After hearing the word "stop" in that chilling voice, both the guard and I turned toward the side almost at the same time.
My mother was standing there.
Her expression was completely emotionless.
But something else hit me first—something far more dangerous.
Killing intent.
It was so thin, so perfectly controlled, that most people would never notice it. If I hadn't been standing this close, I might have missed it entirely. She had suppressed it, restrained it, and masked it carefully… all because I was here.
If even half of that killing intent had been directed at me, I was certain I would have collapsed on the spot.
Maybe even worse.
She walked toward us slowly.
Each step was calm, but the atmosphere around her grew heavier with every movement.
"What happened here?" she asked.
Her voice remained controlled—but colder than before.
Before I could speak, the guard immediately stepped forward, bowing his head quickly.
"Matriarch…" he said urgently. "I saw this child wandering near the training ground and attempting to enter the private training room reserved for you and the young lady. I stopped him before he could go further, but he didn't cooperate when I tried to explain, so I prepared to remove him from the area."
His voice trembled slightly at the end.
Silence followed.
The air itself felt like it had frozen.
My mother didn't even look at him at first.
Her eyes checked me instead.
Carefully.
Slowly.
Ensuring I was unharmed.
"Are you alright?" she asked instantly, her tone softening. "Did he hurt you?"
The contrast was terrifying.
The guard froze.
He clearly understood what kind of person she was. Someone who could reduce entire battlefields to silence. Yet that same woman… had softened her voice completely for a child.
And that child was me.
That realization hit him harder than any punishment.
Only then did he truly look at me.
Bright red eyes.
Black hair.
A simple training outfit that gave nothing away.
But once recognition struck, his face turned pale instantly.
Starlight bloodline.
The thought arrived too late.
His hands began to shake.
Before the silence could stretch further, I stepped forward and hugged my mother lightly around the waist, acting as if nothing had happened.
"I'm fine, Mom," I said with a bright smile. "I was just looking around the training ground. I was trying to find the training room. I was waiting for my sister too—she said she'd change and come."
The moment I said "Mom," the guard stiffened violently.
It felt like his soul had left his body for a second.
My mother, however, ignored him completely.
She focused only on me.
Checking every detail of my condition.
Only after confirming I was fine did her gaze shift.
Slowly.
Toward the guard.
The atmosphere changed again.
Her eyes turned sharp.
Cold enough to cut.
"Son," she said calmly, "what do you want me to do with this guard?"
It wasn't just a question.
It was a test.
I paused.
I understood immediately what she was doing.
I glanced at the guard.
He was trembling so hard it looked like he might collapse at any second.
Then I answered.
"Mother… don't do anything too severe. He was only doing his duty."
A short pause.
"But he also shouldn't be let off completely. He didn't confirm my identity or ask for clarification before trying to remove me. So… I can't decide the exact punishment. Just don't make it too harsh."
My voice was calm—but slightly hesitant at the end.
Childlike.
My mother stared at me for a moment.
Then she exhaled softly.
A faint smile appeared at the corner of her lips.
"Alright," she said. "I'll handle it."
Her gaze returned to the guard instantly.
Warmth disappeared.
"Leave my sight," she said coldly, "before I decide to erase your existence entirely."
A pause.
"Your punishment will be decided later. Now get out."
That was enough.
The guard bowed so fast he nearly hit the ground.
"I-I understand, Matriarch!"
Then he ran.
Not walked.
Ran.
No one stopped him.
No one even looked at him anymore.
The matter was already over.
⸻
We entered the training ground together.
Amy had arrived shortly after and slipped in beside me like nothing had happened. She gave me a quick glance but said nothing.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted completely.
This was not a normal training area.
It was a controlled battlefield.
Reinforced floors.
Weapon racks in perfect order.
Training dummies placed with precise spacing.
Even the air felt heavier—like it had been trained to resist destruction.
I slowly scanned everything.
This place was built for real combat.
Not play.
While I observed, Amy leaned closer and whispered with a smirk, "You almost got kicked out by a guard… that's kind of funny."
I gave her a flat look.
She just grinned wider.
Before I could respond, my mother's voice cut through the space.
"Gray. Start your training."
Her tone had changed again.
No warmth.
Only authority.
"You've never properly held a weapon before. First, you will choose what suits you."
I nodded immediately.
"I've already decided," I said. "I want to use a sword."
I tightened my hands slightly.
"Greatswords are too slow. Daggers are too risky. Bows are unreliable in close combat. Spears are efficient, but too restrictive."
I exhaled.
"Swords are balanced. Flexible. They can attack and defend. And since both you and Amy use swords, it'll be easier to learn."
A brief pause.
Then I added quietly,
"…And it just feels right."
My mother studied me for a moment.
Then nodded.
"Good. Then we begin with sword basics."
She tossed me a wooden sword.
I caught it immediately.
It was slightly heavier than expected.
Not unbearable—but enough to remind me I was still weak.
My mother noticed instantly.
"First," she said, stepping closer, "stance."
"Feet grounded. Balance centered. Don't lean forward. Don't rely on arms alone."
I adjusted my posture quickly.
Amy watched from the side, clearly amused.
My mother corrected me with precise movements—each adjustment removing wasted motion, each instruction refining my stance.
"Good," she said finally. "Now swing."
I obeyed.
I swung the sword.
The air cut—but it felt wrong.
Empty.
Weak.
My mother's voice sharpened slightly.
"You're using only your arms. That's why it's weak."
She stepped behind me.
"When you swing a sword, power doesn't come from your arms alone."
"It comes from your entire body."
Her hand tapped my shoulder lightly.
"Feet. Hips. Core. Arms. All move as one."
Her tone became firm.
"Try again. Don't think with your hands."
"Think with your body."
"And focus only on the strike."
I tightened my grip on the wooden sword.
And prepared to swing again.