The morning sun bathed the training ground in a warm glow as Erik arrived, determination etched on his face. After watching Class B's combat training the previous day, he felt a surge of confidence. He was eager to put what he had learned into practice. Armed with a wooden sword, he stood in the middle of the training area, the echoes of clashing weapons still fresh in his mind.

Erik took a deep breath, focusing on the movements he had observed. The way the ogre had swung his staff, the fluid grace of the elven girl with daggers—each technique played through his mind like a vivid memory. He mimicked their stances, trying to incorporate their footwork into his own.

With a fierce shout, he swung the wooden sword in a high arc, attempting to replicate the elven girl’s technique. The blade sliced through the air, but when he followed through, his footing faltered. He stumbled slightly, struggling to maintain his balance. This isn’t as easy as it looked, he thought, frustration creeping in.

Erik shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate. He tried again, adjusting his stance and channeling the energy he had felt while watching. He executed the move again, but this time he felt more aware of his body’s limitations. Each swing, each step felt awkward and heavy, as if his muscles were slow to respond to his commands. The fluidity he had admired in the students was elusive, slipping through his fingers just as the vision had the night before.

He continued to practice, repeating the movements over and over, but after a while, exhaustion set in. He wiped the sweat from his brow, panting slightly. Why can’t I get this right? He knew he had seen the techniques with clarity, yet translating them into his own body was proving to be a monumental challenge.

Just then, Gurg Balac, a half-human, half-ogre student from Class S, entered the training ground. With his broad shoulders and thick arms, he presented an imposing figure. Gurg caught sight of Erik and offered a casual salute. “Training early, huh?” he remarked, his tone neutral as he began to change into his training gear.

As Erik resumed his practice, he felt Gurg’s gaze upon him. He focused on his movements, swinging the sword with renewed determination. Gurg watched for a while, his expression thoughtful. He saw Erik get back up again and again, pushing himself through the struggle. Although Erik was improving quickly, Gurg could tell something was still missing.

“Hey,” Gurg called out, stepping closer after a moment. “You’re missing something.”

Erik paused, lowering the sword slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

Gurg folded his arms, considering his words carefully. “Your technique is good, but it looks like you’re trying to force the movements. You need to find the rhythm in them. It’s like dancing—if you’re too stiff, you’ll trip over your own feet.”

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A flicker of frustration ignited within Erik. He had been pushing himself, trying to absorb every detail he had witnessed, but Gurg's words struck a chord. “I’m trying to learn!” he snapped, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

“Of course, but trying harder doesn’t always mean trying smarter,” Gurg replied, his tone surprisingly gentle. “You need to flow with the movement, not against it. Let your body adjust naturally.”

Erik frowned, digesting Gurg’s advice. “Easier said than done,” he muttered, but he knew Gurg was right. He couldn’t keep forcing himself into a mold that didn’t fit.

“Just give it a shot,” Gurg encouraged, gesturing for Erik to demonstrate again. “Think about what you want to achieve, not just how you’re going to do it. Visualize the strike, the movement, the flow.”

Erik took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the sword in his hands. He recalled the fluidity of the elven girl as she danced around her opponent, the ease with which the ogre had swung his staff. With Gurg’s advice echoing in his mind, he began to practice again.

He moved slowly at first, focusing on each part of the movement—the way his feet positioned themselves, the angle of his arm, the arc of the blade. As he gradually built speed, he felt a strange sense of liberation wash over him. With each swing, he was no longer merely copying the techniques he had observed; he was beginning to understand them.

Gurg watched intently, his expression shifting from skepticism to surprise. Erik’s improvement was noticeable, and he felt a thrill of excitement. “That’s it! You’re getting it!” Gurg called out, clapping Erik on the back.

Encouraged, Erik continued to push himself, each movement feeling more fluid than the last. He began to incorporate the steps he had observed during the sparring matches, channeling the energy he had felt during his vision. The sword became an extension of his body, a part of him rather than a foreign object.

As Erik practiced, Gurg found himself grinning. He never expected Erik to improve so quickly. Is he really getting that fast? It was impressive to watch. “You know,” Gurg said, shaking his head in disbelief, “for someone who’s supposed to be less talented, you’re catching up in no time.”

Erik, still focused on his training, didn’t hear the half-compliment. He was lost in the rhythm, the movements flowing seamlessly as if they had been ingrained in him all along.

After a few more minutes of practice, Erik finally paused, breathing heavily, a mixture of fatigue and exhilaration coursing through him. “I… I think I’m getting it,” he said, glancing at Gurg, who looked pleased.

“Definitely. Just keep practicing,” Gurg advised. “But remember, it’s not just about mimicking what you see. You’ve got to make it your own.”

As Erik nodded, he felt a flicker of gratitude towards Gurg. It was unexpected, having someone like him offer advice and encouragement. Maybe he wasn’t as alone in this journey as he thought.

“Thanks, Gurg. I appreciate it,” Erik said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Gurg waved it off, his grin still in place. “No problem. Just don’t let it go to your head. I’m still watching to see if you’ll make a name for yourself outside of being Claire’s brother.”

A hint of annoyance flared within Erik at the mention of Claire, but he quickly brushed it aside. “I’ll make my own name,” he vowed, determination filling his voice.

As he picked up the sword once more, ready to continue training, he felt a new sense of purpose. He was beginning to understand what it meant to forge his own path. With Gurg’s guidance and his growing confidence, Erik Miller was ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead.