A month had passed since Isaki's victory over Jurge, and with only one month left until the start of the academy, the days felt both fleeting and heavy with anticipation. During this time, Isaki had been training hard, spending many hours with his father, honing his skills with the Lunar Sword technique. His body had grown stronger, his mind sharper, but there was still one challenge that seemed to evade him: the Solar Sword technique his mother had left behind.

It was during one of those late afternoon training sessions, with the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, that Isaki found himself frustrated once again. He had been practicing the Solar Sword moves for weeks, but the basics moves of the Solar Sword were elusive. His movements felt clumsy, unrefined. The technique was vastly different from anything he had learned before, and his mother's notes—though detailed—couldn't quite make the pieces fall into place.

Izaku, standing nearby with his arms crossed, watched his son struggle through another failed attempt. Finally, Isaki dropped the training stance, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his brow.

"I don't get it, Father," Isaki admitted, wiping his face with his sleeve. "The Solar Sword is supposed to be my mother's legacy, but I can't even master the basics. It's... different from the Lunar Sword. It feels like the techniques come from entirely different worlds."

Izaku smiled softly and approached his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Your mother's techniques were never easy, Isaki. The Solar Sword was her personal creation, crafted through years of knowledge. She was a genius with the sword, and what came naturally to her won't be the same for you. But that doesn't mean you can't learn it."

Isaki frowned, looking down at the practice sword in his hand. "But I feel like I'm wasting time. The academy is starting soon, and I thought... I thought I'd be ready by now."

Izaku's eyes softened as he crouched down to meet Isaki's gaze. "You're not wasting time. Everything you're learning now is preparing you for something bigger. But here's what I think: for now, focus on mastering the Lunar Sword. The Solar Sword is more advanced, and without a solid foundation, it will continue to frustrate you. The Lunar Sword will help you understand the principles behind both techniques. Once you've truly mastered it, the Solar Sword's basic moves will start to make sense."

Isaki sighed, though he nodded slowly. "I guess that makes sense. But what if I never learn it?"

"You will," Izaku said confidently. "You have your mother's strength in you. And you have mine. Don't rush the process. The path of the sword takes time, discipline, and patience."

Isaki smiled faintly, feeling a small sense of reassurance. His father had a way of calming his doubts, grounding him when he felt lost. "Alright, I'll focus on the Lunar Sword for now."

As they stood, Izaku's eyes fell on Isaki's sword. His expression changed, becoming more serious. "Speaking of swords," Izaku began, reaching out to inspect the blade, "I've noticed something."

Isaki handed the sword to his father, already aware of what he was about to say. The blade was chipped along the edges, the steel dull and worn. After weeks of intensive training, the sword—one given to him during the third year of military training—was showing signs of strain. It had served him well, but it was never meant to endure the kind of pressure Isaki's growing aura was placing on it.

Izaku ran his fingers along the blade's chipped surface, his brow furrowing. "This sword can't handle your aura anymore, Isaki. It's already starting to crack. It won't last much longer."

Isaki nodded, looking down at the weapon. "I noticed. I didn't think it would wear out this quickly, but it's already falling apart. I guess I need a better one."

"These swords they give you in training are made from third-tier metals," Izaku explained. "They're decent for basic combat, but they were never meant for someone with your level of aura control. You're growing stronger every day, and your sword needs to match that strength."

Isaki looked at his father, understanding the seriousness of the situation. "So... I need a new sword. But where can we find one that can handle my aura without costing a fortune?"

Izaku smiled knowingly. "I've already thought about that. There's a place I know—a village to the south of Dawn called Asdra. It's one of the main villages in the southern territories known for its blacksmiths. Some of the best swords in the region come from there."

"Asdra?" Isaki repeated, intrigued. He had heard of the village before but never realized it was famous for its weapons.

Izaku nodded. "I know a blacksmith there—an old friend. He crafts high-quality weapons, and he owes me a favor. We can get you a sword that's suited to your aura, made from materials that will last."

