The training ground was located outdoors, at the back of the castle, nestled between the majestic royal residence and the vast garden that stretched to the horizon. This rectangular, spacious, and well-maintained area was surrounded by tall wooden fences reinforced with metal, designed to ensure safety during exercises.

The terrain, well-leveled but not completely smooth, featured occasional tufts of wild grass sprouting between stones and patches of sand, giving the field a natural and slightly uneven appearance. This type of flooring had been intentionally chosen to prepare fighters to train on various types of surfaces and to simulate the most realistic battle conditions.

At the center of the training area stood several straw targets and wooden dummies, now splintered and marked with deep wounds.

In one corner, an array of swords and shields was neatly arranged on wooden racks, ready for use. The variety of swords, some ancient and adorned with golden inlays, others simpler and more functional, underscored the importance of training in courtly life.

Fortunately for Mirac, who had no intention of tolerating further delays, the instructor was already present, positioned at the center of the field with his body turned three-quarters toward the entrance gate. His gaze wandered over the flowered horizon of the garden, as if he were pondering something distant.

"Oh, young Prince!" Leonard exclaimed, startled by Mirac's arrival. He hurried to approach, his stride confident and his face animated by a respectful smile.

"Have a good lesson, young Prince," said Carmen with a slight bow before moving away to resume her duties.

As Leonard approached, Mirac took the opportunity to study him closely.

The instructor had medium-length brown hair with unruly strands falling over his forehead, framing a youthful face marked by experience. His blue eyes shone with sharp determination, and his fair complexion highlighted the refined features of a man who appeared to be in his thirties.

The uniform he wore exuded an aura of authority and tradition. Made in a deep red, a color closely associated with the military realm of the Kingdom of Ardorya, the fabric—sturdy yet surprisingly light, likely wool—was designed to withstand the harsh conditions of military environments.

Every detail was not merely decorative but carried specific meaning tied to the wearer's rank and role: the high, stiff collar was edged with a black trim, a color associated with the highest ranks. The epaulets were adorned with golden braids, a distinctive symbol of the significance of his position.

The numerous golden buttons, finely decorated and arranged along the jacket, created a striking visual effect, giving the uniform a ceremonial appearance. The cuffs, finished with a black trim and an elegant fold, added an extra touch of sophistication. The discreetly hidden side pockets ensured functionality without compromising aesthetics.

The long trousers, of a simpler design, were black and matched perfectly with the calf-high boots, also black, which looked practical and durable.

As he approached, the Grand Knight kept his hand on the iron hilt of his longsword, which protruded from the black leather sheath secured to his right side. The hilt, visible above the sheath, gave the weapon a menacing yet elegant appearance, reflecting the value the weapon held for him.

Once he was a step away from Mirac, Leonard bowed respectfully, his posture perfect and deferential.

"It is an honor to train you personally, young Prince. I promise I will not disappoint you!" he declared with a mixture of eagerness and pride at the task entrusted to him.

Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, he started slightly:

"Oh, forgive me! I forgot to introduce myself: my name is-"

"There is no need, Grand Knight Leonard," Mirac interrupted him, halting his bow halfway. "King Arthur has already spoken to me at length about you during today's lunch."

Leonard smiled, relaxing slightly.

"I am glad to hear that, young Prince. If that is the case, I will do my best to live up to your expectations!"

Finished speaking, Leonard stepped back and picked up two wooden swords resting on a nearby rack. He examined them carefully before handing one to Mirac.

"To start, we'll use this," Leonard said. "It's a wooden sword, perfect for the first lessons. Heavy enough to let you feel the movement, but safe enough to avoid accidents."

Mirac took the sword with some reluctance, feeling its light but noticeable weight in his hands. The polished wooden hilt was smooth to the touch, and the weapon seemed almost harmless compared to the real sword hanging at Leonard's side.

"It's not what I imagined," Mirac admitted, lifting the sword with both hands and examining it. "It feels... like a toy!"

Leonard smiled, clearly amused.

"Do not be deceived by appearances, young Prince. Fencing is an ancient art, and before wielding a real sword, one must learn the fundamental movements, control, and discipline. Every great swordsman started here, with a wooden sword."

"Even you?" asked Mirac, though he already knew the answer.

But every now and then, he had to do it: pretend to be surprised and raise his eyebrows, to mask his true mental age and make the image of a 7-year-old child more believable.

Leonard nodded with a smile.

"Exactly! It all starts from this moment. But before focusing on striking, we must discuss how to hold a sword."

