Only Yuri's footsteps echoed across the stone pavement. He'd woken before dawn. Not that he couldn't sleep—it was more that he didn't feel like sleeping. That red light in the northern sky kept nagging at the edge of his mind. The direction of Volga Zenum. By the time he'd finished wondering what it was, the sky had already turned white. So he decided to move. His body, raised in a farming village, hated staying still. The Central Training Ground—a stone plaza roughly forty meters square that sprawled across the fortress courtyard—was empty. Third Squad's training time wasn't for a while yet. The orange glow of magical lamps hung dimly in the morning mist. Yuri took his stance with his sword. Yesterday's failure still lingered in his hands. Tenma—the basic technique of a magic swordsman, channeling magical power into a weapon—he couldn't even stabilize the first stage. Twelve percent of the population had magical aptitude. Less than two percent reached practical combat level. He was supposed to be in that two percent, yet his sword had still gone flying yesterday. (Today, I'll get it right.) He took a deep breath and began his practice swings. *Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.* The sound of the blade cutting air was swallowed by the morning silence. Relax the strength, but grip firmly. He recalled the stance taught at the officer academy. Elbow position, weight distribution, line of sight. He understood it all in his head, but— Five swings. Ten. Fifteen. "..." A presence approached from behind. Before he could turn, he already knew. Somehow, he just knew. The air had changed slightly. Yuri spun around. There she stood. Silver hair glowed faintly in the morning mist. Long hair tied back, with a single black streak woven through it. Tall—a head and a half taller than Yuri. Arms crossed, standing at the edge of the stone plaza. Her eyes were gold. Sharp golden eyes watched Yuri—no, watched his sword. Quietly. As if calculating something. Lilica Virsen. Third Squad Leader. Yuri's squad commander. The one Sergeant Gartz had called the "Ice Queen" yesterday. Yuri straightened up. How should he greet her? What should he say? A salute? Or— Lilica didn't move. She simply watched. One second. Two. Three. While Yuri stood frozen, Lilica continued observing him with those golden eyes. Around ten seconds passed before she slowly opened her mouth. "[cold]Your elbow is raised." "...Huh?" "[cold]Your left foot's weight is off-center. Your sword tip is dropping too far. You're holding your breath during the swings. Your shoulders are too tense. You're not maintaining magical flow awareness. Your downward angle is too shallow. That's eight points." Yuri froze. Eight points. Eight flaws, all listed at once. No time to miss a single one, rapid-fire yet matter-of-fact. In a voice devoid of emotion. Like reading a weather report. "[serious]...I-I apologize. I'll fix everything." Lilica paused for just a moment. "[cold]At this rate, you'll die in your first real combat." Something in Yuri's chest stopped cold. Die. She said die. Just now, this person said "die." And with the careful preface of "in your first real combat," no less. Not "might," not "there's a possibility"—a flat statement. (What, what, whaaaat?) He could feel his face contorting. He was making some weird expression. "[cold]I've confirmed your assignment to Third Squad. Training begins today." With just that, Lilica turned away. Her silver hair swayed. The figure of a swordswoman, blade at her hip, floated in the morning light. Her spine was straight as a line, her footsteps silent, and as she receded— (...Ah.) Yuri found himself unable to look away. *Beautiful,* he thought. *Dignified*—this must be what that word meant. Terrified, given a death sentence, completely flustered, and yet somehow he thought that anyway. "You were totally captivated just now, weren't you?" A voice flew from the edge of the training ground. Georg. When had he gotten there? Arms crossed, leaning against a stone pillar, smiling faintly. Tall, broad-shouldered, always top-ranked in practical skills back at the officer academy. His classmate with terrible timing. "[angry]N-No! I wasn't captivated at all!" "That so? Then your face is red from the cold?" "[angry]Yeah! That's it! The cold!!" Georg smiled faintly again and resumed his practice swings. Yuri's voice had definitely gone up an octave—probably not his imagination. ── Training began. Before noon, when Lilica formally appeared at Third Squad's training space, Yuri had already been doing practice swings for thirty minutes. Lilica approached without a word and stood beside him. "[cold]Once more. The same way as before." Yuri did one swing. "[cold]Stop." She stopped him before the second swing even finished. "[cold]You're trying to force the magical power in. That's the source of your tension." "[serious]Force it in...?" "[cold]Magical power should flow, not be forced. Think of it like water flowing through a channel. Does that help?" *I see,* Yuri thought. Logically, it made perfect sense. Don't push with force—let it flow naturally. Just hearing it, he thought, *Oh, I get it.