"Master Ren, please take this."
Edgar had prepared a specific item for today’s lesson. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small glass vial. It was an ordinary-looking container sealed with a cork, and inside sat a single, round crystal ball.
Ren took the vial, hearing the crystal roll with a light clink.
"What is this?"
"It is a common vial containing a special crystal ball that reacts to mana. Your task during your daily training, Master Ren, is to break that crystal."
"...Just to be sure, I shouldn't uncork the bottle to break it, right?"
"Correct. You must hold the vial in your palm and destroy the crystal from the outside without using magic. Furthermore, you must not damage the vial itself."
Ren was at a complete loss. It sounded more like a stage magician’s trick than a martial arts exercise. However, Edgar insisted that this was a highly efficient form of training.
"To manipulate refined mana at will, piercing through glass to shatter the crystal within—the process is nearly identical to the way one handles mana in the Strong Sword Arts. It relates to the inherent talent for the style that I mentioned previously."
"Can anyone use mana that way?"
"No. Mana possesses no such effect on its own. That is why we use a specially treated crystal—to measure your proficiency in mana manipulation. This will serve as excellent training for you."
"So, if I can’t break the crystal, it means I don’t have the talent for Strong Sword Arts."
Ren held the small vial in his palm. Mana, mana... He concentrated, trying to feel it without speaking, but the crystal ball inside showed no sign of cracking. Perhaps feeling a flicker of anxiety at the lack of results, Ren inadvertently looked toward Edgar.
"Rest assured. It is only natural that this takes time. I struggled quite a bit just to put a single scratch on the surface in my own youth."
According to Edgar, this wasn't the kind of skill that bore fruit immediately. It was the result of days, weeks, or even months of repeated effort.
I guess that’s the same for everything, Ren thought.
He understood the principle, but he had other concerns. What would they do today? And tomorrow? Since he had come all the way to the Imperial Capital, he wanted to absorb as much knowledge as possible. Ren tucked the vial into the pocket of the jacket he had discarded earlier.
"We shall conclude our classroom study for now. Let us move to a different training ground so I may demonstrate the power of the Strong Sword Arts to you."
"That... that would be a huge help!"
Witnessing the style firsthand would be invaluable. While it was only his first day and there was no need to rush, Ren couldn't hide his excitement.
"The essence of the Strong Sword Arts lies in their destructive power. We will move to a field with suitable targets."
Ren watched him, a thought occurring to him. He’s going to show me by hitting those targets. But—
"Master Ren?"
"Ah—sorry. I was just thinking."
Ren’s idea was a bit forward, and he worried it might be a burden on Edgar. However, his desire to learn was stronger. Steeling his resolve, he spoke his wish plainly.
"I want to know what it feels like to actually receive a blow from the Strong Sword Arts. If it’s alright with you, could you use them against me?"
"Hmm..." Edgar hesitated.
Ren was a great benefactor to the house Edgar served; the last thing the butler wanted was to cause him an injury.
"Please? I really want to feel it."
Edgar had heard of Ren's character and was beginning to understand him during their short time together. He looked at the boy's stubborn expression and sighed. Ren was their benefactor. What kind of butler to a Marquis would he be if he couldn't accommodate such a request?
"Very well." Edgar gave a wry smile and a nod. "I think I'm beginning to understand why you are so strong, Master Ren. If I may be so bold, I shall give you a demonstration."
"Thank you! ...By the way, I forgot to ask. What rank were you in the Strong Sword Arts, Edgar?"
"Hmm... it is a bit embarrassing. As you can see, I am an old man. Unlike in my youth, my profession is now that of a butler. I cannot be compared to how I was in my prime, but—"
Edgar took his sword into his hands.
"—I am a Sword Saint."
In that instant, Ren’s face broke into a delighted grin. He had never imagined Edgar was such a high-level master.
I’m going to learn so much, Ren thought, his smile turning daring. "Like you did for me earlier, Edgar, would it be alright if I try to block you?"
"That is fine. I shall face you with basic strikes—the foundation of the style."
He meant he wouldn't use any specific Arts, only the raw power characteristic of the Strong Sword Arts. However, Ren was about to learn exactly what "basic" meant when coming from a Sword Saint.
"Here I come."
With a sharp step, Edgar nearly vanished from Ren’s sight. Before he could blink, the elderly gentleman was in front of him, swinging his sword in a horizontal flash toward Ren’s training blade.
