Elysian reached for the spear on the weapon rack, feeling its weight and balance as he began to practice. He focused on the fundamentals: thrusting, jabbing, and basic maneuvers. While these movements might not appear impressive or awe-inspiring to onlookers, Elysian understood their crucial importance. All weapon styles and martial arts, regardless of their complexity, were rooted in these essential foundations.

He reflected on the universality of these basics. No matter the country, continent, or language, the fundamental principles of fighting with a specific weapon remained constant. The inherent nature of each weapon dictated its primary use. A spear, with its long shaft and pointed tip, was clearly designed to pierce and keep opponents at bay. In contrast, a sword's edge made it ideal for cutting and slashing. Elysian knew that regardless of a warrior's level of expertise or the intricacy of their techniques, mastery always circled back to these elemental forms.

Unlike his extensive experience with swords, Elysian's practical knowledge of spears was limited. He lacked the refined techniques and muscle memory he had developed with blades over years of combat. However, this realization didn't discourage him. Instead, he viewed it as an opportunity for growth and improvement.

In his previous life, Elysian had crafted his own fighting style, but he was acutely aware of its shortcomings. His skills paled in comparison to the monstrous talents he had encountered in the Eastern Continent or the seasoned masters of the Great Desert. This awareness made his transition to a new weapon feel less like a loss and more like a fresh start—a chance to build something greater.

As he continued his practice, Elysian felt a spark of excitement. He was confident that, given time and dedicated effort, he could develop a far more potent and effective style with the spear. This new path represented not just a change in weaponry, but a symbolic shift in his approach to cultivation and combat.

With each thrust and parry, Elysian envisioned the battles to come. He imagined how he would adapt his strategies, leverage the spear's reach, and combine it with his accumulated knowledge and experience. This wasn't merely about mastering a new weapon; it was about forging a new identity as a cultivator and warrior.

As sweat began to bead on his brow, Elysian allowed himself a small smile. The journey ahead would be challenging, but he was ready to embrace it. With patience, perseverance, and the wisdom gained from his past life, he was determined to surpass his former limits and become a true master of the spear.

Elysian lost track of time, fully absorbed in his relentless pursuit of perfection with every thrust and jab. He pushed himself to the limit, refining each movement until his muscles burned and his lungs ached for air. Finally, exhausted beyond measure, the young noble collapsed onto the ground, chest heaving as he gasped for breath. This training session had drained him far more than his usual daily practices. He had entered a state of flow, the world around him fading away as he became one with the spear.

Suddenly, the sound of applause broke through his fatigue-induced haze. Elysian turned his head towards the door of the training hall to see Bran and Osric clapping enthusiastically, their eyes wide with wonder at the display they had just witnessed.

'They must see this as impressive through their innocent and young eyes.'

He let out a tired sigh, fully aware that his seemingly impressive display paled in comparison to the feats of true masters and grandmasters in the arts of war and weaponry. In his mind's eye, he could see those legendary figures, their movements a blur of deadly grace and efficiency. Compared to them, Elysian felt like a mere child gazing up at the unreachable heavens—a pinnacle he could only hope to ascend, though the likelihood seemed slim.

As he slowly sat up, wiping sweat from his brow, Elysian allowed himself a small smile. The admiration in Bran and Osric's eyes reminded him of his own journey, how far he had come, and how far he still had to go. Their wonderment served as both encouragement and a humbling reminder of the vast expanse of martial prowess that lay beyond his current abilities.

"Young master," Bran called out, his voice tinged with excitement, "that was incredible! I've never seen anyone handle a spear like that before."

Osric nodded in agreement, adding, "You moved like water, flowing from one stance to another. How long have you been practicing with a spear?"

Elysian considered his response carefully. He couldn't reveal the truth or the years of experience hidden behind his youthful facade. Instead, he decided to use this moment as an opportunity to impart a lesson.

"Thank you for your kind words," he said, rising to his feet with a slight groan. "But what you saw was merely the beginning of a long journey. True mastery lies far beyond what I can currently achieve."

He walked over to his young companions, spear in hand. "The path of martial prowess is endless, with always more to learn and improve upon. What matters most is not the level we reach, but the dedication we show to our craft each day."

As he spoke, Elysian realized that his words were as much for himself as for Bran and Osric. His previous life had shown him the heights of power, but this new chance allowed him to appreciate the journey itself. With renewed determination, he gripped the spear tighter, ready to continue his pursuit of excellence—one thrust, one day at a time.

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With a heavy sigh, Elysian raised an eyebrow and addressed his companions. "By the way, what took you so long? Don't tell me you were trying to waste time and escape your daily training?"

Bran hurriedly defended himself, "Young master, we've been here waiting for you. We know we shouldn't disturb you if you're deep in meditation. You warned us it's dangerous."