* He tried. The sword trembled violently in his hand. It nearly slipped from his grip. He grabbed it again in a panic. Too much force. He was forcing it again. He understood, but his body wouldn't cooperate. "...Why?" "[cold]Once more." No mercy. But her tone was always matter-of-fact, never angry. Just... evaluating. As the sword trembled again and again, Lilica maintained the same distance, watching with the same eyes. "[cold]I'll show you an example." Lilica drew her sword. The moment she took her stance, the air changed. Different from before. The sword looked... alive, somehow. In Lilica's hands, the blade seemed to breathe quietly— The next instant, pale blue light raced from the sword's tip. Tenma's second stage—attribute infusion. The technique of layering attributes onto magical power and channeling it into a weapon. The next level beyond the first stage Yuri was practicing. Light and shadow played across the stone pavement. The sword truly looked alive. Light flowed along the blade's form, from tip toward hilt, quietly and naturally. No sense of forcing it at all. Just... flowing. (...Beautiful.) Yuri thought that and couldn't look away. He wanted to see that light's trajectory more clearly. Where was it born, where did it flow? Closer— "[cold]What are you looking at? Concentrate." Her voice came from close by—not quite at his ear, but near. Yuri flinched. Georg, five meters away, burst out laughing. Laughing. Why was he laughing? Irritating. "[serious]S-Sorry! I was trying to observe the trajectory of the magical light—" Lilica was already in stance again, saying "Once more." She wasn't listening to excuses. Didn't intend to. That was the look on her face. Yuri hurriedly gripped his sword again. His face felt slightly warm. Probably from the cold. Training continued until evening. Three hundred practice swings. He actually did three hundred. He counted. He'd thought about stopping the count partway through, but somehow couldn't. Around the two hundred eighty-seventh swing, the trembling in his hands seemed to lessen just slightly. The sword seemed to stabilize just slightly. "[cold]...The flow is becoming slightly more stable." She said it quietly, almost to herself. Yuri reflexively replied, "Thank you very much." But that single word—"slightly"—somehow stirred something deep in his chest. Three hundred swings, and only "slightly." Yet why did it feel like— Georg called out from a distance: "Good work." ── The dining hall that evening was lively as always. Moana, the cook—a woman in her fifties with a smile too gentle for a former mercenary—had her lamb stew simmering in the usual iron pot, steam rising. The smell was good. The kind of smell that seeped into a body exhausted from training. When Yuri sat down with his tray, Georg immediately came and sat beside him, placing his own tray down as if it were his assigned seat. "So? How was the squad leader?" "[serious]...Strict, but it makes sense. Her explanation of tenma was really clear." He took a spoonful of stew. Salty, but good. When you're bone-tired, flavors like this sink in. "That's not what I meant." "[serious]...Huh?" "You fell for the squad leader." Yuri sprayed stew everywhere. "[angry]Wh-What are you talking about?! I didn't fall for her! That's not it! I respect her as a superior officer, and her training is solid, that's all!!" He rattled it all off at once. All at once. Even he could tell it was too much. Georg scooped up stew slowly and spoke. "Your face is bright red." "[angry]From the cold!!" "The dining hall is warm, though." Yuri had no comeback. Georg ate his stew without laughing, which somehow made it worse. "[serious]...Sergeant Gartz said yesterday she's called the 'Ice Queen.'" "Yeah. Story is every guy who approaches her gets shot down. Give it up." His tone of advice was utterly businesslike. "[angry]I told you I didn't fall for her!!" "Uh-huh." Georg took another spoonful of stew. He set his spoon down slowly and spoke as if it were nothing. "Well... I was a little interested too, to be honest. The squad leader." Yuri froze with an "eh." Georg had already moved on to a different topic. Tomorrow's training, how the bread in the dining hall was hard, things like that. Yuri sat there dumbfounded, momentarily forgetting about his stew. Georg's "a little interested" stuck in his ear in an odd way. What did he mean by that? That he was interested in her training? Or— (...Well, whatever.) Yuri forced himself to focus on the stew. It was good. Salty. Sinking into his bones. The most welcome flavor for a body that had done three hundred swings today. ── The fortress was quiet at night. After finishing dinner, Yuri was heading back to the East Barracks when his feet stopped for no particular reason. He wanted to turn over the sensation of tenma in his mind a bit more. The feeling of water flowing through a channel. Flow, don't force. He understood it, but his body wouldn't follow. Walking slowly down the South Wing corridor, Yuri looked at the back of his left hand. The faint magical rune of fire. The mark of an apprentice. The mark of someone whose first stage still wasn't stable. (Tomorrow, I think I can do a little better.) Not vague confidence, but the weight of a fact: he'd done three hundred swings today. That fact wouldn't disappear. Light spilled from the doorway of the communications room ahead. Who would be here this late? Yuri didn't particularly mean to care. But as he passed, a voice came through the gap in the door. Lilica's voice. But not the voice from training. Lower. Suppressed. Somehow—strained. "...I understand. But I—" A long silence followed. Yuri's feet stopped. He hadn't meant to stop them. From the gap in the door, at a certain angle, he could see into the room. Lilica's profile was there. A face she'd never shown during training. Not difficult, exactly. Not stern or angry. Something else—like she was carrying something heavy alone. Her golden eyes looked distant, or perhaps saw nothing at all. (...Does she have something troubling her?) Yuri thought. About her. About the squad leader who was calm and quick to judge, who'd spotted eight flaws in ten seconds, who'd evaluated three hundred swings with a single sentence. He almost knocked. His hand stopped. What could he say? "Are you alright?" What would that change? Besides, what right did he have to say that, standing in the corridor eavesdropping late at night? A sound came from inside the room. Yuri quickly pressed himself against the corridor wall. His heart was oddly loud. But Lilica didn't come out. Silence returned. Yuri quietly left the corridor. ── Lying on his bunk in the East Barracks, Yuri stared at the ceiling. The same crack was in