An unprecedented sensation surged through Ren’s arms upon impact.
"What—!?"
This was the true power of the Strong Sword Arts. The force didn't stop at his arms; an intense, vibrating numbness raced through his chest and down to his legs. In a heartbeat, it coursed through his entire body, sapping his strength. A crushing fatigue, like he had been running for an hour, washed over him instantly.
He’s definitely holding back... and yet it’s still this heavy!
Ren struggled to stay upright. It wasn't just physical strength; it felt as though his very life force was being drained from his core.
"Do not push yourself too far!"
"I’m fine! I can still go!"
"Heh... you are remarkably resilient."
Edgar’s follow-up strikes rained down. Every time Ren parried, he felt more of his strength slip away. It was like being pinned by the gaze of a lion, his very spirit being swallowed whole. Even the walls and floor of the training hall seemed to tremble under the pressure. The space itself felt as though it were screaming.
The metallic shriek of clashing blades echoed through the hall. Unlike Edgar, who had remained immovable earlier, Ren was forced back with every exchange.
Damn it... just one...!
Ren was driven toward the wall in seconds. Edgar’s sword possessed terrifying power, yet it was coupled with a refined, surgical grace. Eventually, Edgar adjusted his stance, intending to deliver a strike heavy enough to force Ren to his knees. He poured more weight into it than he had before.
Sensing the shift, Ren gritted his teeth and poured everything he had into his grip.
Don't give up! Hold your ground just once, Ren!
Edgar had calculated the strike carefully to avoid injury while still meeting Ren's expectations. It was a blow that would have exhausted an ordinary knight, but he was certain Ren could handle it.
"To think you could endure this much on your first day—"
Edgar’s words cut short. He doubted his own eyes.
"What—!?"
It was impressive enough that the exhausted Ren had fully blocked the strike, but strangely, Edgar felt a phantom numbness in his own hands. Ren hadn't pushed back; he had simply stood his ground with everything he had.
When Edgar looked at the boy’s face, his cheeks flushed with amazement, he felt a slight tremor. It was the boy's presence—his spirit. Just being met by Ren’s gaze made Edgar feel as though he were being enveloped by an inexplicable, overwhelming pressure.
"...Splendid. You truly are a Hero."
On the surface, Edgar praised him with a smile, especially as Ren finally slumped to the floor in exhaustion. But he couldn't forget the look in Ren's eyes. He had been momentarily pressured by a boy’s gaze, and the lingering sting in his own palms was a testament to a power he hadn't expected.
"I... I had to show a little bit of pride, or it would have been embarrassing," Ren panted, sitting on the ground. Beads of sweat rolled down his face as he struggled to catch his breath. The intense aura Edgar had seen moments ago was gone.
"Master Ren, you may possess a latent power even more terrifying than I imagined."
"Hmm? Did you say something?"
"No, pay it no mind. Since it is the first day, let us call it a night. I’ll see you back to your lodgings after you’ve bathed."
"Thank you. Where is the bath?"
"Just to the left of the exit. Rest for a moment, and then I shall guide you."
To Edgar’s surprise, Ren stood up immediately. His legs were wobbly and he looked frail, but after a few seconds of deep breathing, he began to walk without assistance.
"Master Ren!?"
"It’s okay. I can still walk."
Ren even pulled open the massive stone doors himself. Edgar, who had been about to offer a steadying hand, stood frozen in astonishment. As the doors swung shut, a slow smile spread across the butler’s face.
"...My Lord, it seems Master Ren was not simply dragged onto the stage."
He pulled on his jacket, looking at the closed doors.
"He appeared because he was destined to stand there. And besides..."
He thought back to that fierce, unwavering gaze.
"That look in his eyes was exactly like—"
The bell outside the Lion Sanctum rang, signaling three o'clock. The sound of the tolling bell drowned out the rest of Edgar's murmur.
The second, third, and fourth days passed in a blur.
Finally, the morning of the fifth day arrived—Ren’s last day in the Imperial Capital. Since he needed to prepare for his return to the Clausel territory, the training was limited to the morning. Once the session ended, the two sat down to discuss the future.
"From now on, do not forget to practice the mana refinement techniques unique to our style. The day that crystal in the vial finally breaks is likely not far off."
"I hope so."
"Trust me. You have the gift, Master Ren."
Ren smiled, grateful for the encouragement on his final day in the training hall.
