The afternoon sun blazed over the training grounds, casting long shadows as Alex swung his wooden sword with precision.
His opponent, Adrien Du Lac – his father – moved effortlessly, parrying every strike with the ease of a seasoned warrior.
Their swords clashed with a sharp rhythm, echoing through the open field, but Alex's mind was sharp, calculating and extremely focused.
From a young age, long before he had ever even held a wand, Alex had been trained in the use of knives and daggers.
His previous life, shaped by the rebellion, had instilled in him the fundamentals of close-quarters combat. He knew how to maintain distance, how to gauge the reach of an opponent's weapon, and how to strike swiftly, targeting weak points.
But the sword was a different beast. He understood its principles – precision, speed, and the art of reading an opponent's body language – but he lacked the refined skill that came with years of practice.
As their sparring session continued, Alex parried his father's blow and immediately countered with a quick thrust, aiming for an opening near Adrien's midsection.
But his father moved with a speed that defied his age, deflecting entire force of the attack and stepping back easily with a fluid grace. Alex pressed forward, following the momentum, but Adrien sidestepped, leaving Alex off balance.
A sharp tap to his ribs with his father's wooden sword signaled the end of the match, yet again.
Alex exhaled sharply, stepping back.
His mind raced over the fight – he had let his aggression dictate his movements. He should've waited for his father to commit to a strike instead of lunging forward at every chance.
His training with blades in his youth had taught him that precision and initiative was often more important than raw power, but impatience had cost him.
"Still too eager, Alex," his father said, amusement lacing his voice. "You're thinking like a fighter who only knows how to go for the kill, although admirable, but that's not always what a knight must be. You need to anticipate more, observe your opponent's patterns."
Alex nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. His muscles ached from the intensity of the bout, but the mental exhaustion was more prominent.
Swordsmanship required more than just skill; it was an art of controlled violence, of subtlety and force, balanced in each movement. And despite his proficiency in knife-fighting, the sword required more finesse.
After a brief pause, His father gave him a rare smile. "But you've made progress, far faster than most. I can see that you have the instincts and have ability to take initiative – the foundation is solid."
His father's words stirred something in Alex. It wasn't just the praise; it was the knowledge that the skills he'd honed in the chaos of his old life could be transformed into something greater here.
In his heart, Alex knew that swordsmanship wasn't just about winning duels – It was about mastery over oneself, over every impulse and decision. That was what separated knights from mere fighters with weapons.
Adrien gestured for Alex to follow him, and together they walked to another area of the training ground.
Unlike the sparring circles and open fields, this part of the estate was more familiar to Alex in a different way. The targets, the firing lanes – he had seen it all before, in another time, in another life.
The sight was familiar, pulling him back to memories of his past life, where firearms were the tools of combat, not spells and swords.
"Although holy artifacts are powerful," Adrien said, his voice carrying an air of pragmatism, "and magic can be wielded in ways that most can't even comprehend, never underestimate the utility of modern firepower. A sword can't reach across a battlefield, but a well-placed shot can end a fight before it even starts."
Adrien picked up a sleek, black pistol and handed it to Alex. "Learn them, master them. While not viable against more powerful opponents, these are still incredibly useful against lesser threats. You'll need them."
Alex accepted the pistol, the weight felt familiar in his hand. His fingers instinctively checked the safety, cocked the slide, and lined up the sight. It was muscle memory – Ingrained from his past life, where he had fought not with magic, but with metal.
He moved down the line, picking up a bullpup assault rifle labeled "SA-80" and shouldering it with ease. The cold, metallic feel brought back memories of missions in dark alleys, the smell of gunpowder, and the adrenaline rush of survival.
With a steady breath, he aimed down the range and fired a burst of rounds. Each shot hit the mark with pinpoint accuracy.
The other squires nearby stopped to watch, murmuring among themselves, impressed.
Alex ignored the praise, moving to the next weapon – a sniper rifle this time, heavier, with a longer barrel. The range of firearms on display was vast—pistols, assault rifles, marksman rifles, grenade launchers. There was even a rocket launcher at the end of the line.
"You're a natural," one of the instructors commented, standing nearby with his arms crossed. "That's not something you see from knights often."
Alex nodded, barely hearing him. His mind was already in the rhythm of battle, assessing the weapons, considering their strengths and weaknesses. In his old life, he had been trained in all forms of combat, from close-quarter knife fights to long-range firearm engagement
This was second nature to him, but now, in this world, he was learning to blend that experience with his new path.
By the time evening came, Alex had his fun at the range as he rejoined his father for another sparring session.
Both wielded wooden swords once again, the blades, although lighter than the real thing, were just as demanding. Adrien, as always, moved with blinding speed and precision.
Even with all his focus, Alex struggled to keep up. His father's strikes were clean, each one carrying the weight of decades of training.
Once again, Alex found himself outclassed, unable to break through Adrien's defense. Each time he thought he had an opening; his father would already be a step ahead. It was like fighting a shadow, elusive and impossible to grasp.
"So that's what it feels like," Alex muttered to himself, wiping sweat from his brow. He glanced at his father, who hadn't even broken a sweat. "This must be what others feel when they face me in duels."
"You've learned the basics," Adrien said after another quick defeat, "but learning isn't mastering. Swordsmanship isn't just about wielding the blade – It's about becoming the blade."
Alex could only nod, panting and drenched in sweat. His father's mastery felt miles ahead, but the gap wasn't unbridgeable. It just required more time, effort, and discipline.
Later that night, Alex returned to the common hall, settling onto his modest cot.
The training was relentless – each day pushing him to new limits, and yet, his mind never truly rested. Even as his body cried out for sleep, his consciousness slipped into the inner world of his mindscape.
Here, he was following the teachings of the Mastering the Magical Mind. Though he hadn't yet mastered it fully – It would take years of dedicated practice – the progress he had made was already substantial.
The guide had introduced him to the deeper layers of his mind, teaching him how to sharpen his thoughts, streamline his memory recall, and, most importantly, defend his mind against intrusion.
He could feel his subconscious working even now, rearranging memories, creating stronger mental defenses, and honing his focus.
Each night, he delved deeper into the art of mind magic – Legilimency, mental manipulation, illusion casting, all tools he could use in battle. But mastering the full depth of the guide would take time, patience, and practice.
Right now, Alex was merely a student of it, learning to use its principles to enhance his reaction times and thought processes.
It had helped him greatly in sparring, allowing him to anticipate his father's moves slightly quicker, to see patterns where others might not. And if used correctly, this magic would allow him to predict an opponent's actions, if only a second or two in advance. A small advantage, but in combat, it could mean everything.
His mind drifted deeper into the mental exercises as he fine-tuned the barriers around his thoughts, ensuring that no one could penetrate his mind without his knowing.
It wasn't just about keeping secrets; it was about safeguarding the knowledge that could be weaponized against him.
As his body settled into the stillness of the night, Alex knew that his path was long, and mastery of both the sword, mind and magic would not come easily.
But he had already lived a life of survival, of hardship and rebellion. This time, he was prepared. This time, he would not just survive – he would dominate.
With a final deep breath, his thoughts stilled, and he drifted into sleep, knowing that tomorrow would bring more challenges, more lessons. But with each passing day, he grew stronger.