Just last semester, Sonia and her roommates had openly agreed that Felix's womanizing ways made him an unsuitable partner. Yet here she was, apparently throwing herself into the fray.
"Ha!" Sonia's shout broke Ingrid's thoughts.
Turning back, she saw Sonia clumsily swing her wooden sword at the dummy, barely scratching its surface.
Ingrid winced. Every aspect of Sonia's form was wrong—her grip was shaky, her footing unsteady, and her movements sluggish. To top it off, Sonia hadn't even changed into proper training attire and was still wearing an elaborate outfit that seemed designed to catch the eye.
She looked utterly out of place.
She's just here to show off, Ingrid concluded, returning her attention to her own training. Whatever her goal is, it's definitely not serious practice.
Swordsmanship demanded unwavering focus. Every strike had to be deliberate, every motion calculated. Laziness had no place in the training grounds, and Ingrid prided herself on her discipline.
But a few minutes later, Sonia's relentless shouts grew impossible to ignore.
"Ha!"
"Ha!"
"Ha!"
Ingrid's concentration wavered as her annoyance mounted. It wasn't just the noise; it was the sheer absurdity of Sonia's efforts. She wasn't even pausing to recover between strikes, which was as ineffective as it was reckless.
It was like watching someone scribble nonsense during a serious exam, loudly proclaiming how easy it was while everyone else worked silently.
Sonia's just here to make a scene, Ingrid thought angrily, preparing to confront her.
But as she approached, Ingrid hesitated. Sonia's movements were still rough, but they had improved dramatically in just a few minutes. Her strikes were now landing near the first ring of the dummy's core—far better than expected for someone with no apparent experience.
Sweat dripped down Sonia's flushed face as she swung again, her determination etched into every motion. This wasn't some idle display. Sonia was truly putting in effort.
Did she train before? Ingrid wondered.
Still, Sonia's technique was wasteful and unsustainable. She'd burn out in minutes. Ingrid smirked at the thought. Perhaps Sonia was just here for a quick workout to maintain her figure.
I'll wait until she collapses, Ingrid decided. Then I'll step in and offer some tips. Maybe it'll spark a genuine interest in swordsmanship.
And maybe, just maybe, Sonia's motives weren't as shallow as Ingrid assumed.