Ronan lowered his head, shoulders dipping just enough to show respect without stiffness. "Thank you… Both of you. I couldn't have done this without your guidance." His voice came out steady, but his fingers tightened briefly at his sides before he forced them to relax.
Ms. Amara watched him for a moment—really watched him—then gave a small nod, the usual sharpness in her gaze softened by something quieter. "We're already nearing our next destination."
Ronan lifted his head and nodded back, swallowing the lingering weight in his chest.
The ship descended with a controlled hum, settling against a jagged cliff wrapped in dense, ancient forest. The moment the ramp lowered, a heavy, musky scent rolled in—thick, wild, and unmistakably alive. It clung to the back of Ronan's throat. Beneath it, something sharper lingered… like scorched bark and old blood.
His breath slowed instinctively.
Magical beasts.
Ms. Amara stepped out first, her boots brushing over the moss-covered stone without a sound. Ronan followed, every sense stretching outward as the forest seemed to lean in around them. Leaves rustled overhead, though there was no wind. Somewhere deeper inside, something shifted—too deliberate to be natural.
Ms. Amara turned slightly, her voice low but firm. "Ronan, this is a tailed fox den. Inside—one six-tailed, rare, powerful… and a few five-tailed as well." Her eyes flicked toward the darkened entrance hidden between roots and stone. "Watch carefully."
Ronan nodded, though his pulse thudded against his ribs hard enough that he could feel it in his fingertips.
Before she could continue, Mr. Alden stepped forward, his large frame casting a long shadow across the ground. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword—not gripping, just… present.
"Ronan." His voice rumbled low, steady as distant thunder. "Watch closely." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "This is how a swordsman fights."
Then he moved.
For a man of his size, his steps were impossibly light—each one placed with quiet certainty, as if the ground itself adjusted beneath him. The air shifted subtly around him, growing heavier, denser… like the forest was holding its breath.
Ronan leaned forward without realising it.
At the mouth of the den, the shadows stirred.
Pairs of glowing eyes blinked open—one after another—like embers igniting in the dark. A guttural growl rolled out, low and vibrating, pressing against Ronan's chest.
Then—movement.
A five-tailed fox burst from the darkness, its fur rippling with fiery energy, each tail trailing streaks of ember-lit air as it lunged straight for Alden's throat.
Ronan's breath caught—
Alden's sword flashed.
The motion was so clean it almost didn't register. Steel met fur mid-leap—not with brute force, but with precise redirection. The fox's momentum twisted unnaturally, its body snapping sideways before crashing into the ground with a dull, final thud.
Silence didn't follow.
More shapes slipped from the shadows, their tails igniting with eerie hues—purple flames licking the air without smoke. One opened its jaws—
A torrent of violet fire roared forward.
Alden stepped aside.
Not rushed. Not forced.
Just… gone.
The flames tore past where he had been, scorching the ground. Another fox appeared at his flank, claws gleaming as it struck—
His blade turned.
A smooth arc. A soft metallic ring. The strike deflected as if it had never held weight to begin with.
Ronan's eyes widened, breath coming shallow now.
Every movement… flowed.
No wasted motion. No hesitation. It felt less like fighting—and more like a pattern unfolding.
It dragged at something deep in his memory.
This…
His thoughts flickered, struggling to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.
It feels like… Master Gedion… but—
Alden shifted again—faster this time, sharper—
—cleaner.
"Did you see that feint?" Ms. Amara's voice brushed against his ear, barely above a whisper, yet cutting clean through the chaos. Her eyes didn't leave Alden for a second. "He opened his guard on purpose."
Ronan blinked, dragging his focus back—
Another fox lunged from behind—
Alden turned before it even reached him.
His blade hummed faintly as it moved—just a flicker of energy, controlled, restrained—
A tail fell first.
Then the body followed.
Ronan exhaled shakily, only now realising he had been holding his breath.
The ground trembled.
A deeper growl rolled out—heavier, older.
The forest itself seemed to recoil.
From the den emerged the six-tailed fox.
It was larger—far larger—its crimson fur shimmering as though lit from within. Each of its six tails spread wide, glowing like molten streams, heat distorting the air around them.
Ronan felt it before he understood it.
Pressure.
Not just strength—presence.
Alden didn't pause.
His hand tightened slightly on his sword—and this time, the air cracked.
A faint arc of yellow lightning coiled along the blade.
The fox roared.
A massive surge of purple fire exploded outward, swallowing the space between them—
Alden leapt.
