Leo was sweating buckets, his muscles screaming in protest, as he tried to follow Roland's instructions. His two short swords flashed through the air, quick and shiny, but his movements lacked the skill and flow of a real swordsman. Roland stuck his greatsword in the ground and leaned on the pommel, watching him closely, as firm and unshakeable as an old oak tree.

"Again," Roland said.

Leo had lost count of how many times he'd done these drills over the past week. Roland was a tough teacher, as tough as they come. He was famous for a reason, and now Leo was finding out why. He felt like a clumsy child, his movements awkward and unrefined compared to the effortless grace of his teacher.

"Focus, lad," Roland said, his voice resonating across the training grounds. "Swordsmanship is not simply brute strength. It needs to be as fluid and powerful as the mountain wind, unstoppable and focused."

Leo, panting heavily, attempted a strike, but Roland swiftly corrected him. Leo's blades were fast, but Roland, with his years of experience, could read his movements and consistently anticipate the young apprentice's mistakes.

"Your stance," Roland corrected, his voice firm. "You are planted like a fragile shrub, ready to be uprooted by the slightest breeze, let alone an experienced opponent." He pointed his sword at Leo's feet. "Imagine yourself with strong roots anchoring you to the earth. Maintain focus on your legs; they are your foundation. Strive to be a mighty oak, unyielding and powerful, not a delicate balsam fir."

With the fluid grace of a predator, Roland moved, his greatsword whistling through the air like the wind, causing the nearby trees' leaves and branches to dance in response. Even though it was a massive weapon, it seemed to move effortlessly in his hands, an extension of his own body. He moved back and forth, his greatsword a silver flash in the morning sun, the air humming with each swing. Leo tried to mirror him, but his movements were clumsy, his short swords trembling in his grip. He struggled to emulate Roland’s effortless flow, his own motions stiff and uncertain.

"Better," Roland said, "but you still have a lot to learn. You need to be flexible like water, lad. Adapt. Flow with the movements; don't fight against them. Water can be calm and still like a lake or raging like a waterfall. Find your rhythm, your own flow, but never stop moving."

Roland stopped, his gaze dropping to the ground, where Leo's shadow stretched long and distorted in the morning light. "Look, even your shadow moves with the sun," Roland said, his voice softer now. "Nothing in nature remains static. Swordsmanship is about movement, about embracing the flow of life itself."

"But how can that be the same?" Leo asked, incredulous. "I use two short swords; you wield a greatsword. They're completely different."

“The fundamentals of swordsmanship are the same,” Roland explained. “What differs is what you aspire to achieve through your swordsmanship. Even if your style is based on speed and agility, your stance must be firm, a solid anchor for your movements. Even if your attacks seem light, they must flow together, seeking the opening, the lethal point. The answer, Leo, lies not just in how you move but in the fluidity, the control, and the stability of your movements."

Leo nodded slowly, trying to absorb each word, his mind struggling to grasp the deeper meaning. He looked down at his short swords, trying to see them not as mere weapons but as extensions of his own body—light as air, fluid as water, ready to move as he willed them.

He took a deep breath, feeling the sun’s warmth on his skin, the solid earth beneath his feet, and the cool breeze against his face. He would use all of it, he resolved, to his advantage. He would become one with his surroundings, like Roland said.

Roland placed a hand on Leo’s shoulder, a surprisingly gentle touch for such a hardened warrior. “You have potential, lad. But potential is like a seed; it needs to be cultivated and nurtured with dedication and patience if it's to grow into something strong. Continue practicing, keep pushing yourself, and one day you will flourish, I have no doubt.”

"First you put me through hell, and now you say something so kind?” Leo smiled—a genuine smile, the first one to truly reach his eyes in what felt like an eternity. In that instant, a spark of hope ignited within him, and he felt a profound connection with Roland, a sense of trust he hadn't felt for anyone else since Besen.

"HAHAHAHA!” Roland roared with laughter, sheathing his greatsword with a decisive clang. Before turning away, he clapped Leo on the back, a gesture of camaraderie that conveyed a powerful message. He stopped a short distance away and locked his gaze on Leo, his eyes piercing, searching.

Leo, emboldened by Roland's words and by the strange, exhilarating feeling that had bloomed within him during their spar, met his instructor’s intense gaze. His own eyes shone with newfound determination, a silent promise passing between them.

He felt the weight of the analogy, the profound wisdom in Roland’s words, and a surge of resolve filled him. He was ready—ready to embrace the arduous journey ahead. One day, no matter how distant it seemed, he would become a warrior worthy of Roland's faith in him. He would honor his teachings; he would seize the opportunities given to him, and he would avenge those he had lost.

A sudden understanding dawned on Leo. Swordsmanship wasn't just fighting; it was like a dance, a fluid conversation between two bodies, two wills. And he was starting to get it, starting to feel the rhythm. He felt like he should stop overthinking and just let the movements flow; let the countless hours of practice take over, trusting his instincts.

