Chapter 64: Head Out
The dull thud of Mudrel’s body hitting the floor still echoed in the hideout. Herald stood over him, unmoved, calm. His presence filled the room, quiet but impossible to ignore. He hadn’t broken a sweat.
I looked down at my training sword. It felt cheap. Useless.
I’d been getting stronger. Herald’s brutal training routine had transformed my body. Every part of me moved better, responded faster. I could hold my own against manor guards now, maybe even against someone like Mudrel if he didn’t take me seriously. But Herald wasn’t on the same scale. His speed, his precision, his ability to control mana—it was overwhelming. He wasn’t just strong. He made everything look easy.
The faint morning light leaking in from the ruins above meant it was time to start again. My muscles were sore just from thinking about it. Every inch of me ached from yesterday. Footwork drills. Mana flow control. Sword forms, repeated until failure. Then repeated again. Herald never let up. He never praised. He just pushed, corrected, and expected results.
After a quick rinse with cold water from the basin, I started my stretches. Every movement reminded me that I was still healing from something. Herald was already awake, as always. He sat in a quiet corner, legs crossed, eyes closed. Meditating. The air around him seemed thick. The mana here was stronger, and it wasn’t by accident. He drew it in constantly, saturating the space with his own energy.
"Your form is improving," Herald said without looking. His voice was even, just loud enough to hear. "But you’re still overthinking. Let the body react. Thinking slows you down."
I kept stretching. "Hard not to think when a mistake can cost you an arm."
He didn’t respond. Just that faint humming sound he sometimes made when he was drawing in mana more aggressively. His feedback always came later, in action.
Training began the way it always did: repetition. Herald showed a movement—perfect, clean—and I copied it. Then again. Then again. He didn’t speak unless I messed up badly. He moved like it was second nature. Even using a simple steel training blade, he made it feel like art. But this wasn’t just swordplay. He was teaching me how to use mana like a weapon, how to move it with my breath, how to channel it into my limbs.
"Mana isn’t just for casting spells," he told me once. "It’s part of every living thing. If you can’t make it move the way your arm moves, you’re wasting your time."