Leonard positioned himself beside Mirac, gripping his own wooden sword.

"Observe my posture. The position of the legs is the foundation of everything. Left foot forward, right foot back, knees slightly bent. This will give you balance and stability."

Mirac tried to mimic the instructor, but his movements were stiff and uncertain. Leonard stepped closer, gently adjusting the position of his legs and arms.

"Well done! Now grip the sword with both hands: your dominant hand, the one you write with, should be just above the handle, while the other hand goes at the base. The grip should be firm but not too rigid. Also, remember that you must feel the weapon as an extension of your body."

Mirac tightened his grip on the hilt as suggested, trying to find a balance that was neither too tight nor too loose. Leonard observed carefully, patiently correcting every mistake.

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"Much better! Now, let's begin with a simple lunge. Point the sword forward and push it in a smooth motion, keeping your body steady. The lunge is one of the simplest strikes, but it requires precision."

Mirac lifted the sword and attempted the lunge, but the movement was clumsy and imprecise. The tip of the sword didn't go where he intended, often ending up off-center.

Leonard watched without intervening immediately, allowing Mirac to experience the mistake.

"Don't worry if it's not perfect on the first try," Leonard said encouragingly. "No one was born with a sword in their hand. Every mistake is a step forward toward improvement. Let's try again, more slowly this time."

"All right!" replied the young Prince, this time with a hint of genuine enthusiasm.

Mirac repeated the motion, carefully following the instructor's guidance. He felt the weight of the sword pulling on his arm, the tension in his muscles, and the need to coordinate every part of his body to execute a single fluid gesture.

"Tsz!" Mirac huffed, frustrated at his inability to master the movement as he desired.

After a few more attempts, his frustration began to rise quickly, but Leonard's patience encouraged him not to give up.

"Very good, you're improving! Every movement, even the smallest one, has a purpose. Now, try to hit that target in front of you."

Mirac looked at the target indicated by the instructor: a simple circle of straw positioned a few steps away.

'All right, you little bastard, it's you and me!'

He took a deep breath, trying to piece together everything Leonard had taught him in just a few minutes.

He lunged again, this time with greater conviction. The tip of the sword struck the target—not perfectly at the center, but close enough to bring a smile of satisfaction to Leonard's face.

"Excellent, young Prince! This is just the beginning, but it shows that you have the determination needed to improve. It's not just about strength, but about the mind and body working in unison."

Mirac lowered the sword, his heart pounding.

'Damn! This is way harder than I thought…'

As Mirac caught his breath, Leonard stepped closer.

"Shall we continue?" the instructor asked, ready to move on to the next lesson.

Mirac nodded, gripping the sword with renewed enthusiasm.

"Let's continue!"

Leonard's face lit up as he saw Mirac's fighting spirit.

"Good. Now we'll move on to parry and counterattack exercises," Leonard explained, approaching Mirac. "In battle, knowing how to defend is just as important as knowing how to attack. The sword is not just an offensive weapon: it's also our shield."

Gripping his wooden sword firmly and taking a steady stance, Leonard continued with an encouraging smile:

"Now, young Prince, I want you to strike me with your sword, from any direction you desir-"

Mirac didn't waste another second. Without waiting for the instructor to finish speaking, the young Prince lunged forward, delivering a decisive and quick strike with his sword.

He wanted to understand how skilled and fast the "second strongest swordsman in the world" was with a sword, studying his reaction instincts. And what better way to do it than by trying to strike him when he least expected it?

Mirac launched the attack with determination, but without the necessary speed to catch his opponent off guard, making it ineffective.

Indeed, Leonard's response was lightning-fast: his sword moved with surprising fluidity, drawing a brief but precise line through the air, and with disarming simplicity, he intercepted Mirac's strike.

A confident smile tugged at Leonard's lips as the wood of the two swords met with a sharp sound.

"Not bad, young Prince," said Leonard in a teaching tone, lowering his guard as Mirac stepped back. "But fencing isn't just about strength or speed. It also requires precision and control. Let me show you."

Leonard took a step back, rotating the sword with fluid movements.

"Parries are divided into categories, each designed to intercept an attack from a specific angle. Each parry has a number associated with it, making it easier to learn and remember. For example," he raised his sword in a high position, angled to deflect a downward strike, "this is the fourth parry. Perfect for deflecting blows aimed at the head."

Leonard lowered the sword.