"Also, if you wish, I would be honored to continue your instruction in the future. There is a much larger training ground in the inner sanctum of the Lion Sanctum. With the Marquis's permission, you could even join the knights' drills."
"Really? Is that okay?"
"Of course. Whenever your schedule allows, please contact me."
"But Edgar, aren't you usually in Eupeheim? I'd feel bad making you travel just for me."
"Lately, I split my time. Since Lady Fiona is staying in the Academy dorms, I travel between the Capital and Eupeheim frequently."
"That sounds exhausting..."
"Not at all. I simply enjoy the Magic Ship and the Magic Train." Edgar gave a refined, cheerful smile. Eupeheim was a massive city, second only to the Capital, and possessed its own transit hub. Compared to Ren’s rural home, the travel was actually quite convenient.
"Now then," Edgar continued. "We have focused on technical and practical sparring until now. Since our time today is short, I shall end by showing you one of the specific Arts of our style."
"Wait—really? I’d love to see it!"
"I am glad you are interested. Now, let me see..."
After a moment of thought, Edgar stepped outside, telling Ren to wait. He returned a few minutes later with one of the Lion Sanctum Knights.
"This gentleman has an affinity for wind magic, so he has agreed to assist us."
"Good to meet you. Master Ren, was it? We’re all expecting great things from you."
Ren recognized the man as the knight who had been guarding the entrance. He offered a polite thank you, assuming the praise was just professional courtesy. The knight moved to the far end of the hall and drew his sword. Edgar turned to Ren.
"Legend says the Lion King was undefeated on countless battlefields. Even when faced with powerful mages, he never retreated, for he could block any spell thrown his way."
Against magic, such a tactic was usually suicidal. But the Lion King had made it possible by inventing a specific technique.
"Whenever you are ready," Edgar called out.
The knight roared, swinging his sword down. A violent gale manifested as a blade of wind, screaming toward Ren and Edgar. Edgar didn't flinch. He drew his sword in a blur and delivered a single horizontal slash.
The approaching magical wind was cleaved in two, dissolving into nothing more than a harmless breeze that ruffled Ren's hair.
Ren stared, his eyes wide. I’ve seen this before...
"Against magic, it is common to try and offset the force with a physical impact. But the Strong Sword Arts do not merely offset it; we possess techniques specifically for cutting magic."
Depending on the user’s skill, a practitioner could inflict physical damage on a spell, shattering it or, in the case of a master, nullifying it entirely. It was a devastating counter-technique.
"That was... Star-Cleaver, wasn't it?"
The name came from the Lion King’s habit of referring to magic as 'stars.' In his era, it was believed the stars in the sky were manifestations of magic; thus, the art of cutting magic became Star-Cleaver.
"I am impressed. You even knew the name of the Art?"
"Yes. I’ve... studied the history quite a bit."
In truth, Ren had seen it used countless times in the game—and had been defeated by it just as often.
"You will likely be able to use Star-Cleaver yourself before long, Master Ren."
Ren remembered from his past knowledge that Star-Cleaver was considered the proof of a Master Swordsman in this style—equivalent to a Sword Saint in other schools. Considering that Licia was a Sword Saint in her own style in the game’s lore, perhaps it wasn't an impossible goal. Though he couldn't be certain how things would translate to this reality, he knew he had to aim high.
"I’ll do my best," Ren said with a determined smile, bringing his five days of training to a close.
Two days later, Edgar returned to the Ignat estate in Eupeheim. Marquis Ulysses was waiting for him, and they walked through the manor’s gardens as the Marquis began his inquiry.
"So, how was Ren Ashton?"
Edgar thought of a dozen different praises, but none felt quite right. He searched for the perfect word to describe what he had witnessed. Then, he remembered that final moment from the first day—the shock of the boy’s block and the weight of his stare.
"I sensed a strength in him akin to... a lion."
To an outsider, it might have sounded like simple imagery. But among practitioners of the Strong Sword Arts, it was a heavy, sacred comparison. It was a term never used lightly, for it invoked the strength of their founder, the Lion King himself.
"A man of your caliber uses the word 'Lion' for him, Edgar?"
"Yes. The strength in the boy's eyes when he looked at me was undeniably that of a lion. I cannot find any other word that fits."
Edgar’s voice was dead serious. Ulysses, who had trusted the butler’s judgment from the start, was struck with a profound sense of wonder. He felt a shiver of genuine excitement.