Roland, sensing a change in Leo, raised his greatsword, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. "Now this is the real deal," Roland said, his voice low and serious. "Don't hold back. Attack me, and remember everything I taught you. Be like the wind, be like water, be like a tree, rooted and unyielding."

“Be the dance itself,” Leo whispered, more to himself than to Roland.

A flicker of a smile crossed Roland's lips, impressed. He could see a change in Leo, a new understanding in his eyes. “A dance, huh... Interesting. Has the kid finally found his path?” He thought to himself.

Roland settled into his fighting stance, his greatsword held ready. “Come!” he commanded, his voice ringing with challenge.

Taking a deep breath, Leo drew his short swords. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of the blades in his hands, the cool air on his skin, the solid ground beneath his feet. Then, opening his eyes, he took his first step, not as a clumsy novice but as a dancer stepping onto the stage.

Following his epiphany, he moved with a newfound focus, his entire being committed fully to the action. It was as if a switch had been flipped within him. A tunnel of focus narrowed his vision; to Leo, everything slowed, each movement, each breath, occurring with remarkable clarity and precision. He sprinted toward Roland, and as he drew near, he felt a surge of energy, a power he hadn't known he possessed, coursing through his legs. He propelled himself forward, his short swords crossing in an X-shaped cut, aimed at Roland’s neck, targeting the jugular and aorta—a purely instinctive action, born from a desperate need to prove himself.

At the last possible moment, Roland, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly, raised his greatsword, deflecting the attack with a practiced ease. A metallic clang echoed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone present.

Leo was thrown aside and rolled across the ground from the force of the impact. He was left breathless and bewildered. "Why did Roland wait until the last moment to block my attack?" He wondered, his mind racing.

Roland just stood there for a bit, trying to figure out what just happened. He had seen something in that attack, something beyond mere skill or technique. It was as if the boy had momentarily transcended his limitations. He remembered Leo showing him his stats card—he’d never seen such weak stats in his life. So, what the heck just happened? He looked at Leo, his gaze intense, searching. His eyes were like burning red.

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“Sorry, Mr. Roland, I got a little too into it,” Leo said, trying to get up, but his legs wouldn’t work. He felt drained and exhausted, as if he had run a marathon.

“What the heck was that?” Roland muttered, more to himself than to Leo.

Leo just couldn’t understand it. To him, it felt like what he always did, just a little more focused this time. However, Roland was completely unaware of Leo's ability to cover such a vast expanse and launch an attack in such a short amount of time.

“What’s the secret behind that, lad?” Roland asked him, his voice low and serious.

“I didn’t do anything more than what you already taught me, Mr. Roland,” Leo said, rubbing his legs, trying to get the feeling back into them.

“You got nothing else to tell me? You sure?” Roland was super serious.

Leo thought about whether he should trust Roland and tell him about his growth potential. Roland had been like a Guardian Angel to him so far, so he figured it was okay to tell him. Leo then took a small crumpled piece of Guild House magic paper, printed by a magical device, out of his pocket and gave it to Roland.

Roland took the paper and saw it was from the Guild House. Roland opened the paper and read “Growth Potential: ⛤." It got quiet between them, just the sound of other people training in the background. Roland gave the paper back to Leo, stuck his sword in the ground, and squatted down next to Leo.

“Does anyone else know about this?” Roland frowned, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Nope…”

“Don’t tell anyone else about it; burn that paper,” he said quietly.

"A pentagram potential? Was all that stuff he’d heard way back when true?" Roland was struggling to comprehend the situation. He then looked at Leo’s chest, and there was his mom’s pendant. A memory stirred within him—a face he hadn't thought of in years.

“Lad, we’re done for today; you can’t even get up," Roland said, checking on Leo. He had clearly overexerted himself, pushing his body beyond its limits.

Some people were watching and talking about Leo’s performance. How had the guy gotten so much better in just ten days? Leo was still tiny compared to the Neumonds, who woke up when they were supposed to, but what just happened was totally out of the blue, even if they didn’t know about Leo’s stats.

Roland overheard several people commenting that small sparks had been observed emanating from Leo’s feet as he launched his attack. He questioned whether it was merely an optical illusion or the result of excessive friction, as any other explanation seemed impossible.

“Beginning tomorrow, we will train in the Vulture Forest outside of Gothia. With your GHMC (Guild House Membership Card), we can leave the city; it will be much safer to train away from prying eyes. I will protect you there,” Roland stated, formulating plans while considering the situation. He knew that Leo's secret wouldn't stay hidden for long.

“Very well,” Leo agreed, trusting Roland completely.

Barely able to stand, he bid farewell to Roland and walked slowly toward his home. During his walk, he reflected that he was finally controlling his life, yet everything felt somewhat perilous. The prevailing atmosphere he sensed today was one of distinct hostility—not from Roland but from the world around him. He felt like a deer, surrounded by enemies he couldn't even see.