Isaki's eyes lit up with excitement. A new sword—a real one that could match his abilities. "When can we go?"

"In two days," Izaku replied, clapping a hand on his son's back. "We'll leave for Asdra and get you a sword worthy of your training. It's about time you had a weapon that can keep up with you."

Isaki grinned, feeling a surge of excitement. "Thank you, Father. I'll make sure this new sword helps me become even stronger."

Izaku chuckled. "I have no doubt about that. But remember—no matter how good the sword is, it's the warrior who wields it that makes the difference. You can have the finest sword in the world, but it's useless without skill and heart."

Isaki nodded firmly, his determination renewed. "I understand. I'll keep training hard."

Izaku smiled warmly. "Good. Then it's settled. In two days, we head to Asdra. We'll find you a sword that suits your strength—and prepare you for whatever challenges lie ahead."

The anticipation of the journey filled Isaki with a sense of purpose. A new sword, a new chapter in his training. He could already feel the excitement building inside him. As his father walked back toward the house, Isaki stood for a moment longer, looking down at his chipped sword. Soon, he would have a sword that could match his aura, a weapon worthy of the path he was walking.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Two days had passed, and the time had come for Isaki and his father, Izaku, to make their way to Asdra. Izaku had prepared two sturdy horses—one for himself and the other for his son. As they stood outside the house, with the sun rising gently over the horizon, Izaku glanced at Isaki with a grin.

"Well, do you remember how to ride a horse, or did you forget during these three long years of training?" Izaku teased, giving Isaki a playful nudge on the shoulder.

Isaki smirked, adjusting the straps of the light travel gear he had prepared for the journey. "Forget? Please, I was a better rider than you when I was twelve," he shot back, rolling his eyes with a laugh.

Izaku chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Better than me? We'll see about that. Don't go falling off your horse in front of the village girls."

Isaki shook his head, letting out a short laugh. "I'm more worried about you getting lost. It's been a while since you've gone outside the village, hasn't it, old man?"

"Old man?" Izaku scoffed, swinging himself up onto his horse with an ease that surprised even Isaki. "I can still outlast you any day, boy."

"Right, right." Isaki mounted his own horse, the leather reins firm in his grip, feeling the familiar sense of freedom and strength that came with riding. He gave his father a grin, playfully challenging. "Let's see who makes it to Asdra first then, shall we?"

"Don't get too cocky, Isaki," Izaku replied with a mock-serious tone, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes. He nudged his horse forward, and soon the two of them were riding side by side, the rhythmic beat of hooves on the dirt road echoing through the quiet morning.

As the village of Dawn grew smaller behind them, the rolling hills and open fields stretched out in front, leading them towards Asdra. The wind brushed against their faces, and for a moment, there was a peaceful silence between father and son, both focused on the journey ahead.

And so, with light banter and a sense of purpose, Isaki and Izaku made their way towards the famed village of Asdra, where Isaki's new sword awaited him—an important step towards his future as a warrior.

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The air in Asdra was thick with the scent of burning coal and the sound of hammers striking metal. Though it was winter, the heat from the forges made the village feel as if summer had never left. Flames danced inside large furnaces, their glow casting shadows on the walls of nearby workshops, where blacksmiths were hard at work. The clang of metal echoed through the streets, accompanied by the low murmur of conversations. It was a village alive with the spirit of craftsmanship.

Isaki and Izaku rode through the bustling village, their horses moving at a steady pace. Even though it was only mid-morning, Asdra was brimming with life. Cadets who had just completed their third year of military training wandered the streets, their voices filled with excitement. The village was buzzing with stories of new talents—cadets so skilled that their names were already spreading across the region.

"Quite the lively place, isn't it?" Isaki remarked, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

Izaku nodded, his gaze sweeping across the village. "Asdra's always been like this. The heart of the Southern Territories when it comes to weapons and warriors."

They soon reached a large workshop on the edge of the village. The blacksmith's forge stood out among the others, with three large furnaces roaring and ten workers hammering away at molten steel. The heat here was almost unbearable, but neither father nor son flinched. This was where warriors' weapons were born.