"I know that, you big oaf," Elysian scoffed. "But even before I entered deep meditation, you were already thirty minutes late. So don't give me that excuse."

Osric suddenly sighed. "I'm sorry, we were late, master. It was my fault."

Elysian turned to the young soldier, his curiosity piqued. He knew Osric wouldn't waste time without good reason. "Was there a problem?"

"I think there might be," Osric replied, his expression growing serious. "I've heard that the commander will be sending a bulk of Ironspire's forces here in the city back to the frontier."

"What?" Elysian's eyes widened in surprise. "You're saying they're not just cycling some of the forces to give the soldiers at the frontier some rest, but actually sending a significant portion of our forces there?"

Osric nodded grimly. "Yes, that's right. I've confirmed it."

Elysian's face turned serious as he contemplated the implications of such a move. With the soldiers already spread thin to maintain order in the city, sending more of the military away would only invite chaos, especially considering the recent turmoil in Ironspire.

He began to pace, his mind racing through potential consequences and motives. "This doesn't make sense," he muttered. "The city's stability is already precarious. Removing more forces could tip the balance towards anarchy."

Turning back to Osric, Elysian asked, "Did you hear any reasoning behind this decision? Any whispers of threats at the frontier that might justify such a drastic move?"

Osric shook his head, his expression uncertain. "Nothing concrete, young master. There have been rumors and whispers of unrest among the border tribes, but I'm not entirely sure."

Elysian sighed heavily, tilting his head back as he tried to rein in his mounting frustration. His mind raced with the implications of this new development.

'Damn it. The conflict between the Crimson Talon and Dread Raiders is still ongoing, and now this new problem emerges. This is beyond frustrating.'

Noticing the young noble's distress, Osric hastened to reiterate again, "As I said, this is what I've heard from other soldiers, but I can't be certain of its veracity. Perhaps it's not as dire as we fear. It would be best to speak with the commander to get the full picture."

Elysian regarded his companion for a moment before nodding in agreement. It was clear that their training session for the day was effectively over; this new priority demanded his immediate attention.

"You're right, Osric," Elysian said, his voice calm despite the turmoil in his mind. "We need accurate information before we can act. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

With that, Elysian quickly made his way to the bathroom, his movements efficient and purposeful. As he bathed, he couldn't help but reflect on the complexity of his situation.

'What happened during this time? Damn it. I can't remember anything clearly. I was so foolishly focused on my own vices and interests, paying little attention to the affairs of Ironspire.

Wait... Didn't the city hold a massive funeral because of numerous soldier deaths? But was it this incident, or because of my father's losses in the war?'

He could only sigh inwardly, dejected by his uncertainty. The gaps in his memory were frustrating, leaving him to navigate this situation with less foresight than he'd hoped.

Freshly bathed and dressed in attire befitting his station, Elysian set out to find the commander, seeing no other choice. As he walked through the corridors of the officers' building, he attempted to compose his thoughts, preparing for the conversation ahead.

The guards at the commander's office recognized him, and after a brief exchange, Elysian was granted entry. As he stepped into the room, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

"Commander," Elysian greeted, his voice steady and respectful despite his inner turmoil. "I hope I'm not interrupting. There's a matter of some urgency I'd like to discuss with you, if you have a moment."

As the commander looked up from his desk, Elysian could see the weight of distress etched on the older man's face. The gravity of the situation was immediately apparent, confirming Elysian's fears that whatever was happening was indeed extremely serious.

"Young master Elysian," the commander replied, gesturing to a chair. "Please, sit. What brings you here with such urgency?"

Elysian took the offered seat, his mind racing to formulate the right approach. He decided to be direct yet cautious.

"Commander, I've heard troubling rumors about a significant portion of our forces being redeployed to the frontier," Elysian began, his voice low and measured. "Given the current state of affairs in the city, I'm concerned about the potential consequences of such a move. Could you shed some light on this situation?"

The commander's expression tightened, a mix of resignation and concern etching deeper lines into his weathered face. "You're well-informed, young master," he said, leaning back in his chair before sighing heavily. "Well, it's not really a secret, and news of what's happening will likely spread widely soon enough."

Cedric's eyes suddenly grew very serious, his voice lowering as he continued, "The attacks on the frontier have suddenly increased at an alarming rate."

Elysian fell silent at this revelation, his mind racing to process the implications. The officer observed the boy for a moment, gauging his reaction before he continued, "With only two hundred soldiers stationed there, our forces are being pushed back. They'll likely be overwhelmed if we don't send reinforcements immediately. I cannot allow our position in the frontier to fall; it would be a complete disaster for Ironspire."

Elysian met the commander's gaze, his young face set with a determination that belied his years. "I understand, Commander. We can't let it fall."

The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air between them. Elysian's mind whirled with the potential consequences. He knew that the frontier was Ironspire's first line of defense against external threats, but he also couldn't ignore the precarious state of affairs within the city itself.