THWAK! THWAK!
Okay. First of all—OW.
Second of all—HOW THE HELL IS THIS FAIR?!
I barely manage to raise my wooden sword in time before—
THWAK!
Dad smacks my weapon aside and goes for my ribs. I jump back. I barely dodge. I think. Maybe. I don't know anymore. My vision is shaking from all the impact.
"Too slow," Dad says, not even breaking a sweat.
I wheeze. "I'm THREE!"
THWAK!
"Too much energy in your strikes. You're overcommitting. A missed attack leaves you open."
Oh, I don't know, Dad. Maybe because I HAVE THE BODY OF A TODDLER?!
THWAK!
"Don't leave your blind spots open."
What blind spots? I'm so small that I'm basically one big blind spot!
THWAK!
"Not enough strength in your swings."
I barely resist the urge to throw my wooden sword at his face. He's twice my size, built like a war god, and he's acting like I should be cleaving mountains already. What does he expect from a kid who still gets carried around by Mom?!
THWAK!
"You're hesitating. An enemy won't wait for you to think."
I HAVE NO CHOICE, FATHER. I HAVE TO THINK BECAUSE YOU'RE OUT HERE TRYING TO COMMIT CHILD ABUSE.
THWAK!
"Your footwork is sloppy."
Oh, really? REALLY?! MAYBE BECAUSE I HAVE BABY FEET?!
THWAK!
"Predictable movement. Try feinting."
SIR, I AM THREE. MY ONLY FEINTING EXPERIENCE IS PRETENDING TO BE ASLEEP WHEN MOM ASKS WHO FINISHED THE COOKIES.
THWAK!
"Don't flinch when blocking!"
DON'T FLINCH? YOU'RE HITTING ME LIKE A METAL-FORGED NIGHTMARE, AND I'M SUPPOSED TO STAND HERE LIKE A DAMN STATUE?!
THWAK!
"Too slow."
I scream internally.
"Alright, let's take a break," Dad finally says, stepping back, completely unfazed. I, meanwhile, collapse to my knees like I just survived a war.
"You did better today," Dad nods approvingly. "At this rate, you'll be strong enough to defeat a goblin by the time you're five."
A goblin? A single goblin? Father, I've literally slaughtered demon generals in my past life. But right now? Yeah, that goblin would probably snap me in half.
I gasp for air like a drowning fish. "Water. I need… water…"
Dad grins. "Good. Endurance is important. You don't get water in the middle of a real fight."
THAT'S BECAUSE A REAL FIGHT ISN'T SUPPOSED TO BE AGAINST A FULLY-GROWN WARLORD IN HIS PRIME WHEN I'M A BABY.
Mom walks into the training yard at that exact moment, smiling. "Oh, how's my little warrior doing?"
I crawl over dramatically. "Mother… Save me…"
She ruffles my hair. "Aww, look at you! Just like your father when he was little."
Dad crosses his arms, looking all proud. "Maria, did you know I killed my first monster when I was five?"
I stare at him. "Wow. I don't care."
Mom giggles. "Oh, Ryuk, you're so dramatic."
I AM FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE, WOMAN.
Dad pats my head. "Good work today. Same time tomorrow."
"…Tomorrow?" I whisper.
He grins.
I collapse face-first into the dirt.
Kill me.
The next day, I stand in the training yard again. My tiny arms still ache from yesterday's "bonding experience" with Dad's wooden sword. I briefly consider pretending to faint. Maybe then I'd get a day off.
"Alright, Ryuk," Dad says, tossing me another wooden training sword. "Today, you'll start channeling mana through your weapon."
I barely catch it without toppling over. "What, no warm-up? No light stretching? Just straight into pain?"
Dad grins. "That's the spirit."
That was not the spirit.
He lifts his own sword, and the air around it shifts slightly. "I usually enhance my blade with Wind magic. Makes it easier to swing, faster strikes, smoother movement. Since you have all seven blessings, you'll eventually figure out which works best for you. But for now, start with Wind."
I stare at him. "You expect a three-year-old to consciously channel mana into a weapon while also not dying?"
Dad nods. "Exactly!"
Ah, I see. He is a lunatic.
I sigh and focus. Alright. Just let mana flow, like breathing.
In my past life, this was easy. My swordsmanship was so refined I could slice through mountains if I wanted to. But no. NPC life, Ryuk. NPC life. If I start showing off now, Mom will throw a festival, Dad will drag me to the guild, and suddenly, I'll have quests to slay dragons before I even hit puberty. Not happening.
A faint breeze stirs around me. The sword in my hands feels lighter, sharper—
THWAK!
Dad's strike nearly takes my head off. I barely dodge, stumbling back.
"Too slow," Dad says.
"YOU DIDN'T EVEN LET ME FINISH—"
THWAK!
"Control your breathing. Wind is about flow. If you hesitate, the energy falters."
I grit my teeth, jumping back again. The Wind mana in my sword wavers. Ugh. It feels off. Unstable. Like trying to balance on one foot while dodging arrows.
"Good," Dad says, already swinging again. "Now counter!"
What—NOW?!
I grip the sword, the Wind mana still barely cooperating, and swing forward.
For a split second, I feel it. The flow. The rush.
Then—
WHOOSH—THUD!
I miss. Completely.
My tiny body spins like a top, and I crash into the dirt.
Dad sighs. "Too much force. Wind enhances speed, but if you don't control it, you'll lose balance."
I groan, lifting my head. Ah yes, balance. A thing I totally have at THREE YEARS OLD.
Dad chuckles. "Again."
Again?!
I get up, wobbling. This time, I get it right.
I take a deep breath, focus, and—
THWAK!
—promptly get smacked in the ribs.
"Too slow."
I wheeze. "FATHER, HAVE MERCY."
Dad grins. "Nope."
And thus, my magical training continues.
…And by magical, I mean pure suffering.