"Now, young Prince, I will attack, and you must parry with what I just showed you. When you think you have the chance to counterattack, do it."

Mirac nodded, trying to hide the growing excitement and anxiety within him.

"Alright!"

Without hesitation, Leonard sprang into action.

With a fluid motion, Leonard raised his wooden sword and delivered a downward strike. The sound of the wood slicing through the air made Mirac flinch, but the young Prince reacted instinctively, lifting his sword to parry, trying to imitate the fourth parry that his master had shown him.

Although Leonard had controlled the force of the blow, the impact was enough to force Mirac to bend his knees and lower himself to maintain his balance.

'Damn, what strength!' thought the young Prince, tightening his grip on the hilt to avoid losing hold of it.

Leonard smiled, the calmness of his face a stark contrast to the intensity of his movements.

"Very good! But remember, the parry is not just for defense. It should also give you the opportunity to react."

Before Mirac could respond, Leonard attacked again, a similar blow from above. This time, the young Prince was more prepared. He raised his sword with determination, stopping the attack with enough force to make his arms vibrate, but without losing ground.

"Better," Leonard commented.

'But now, let's see how you handle this...' thought the knight as he raised his sword once more.

But instead of bringing it down, Leonard changed direction mid-swing, delivering a quick sideways strike.

Mirac, caught by surprise, barely managed to bring the sword into the correct position: vertical, close to his face, and perpendicular to the ground. The sound of wood clashing against wood rang out clearly.

'Oh, that was close!' thought Mirac, breathing heavily. 'I was lucky, but I can't keep going like this!'

Limiting himself to just blocking the blows, without ever taking the initiative, would have prevented him from counterattacking.

Mirac was fully aware of this, just as he was aware that the speed of his small, young body was too low to approach Leonard without the latter easily reacting in time, as he had done before.

Thinking about it carefully, the only possibility that came to his mind was to catch Leonard by surprise.

But this time, for real!

To do this, Mirac waited for that brief instant when the knight, as always, would withdraw his sword after the attack to prepare for another strike. All of this was to deliberately avoid clashing with the direct resistance of his Master, who would certainly block any attempt.

As soon as Leonard's blade began to retreat, Mirac seized the moment. He followed the knight's sword movement and pushed it away with such ease that even a seven-year-old child like him would have been able to do it.

Leonard's sword swung horizontally in a wide half-arc.

Finally, as planned, Mirac lunged forward, aiming for Leonard's exposed chest, his body tense in an instinctive defense.

However, Leonard was already prepared: his blade met the tip of Mirac's sword with a sharp sound, blocking the blow with impeccable precision.

In an instant, and with a decisive motion, Leonard forcefully pushed his student's weapon, forcing the latter to step back a few paces.

Mirac immediately regained his stance, his hands gripping the hilt as he had been taught, ready to continue.

However, when he looked at Leonard, he caught a look of genuine admiration.

"Good job!" the knight exclaimed, lowering his sword. "Your reflexes are quite impressive!"

Mirac relaxed his muscles, lowering his guard as he caught his breath.

"Oh, really?!" he asked, almost blushing at the compliment.

Leonard calmly set his wooden sword on the ground, the tip touching the earth while his hands gripped the hilt.

"Unfortunately, though, reflexes alone will never be enough," Leonard said. "Sometimes you might lose sight of the enemy. They could be hiding in the shadows or moving silently between the trees, ready to strike. Or, it could be that the confusion of the battlefield distracts you, clouding your senses. In those moments, strength, speed, reflexes, and mastery of the sword won't be enough to save your life."

His expression grew serious, his eyes fixed on the disciple.

"Remember, young Prince... If you want to survive, do as you did today: always trust your instincts!"

Mirac swallowed, feeling a sense of danger and foreboding in those words.

'Wow, how creepy!' he thought, his eyes widening slightly. 'But, he's not entirely wrong...'

Leonard carefully observed the expression of the young prince, as if he wanted to be sure that his words hadn't had too heavy an effect. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat and said:

"Umm... I hope I haven't frightened you, young Prince. That wasn't my intention…"

Mirac, still shaken by the force of that speech, took a step forward and smiled.

"No, Master, don't worry. It takes much more to scare me."

The Master, visibly relieved, nodded without saying a word, while an amused smile appeared on his lips.

"Oh, really? Heh, well then," Leonard said at last, raising his sword again. "If that's really the case, let's continue."

Without wasting any more time, they resumed their training, both unaware that they were being watched by someone.