Leo took a nice bath, chilled for a bit, and decided to go for a walk. Now that he had his GHMC, he could go to some places he couldn’t before. He put on his best clothes, even though they weren’t great, and left. He headed to the third district of Gothia, which was like the fancy part of town.

Leah had been buried on Mount Lichtwelt like Roland promised Leo. It was a place where people who did great stuff got their final rest. Not everyone could go there, except for special events or if they had special permission.

Leo went through the gates of the third district after the guards checked his ID. They told him to stay away from the main castle, but Leo said he was going to Mount Lichtwelt. When he got there, he was blown away by how beautiful it was. It was a huge garden of roses and flowers behind the main castle. There were tons of decorations and marble tombs, but it didn’t feel creepy at all—it really felt like a resting place in heaven.

Leo got lost in that little maze, walking between tombs of heroes, kings, queens, and other important people. He read some names and what was written on the graves and kept walking. After a while, he found Leah’s grave. There was just a small marble plaque on the ground, and it said: “Leah Winter—Mother, Heroine, may Lyra welcome you among the Seven Gods. — She bravely passed away protecting Besen Village.”

“Winter? Who is Winter? My mom is Winston. Why did I lose my memories at that time?” He sighed, a thousand unanswered questions swirling in his mind.

Leo thought that couldn’t be any more generic. He wished he could’ve given his mom a better tribute, but he was happy she was buried with so many nobles and heroes. Gothia had given her proper respect for protecting the last survivor of Besen, Leo.

After saying a quick prayer for his mom, Leo looked around and noticed that all the other tombs and headstones were less taken care of than Leah’s. He thought it was really weird. Who in Gothia would take care of the grave of a woman who died in a small village miles away?

Putting that aside, he felt bad that he couldn’t even bring her a flower. Leo was totally broke and saving every penny just to eat; he’d been training this whole time without working at all.

“Sorry, Mom, I promise I’ll bring you some nice flowers next time,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

A soft breeze smelling like the flowers there blew across Mount Lichtwelt, carrying colorful petals that spun as they fell. The sun going down made the sky all orange. In the middle of all that color, a sweet voice broke the silence:

“Someone special to you?”

Leo turned around, startled. He didn’t even notice anyone else was there.

Standing before him was a girl, radiant in the fading sunlight. He sees a girl in her light battle outfit, made of black leather that fits her perfectly, showing off her slim and athletic build. Tribal designs, in a bright crimson red like dried blood, were on the leather, telling stories of old traditions. The girl looked about eighteen or nineteen; her black hair was partly up in a fancy bun, but some loose hairs framed her face. The rest of her hair went down her back in a ponytail like a dark silk waterfall. Her face was small, and her nose was thin and cute, with a little upturn that made her look charming. Her mouth was small and full, with perfectly shaped red lips. Her light brown eyes were big and almond-shaped, like women from the East, with thin arched eyebrows that finished the picture.

She gave a small smile when their eyes met, and a dimple popped out on her cheek.

"Dimple…?” Leo said, confused, a sudden, inexplicable sense of recognition washing over him.

“Hey?” She giggled, her voice like the tinkling of bells.

“Oh, sorry… I was just here. Leo totally blanked, his mind struggling to reconcile the beautiful stranger with the strange feeling of familiarity.

“Yeah, you were there, so?” She teased him.

Leo had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. He was totally hypnotized; he thought she was like an angel of death since a beautiful garden in the middle of a graveyard had to mean something. Leo had high standards for beauty, but this girl was unreal.

“Oh, well, just visiting my mom... but why were you back there?” Leo got himself together.

“I’m here to visit my dad, that one right there.” She pointed to a marble tomb a few meters away.

“I get it. Sorry for your loss,” Leo said sadly.

“It’s okay; it’s been a while,” she said, thinking. “By the way, I was the one taking care of your mom’s grave,” she said.

“But…why?” Leo asked, looking at her dad’s grave, which was also clean and nice.

“See here? It says, ‘May Lyra welcome you.' Only really special people get to have the names of the three Primordials on their gravestones. I thought your mom deserved it.”

“Thanks for that, but I don’t think she was that big of a deal to other people." Leo said, kind of sad.

“Mount Lichtwelt never mess up... think about it,” the girl said as she turned to go.

“Wait, you didn't tell me your name, please..." Leo asked cautiously.

She turned back to him again, walking backward toward the exit, and said playfully.

“My name’s Evelyn... Don’t forget it," she smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I won’t…” Leo said, confused. “Mine’s…”

She cut him off.

“Leonard…” Evelyn finished as she walked faster and disappeared, leaving Leo alone in the twilight with more questions than answers.

“What? How did she…?” Leo stood there dumbfounded, unable to comprehend anything.

That day, Evelyn appeared as a gentle little kitten, charming her owner without leaving a trace, but she left after causing significant damage.