Mihai arrived at the training grounds at dawn, the faint light casting a pale glow over the dew-soaked grass. The grounds themselves were little more than an open patch of earth near the village edge, bordered by tall, stoic trees that seemed to watch over the space in silent judgment. Conall stood waiting, his posture as rigid as the staff he leaned against, his expression unreadable.

“You’re early,” Conall said, giving a slight nod of approval. “Good. Means you’re serious about this.”

Mihai adjusted the straps on his armor, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the red steel pressing against his shoulders. “I am. But… I’ll be honest, I don’t know where to start.”

Conall’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “You start by learning patience, Mihai. The way of the sword isn’t about brute strength or speed. Not at first. It’s about control—over your own body, and over your weapon.”

He gestured to Mihai’s twin swords strapped to his back. “Draw them.”

Mihai nodded, grasping the hilts and drawing the swords in a wide arc. He could feel the weight in each hand, balanced but unfamiliar, like holding two unyielding extensions of himself. He held them out, and Conall’s keen eyes assessed his stance.

“Too rigid,” Conall observed, circling Mihai. “You’re standing like you’re carrying bricks, not swords. The weapons are heavy, yes, but don’t fight them. Let them move with you.”

Mihai took a deep breath, trying to loosen his stance. Conall reached out, adjusting Mihai’s elbows, his shoulders, his stance. “The swords need to flow with you,” he said, his tone low and instructive. “Try a slash with your right sword.”

Mihai took a step forward and swung his right sword, feeling the weight pull his arm downward. He stumbled slightly, the blade digging into the earth.

Conall sighed, crossing his arms. “Patience, lad. You’re fighting the blade. Don’t force it; let the sword’s weight and momentum guide you.” He paused, his gaze sharpening. “Do it again. This time, focus on balance.”

Mihai straightened, feeling the ache already building in his arms. He tried again, stepping forward and swinging in a smoother arc. The sword cut through the air, but the weight pulled him off balance again, forcing him to plant his feet awkwardly to stay upright.

Conall stepped forward, guiding Mihai’s stance. “Think of your center as a pivot. The force will carry you, but only if you’re grounded. The moment you lose balance, you lose control of your attack.”

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Mihai nodded, taking in the elder’s advice. His mind raced, recalling principles of kinetic force and balance. If he allowed the sword’s momentum to flow with him, rather than against him, he might be able to use it as an advantage. He positioned himself again, this time focusing on the pivot, letting the sword’s weight swing him forward rather than fighting it.

He felt an improvement—marginal but present. Conall’s expression softened just a bit. “Better. Small steps, Mihai. Remember, you’re setting a foundation. And that means there will be struggle.”

Mihai took a few more practice swings, each one slightly smoother than the last. But the effort was exhausting, his body growing stiff under the weight of the armor and the relentless practice. Sweat gathered on his brow, and he could already feel his muscles beginning to tire.

After a while, Conall called a halt, observing Mihai’s struggle with a mix of detachment and understanding. “You’ve got the strength for this, that much is clear. But you’re still stiff as an old oak. You’ve lived a life without armor, without weight bearing down on you. This isn’t just a matter of swinging swords; it’s about adapting to the reality of battle.”

Mihai wiped his brow, feeling the sweat trickling down his face. He missed the comfort of his old life, the ease of movement, the cleanliness of modern amenities. Here, every breath was tinged with the metallic smell of steel and the raw scent of his own exertion.

“Why does it feel… unnatural?” Mihai asked, looking at his swords with frustration.

Conall regarded him thoughtfully. “It’s because you’re not used to moving with these tools. You come from a different life, without this weight or restriction. But if you’re serious about this path, that discomfort is your first lesson. You need to shed your old habits and learn how to live as a warrior.”

Mihai nodded, understanding the truth in Conall’s words, even if it left him with a sense of uncertainty. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he felt the weight of his commitment—and he knew he couldn’t turn back now.

Conall gestured for him to take a break, and as Mihai caught his breath, he noticed Cian approaching from the far side of the training grounds. His friend carried his bow and a set of knives strapped to his side, his expression calm but curious as he took in Mihai’s exhausted posture.

“Still alive?” Cian asked with a faint grin.

“Barely,” Mihai muttered, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. “It’s… harder than I thought.”

Cian chuckled, taking a place across from him. “Well, while you’re learning to swing those boulders, maybe we could spar a bit. Keep each other sharp.”

Conall raised an eyebrow but didn’t object, stepping back to let the two friends face off. Mihai lifted his swords, feeling the strain but pushing through it as he took a stance.

Cian drew an arrow, nocking it with a practiced hand, his gaze focused. “You’re not the only one who needs to practice, you know,” he said, giving Mihai a friendly nod. “Ready?”

Mihai braced himself, taking a deep breath. “Ready.”

Cian’s arrow was a blur as it shot toward him, and Mihai barely managed to deflect it, the weight of his sword throwing him slightly off balance. Cian didn’t hesitate, drawing another arrow and firing quickly, keeping Mihai on his toes. Mihai dodged, feeling the strain in his muscles as he moved, the armor chafing against his skin.

When Cian switched to his knives, closing the distance for a quick flurry of attacks, Mihai struggled to keep up, his movements stiff and clumsy compared to Cian’s swift strikes. Cian’s knives flickered in the dim light, his steps light and precise as he darted around Mihai.

“Come on, Mihai!” Cian teased, ducking under a wide slash. “You’ve got the strength—use it smartly.”

Mihai grunted, focusing on his stance. He adjusted his footing, allowing Cian’s momentum to carry him forward as he dodged to the side, using his sword’s weight to pivot and follow with a counter-swing. Cian parried, grinning as he jumped back, clearly impressed.

“Not bad,” Cian said, nodding. “You’re getting there.”

Conall observed their sparring session with a faint nod. “That’s enough for today, lads. Mihai, you’ve got the strength, but you’ll need patience. It’s not just about swinging with power; it’s about moving with control.”

As they wrapped up, Conall approached Mihai, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Tomorrow, we start again. Balance, stamina, and control. You’re here to learn, and that takes time.”

Mihai nodded, feeling the weight of the day’s practice in his arms and legs. The training was grueling, the progress slow, but for the first time, he felt the faintest glimmer of confidence.