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If one were used to it as part of their routine, perhaps it was possible to understand the reasons behind the person\'s remarkably superior real combat skills.

\'But—

That stance, I\'ve seen it somewhere before.

It\'s not a mistake.

I\'ve definitely seen it.\'

Kamian thought hard, and then his eyes widened as if he had finally realized something.

\'Huh? Imperial Style Number 8?\'

A basic sword technique that any person from the Empire would encounter at least once.

It was certainly the starting stance of Imperial Style Number 8.

Wait.

Wait.

What is this?

Could it be?

"The swordsmanship being taught here..."

Kamian spoke to Elaine next to him with wavering eyes.

"Is Imperial Style Number 8."

Elaine answered calmly.

At that moment, Kamian looked as if he had been struck on the head with a hammer.

Imperial Style Number 8.

Was the swordsmanship being taught here really Imperial Style Number 8?

That means...

Kamian recalled the scenes of Max\'s combat he had seen until now.

Come to think of it, Max had relied heavily on the basics.

But he had thought that was just his personal combat style.

A style that conserves energy, avoiding flashy and powerful but exhausting moves.

But thinking about it again...

Had he ever used any other techniques?

He had not.

Kamian\'s face was once again engulfed in shock.

It turned out that there were no other sword techniques for Max.

It turned out that there were no other sword techniques for Max.

Only Imperial Style Number 8.

And he fought so well with that?

His heart started to pound amidst feelings he couldn\'t quite understand.

\'Do you want to become strong? But your current method is impractical.\'

Max\'s assertion.

In the end, those words were true.

Max really knew how to become stronger.

The way for someone as talentless and ordinary as himself to become stronger.

Kamian clenched his fist tightly, his eyes burning with resolve.

He couldn\'t miss a single scene.

He would learn everything that could be learned.

"Let\'s begin." discover-NovelFire-novels

Turk broke the silence.

Thump.

Max stomped on the ground.

And so the final sparring began.

****

The sparring had ended, but the heat had not yet dissipated.

Imperial Style Number 8.

He had thought it was a basic, unremarkable sword technique, but only today did he realize how good it was.

*How could I have been so blind?*

Kamian felt a sense of self-reproach.

"Ha-ha, finally... Finally, a student who has mastered Imperial Style Number 8 has emerged in our fencing hall. This father is so moved. At times like this, it should be celebrated with a drink, a drink! Daughter, go buy some alcohol and snacks right now."

Turk seemed very pleased, enough to send his beloved daughter on an errand.

"Yes, I\'ll get ready."

Knowing her father\'s feelings all too well, Elaine nodded obediently.

Decades had passed with no one recognizing its value, only facing neglect, but still, the father had steadfastly walked his path without changing course.

And finally, someone who truly understood its value had appeared.

Not only that, but someone had mastered it completely.

Elaine knew very well how happy and proud her father must be.

But there was just one thing.

Something subtly stirred her emotions.

That person happened to be Max Celtrine.

\'No, honestly, it\'s something to be grateful for.\'

Still, Elaine acknowledged it.

The first person to recognize the value of her father\'s life\'s work in swordsmanship.

And the father sincerely considered Max to be the sole successor.

Indeed, he was unique.

The first student that her father acknowledged had mastered Imperial Style Number 8.

That must be the reason.

The reason why her father was living a more motivated and fulfilled life than ever.

\'Max Celtrine.....?\'

She had never imagined that this problematic peer could have a positive, rather than negative, impact on her and her family\'s life to this extent.

Life is indeed unpredictable.

"Ah, I\'ll go too."

Max said to Elaine.

"But before that."

Max\'s gaze turned to Kamian.

"How about it? Have you come to realize a way to become stronger?"

Kamian didn\'t answer right away.

Instead, he strode toward Turk.

All eyes turned to Kamian with curiosity.

All except for Max, who seemed to know something, smiling wryly.

"Hm? Perhaps you have something to say...?"

Turk tilted his head, puzzled.

At that moment.

Kamian bowed deeply at a right angle.

"Please teach me swordsmanship, sir."

Turk stared at Kamian, his mouth slightly open in surprise. For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes narrowing as if trying to measure the sincerity in Kamian\'s bow.

"Teach you?" Turk muttered, his voice low, almost incredulous.

Kamian didn\'t move. His posture remained firm, head lowered, showing his determination and respect. He had made his decision, and there was no turning back now. The heat of the sparring still burned within him, but it was more than that. He had seen something today, something that made him realize just how much further he had to go.

Max\'s mastery over Imperial Style Number 8 had shattered Kamian\'s previous understanding of swordsmanship.

Turk finally chuckled, a slow, deep laugh that grew louder and heartier.

"Ha! This is unexpected!" he bellowed, crossing his arms and looking down at Kamian. "Do you even understand what you\'re asking, boy? Do you have any idea how long it takes to master even the basics of the Imperial Style?"

Kamian slowly straightened, his face resolute, eyes meeting Turk\'s with unwavering conviction. "I do, sir. But I\'m ready to learn. No matter how long it takes."

Turk\'s laughter died down as he studied Kamian\'s face. He saw the fire in the boy\'s eyes, the desperation, and, most importantly, the determination. Turk glanced at Max, who was watching the scene unfold with that same wry smile.

"Hmph," Turk muttered under his breath. "It seems Max\'s influence is spreading faster than I thought."

Max, noticing the look, stepped forward. "He\'s serious, Master Turk. Kamian has the potential."

Kamian blinked, surprised to hear Max speak up on his behalf.

Turk rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Potential, eh? Potential\'s not enough. Do you know how many students I\'ve seen with \'potential\'? Most of them never make it past the basics."

Kamian\'s fists clenched, but he held his ground. "I\'ll do whatever it takes. I know the Imperial Style isn\'t easy, but I\'m willing to put in the work."

For a long moment, there was silence. Turk\'s gaze bore into Kamian, scrutinizing him, weighing his words.

Finally, Turk nodded slowly. "Fine. I\'ll give you a chance."

Kamian\'s heart leaped. "Thank you—"

"But!" Turk interrupted, raising a hand, "You must prove to me that you have the discipline and commitment. Mastering Imperial Style Number 8 is not just about physical strength. It requires control, precision, and patience. I\'ll put you through the most grueling drills you\'ve ever experienced. If you give up even once, you\'re out."

Kamian nodded eagerly. "I won\'t give up."

Turk smirked, shaking his head. "We\'ll see about that. Training begins tomorrow. Be here at dawn. If you\'re late, don\'t bother showing up again."

Kamian bowed again, deeply. "I understand, sir."

\'Finaly i can become stronger than before!\' Kamian thought as cleanched his fist