"Druk should be inside," Izaku said as they dismounted, leading the way into the workshop.

Inside, the sounds were even louder. Sparks flew as metal was shaped and tempered. In the middle of it all stood Druk, an old man with a muscular build that seemed out of place for someone nearing eighty years of age. His white hair was thick, and his eyes were sharp, watching everything with the precision of a hawk.

As Druk turned, his face lit up when he saw Izaku. "Well, look who finally decided to visit!" he boomed, his voice carrying over the noise of the workshop. He walked over, a wide grin spreading across his face. "I thought you'd forgotten all about me, Izaku."

Izaku laughed, stepping forward to clasp the old man's arm. "Forget you? Never. Just been... busy."

"Busy, huh?" Druk raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "That's what you said more than ten years ago! You've been avoiding me, haven't you?"

"Only because you'd try to rope me into helping you here!" Izaku joked, glancing at the workers.

Druk chuckled deeply. "Ah, you probably couldn't keep up with these young men anymore. But it's good to see you." His eyes then fell on Isaki, and the grin widened. "So, this is your boy? Last time I saw him, he was no bigger than my hammer."

Isaki bowed respectfully. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"Honor, he says," Druk laughed. "You've grown tall and strong, just like your old man. He's raised you well, I can see that."

Izaku nodded, his expression proud. "He's come a long way, but now he needs a sword that can keep up with him,managing to withstand his aura during his journey at Fate Academy."

Druk's eyes gleamed with interest. "A sword, eh? Well, I can't just hand out any blade. Show me your aura, boy. Let's see what you're working with."

Isaki took a deep breath, focusing as he let his aura flow. It swirled around him, steady and powerful, glowing faintly in the air.

Druk's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Not bad. Not bad at all for someone your age." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "There's a girl here in Asdra who topped the rankings this year. Stronger than most boys. But... she's a mage. If she were a swordswoman, I'd be making her a blade myself."

"is she still in Asdra?" Isaki asked, intrigued.

Druk nodded. "She's already on her way to meet her family before the academy starts. You'll probably run into her there,i think she decided to enroll at Fate Academy. But don't get any ideas—she's way out of your league," he said with a wink.

Isaki grinned. "I guess we'll see about that."

Druk laughed heartily. "I like your spirit, boy. Now, let me find you a sword."

The old blacksmith walked over to a rack of swords, each one gleaming under the forge's light. After examining a few, he picked one up, testing its weight before handing it to Isaki. "This one should suit you. It's designed to handle up to the third level of aura, and it should last you through most of your academy years."

Isaki took the sword, feeling its balance in his hands. It was perfect—light but sturdy, and it responded well to his aura, the blade humming slightly as his energy flowed through it. "It's incredible. Thank you, Druk."

Izaku clapped Druk on the shoulder. "Alright, Druk, what's the damage? How much do I owe you?"

Druk waved him off with a grin. "Oh, get out of here. For you and your boy? Consider it a gift. You never visit, so at least let me do this for you!"

Izaku laughed, shaking his head. "You're too generous, old man. I'll owe you one."

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't take another ten years to pay me back," Druk joked.

Isaki and Izaku both laughed, grateful for Druk's generosity. After a few more words, they bid him farewell and mounted their horses again, making their way back toward Dawn.

As they rode, Izaku glanced at Isaki, his expression thoughtful. "You know, that girl Druk mentioned... It just goes to show you how big the world is. There are warriors everywhere, stronger than you'd ever expect."

Isaki nodded, gripping the reins of his horse tightly. "I know. But I'm ready. I'll keep training, keep improving. I won't let anyone get ahead of me."

Izaku smiled, his eyes filled with pride. "That's the spirit, Isaki. Just remember, strength comes from more than just power—it's about how you face the challenges ahead."

With those words lingering in the air, they rode toward home, the sun setting behind them, casting long shadows over the road as they prepared for the journey ahead.