The motion was sharp, controlled. His body twisted mid-air, slipping through the narrowest gap in the flames. Heat rushed past him, close enough to singe cloth—
Then he descended.
His blade carved downward—
A streak of thunder tore through the air, striking the fox's flank.
The impact echoed.
The beast howled, its body lurching—but it didn't fall. Its tails lashed out, each one moving like a living whip, burning, snapping, cutting through the space around it.
Alden dropped low, rolled beneath one, ducked another—his movements tightening now, faster, sharper. Steel flashed again and again, each strike landing with quiet precision.
Not frantic.
Relentless.
Ronan's chest tightened as he watched.
The fox slowed.
Not all at once—but piece by piece. A misstep. A delayed reaction. Its power is bleeding away under pressure that never lets up.
Then—
Alden stepped in.
One clean thrust.
The blade sank deep.
The world seemed to still.
The fox let out a low, broken sound—almost a whimper—before its body collapsed, its glowing tails dimming one by one until only dull, ash-coloured fur remained.
The forest exhaled.
Alden stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm—not strained, not ragged. Just… controlled.
He withdrew his blade, wiped it clean in a single motion, and sheathed it with a soft click.
Ms. Amara stepped forward as he crouched beside the fallen beast, extracting a pulsing, fiery core. The light flickered across his scarred face as he handed it to her without a word.
Ronan stared.
His throat felt dry.
"How…" The word slipped out before he could stop it. He stepped closer, eyes still locked on Alden. "How did you move like that? It felt like you already knew what they would do."
Alden glanced at him, one brow lifting slightly. Then he smirked, the sharpness in his expression easing just a fraction. "Experience, boy." He tapped the side of his temple lightly. "And practice."
He turned, beginning to walk back toward the ship.
"One day," he added over his shoulder, "you'll stop asking that question."
Ronan stood there a moment longer, the scene replaying again and again in his mind—every step, every turn, every strike.
Then he clenched his fists.
I will reach that level.
Back on the ship, the scent of blood and scorched earth still clung faintly to their clothes.
Alden moved efficiently, sorting materials, storing cores, his hands steady and practised. "Next stop—a shop near the academy," he said without looking up. "We'll sell these. You'll learn what real hunters do with what they take."
He paused, then glanced at Ronan—really looked at him this time.
"Strength isn't just swinging a sword." His gaze sharpened slightly. "Control. Discipline." A brief silence stretched between them. "Remember that."
Ronan nodded, slower this time.
The sun dipped lower, bleeding orange and gold across the horizon as the ship cut through the sky. Shadows stretched long, the world below fading into darker hues.
Alden glanced up at the sky, then toward them. "If we keep moving, we can reach the academy tonight." He stretched one arm lazily. "I've got food. We can eat on the way."
Ms. Amara smiled faintly. "A short break wouldn't hurt."
Alden didn't wait.
He flicked his hand—and Aether rippled outward. A compact table and three chairs formed from shimmering light, settling neatly beneath a modest umbrella that anchored itself against the wind.
"Dinner is served."
Ronan blinked, then let out a small breath of surprise before quickly crouching to pull out his own lunchbox. "I… brought some too." He tried to sound casual, but a hint of eagerness slipped through.
Ms. Amara was already arranging her dishes with quiet precision—fresh fruits, crisp salads, carefully prepared meats laid out in neat order.
Ronan's gaze drifted over everything.
Then—almost unconsciously—he reached for the roasted meat.
Alden noticed.
A grin spread across his face as he grabbed the same.
Their eyes met.
Ronan hesitated, then gave a small, sheepish smile.
Alden barked out a laugh. "Good choice, lad. Good choice."
Ms. Amara raised a brow, folding her arms. "Only meat?" Her tone was light—but there was an edge to it. "Really, Ronan?"
Ronan scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. "I just… prefer it."
Alden waved a hand dismissively, already taking a bite. "Don't listen to this witch. She'll have you chewing leaves all day."
Ms. Amara's eyes narrowed slightly. "When," she said slowly, "have I ever forced you to eat only vegetables?"
Alden didn't answer.
He just kept eating.
She huffed softly—but the corner of her lips twitched. Reaching forward, she placed a bowl of salad in front of each of them with deliberate firmness.
"Eat."
Ronan paused.
Then, quietly, he picked up a portion and took a bite.
The crunch felt… unfamiliar.
Alden snorted under his breath.
Above them, the sky deepened into a vast stretch of stars, the last traces of sunlight slipping beyond the horizon. The ship moved steadily forward, cutting through the night as their quiet conversation drifted between bites and soft laughter.