And so a few days went by. The brats... I mean, neighbours came to visit a few times for introductions and to get acquainted.
My father was supposed to have returned already. But we heard nothing. So maybe something came up.
On the good side, Kendal and the Ranbrandt brothers were getting along just well. One less problem for me and more spare time.
Emma, being a bookworm locked herself in the library all day. And I sometimes went to get myself other books I needed.
But the use of books has almost reached its useful limit. I have read and memorised all information I think I might need.
On one other factor, Emma refuses to give me more books. She says most of them are dangerous with dark magic, rituals and whatnot.
I've been trying to experiment on things like manipulating non-physical things. I'm disappointed with my progress, pure failure. But I think I saw a ghost once. That has got to count for something, right?
That was a lot of rambling. Now then, here I am. Yes, on the rooftop.
I raised my energy again and looked at the height of the house.
"If I fail to cast this spell, please grant me a painless death." I said to myself with a deep breath.
I drew a rune and filled it with my magic. A gust of wind shot from around me and spread out before disappearing.
I drew more of them mid-air to the ground. The moments I jumped, I released magic to the runes and the wind lightly held my body suspended in the air.
To an extend, this was a way to fly. I kept dropping myself onto the runes until I was about ground level. I casted another rune and I was sent into the air.
The door opened and my mother came walking out with Kendal and the two Ranbrandt brothers. I turned to look but that was a mistake. The spell was broken and I went falling to the ground.
Just before I reached the surface, I was able to cast another one. My body floated just a few centimeters from the hard ground.
My mother caught me by the back of my collar and picked me up like a puppy. Her expression looked so bright. Actually, very bright, almost as if....
'Oh shit, I messed up, didn't I?' That's the thought that dawned in me.
She was a loving mother. But she definitely wasn't a pushover. Aaand now I find myself being punished for being reckless.
"Swing harder. Tighten your grip. Still and straighten your posture. Your sword is not a plaything." Said the man who walked around me analysing my every action.
To stop practicing "dangerous" magic, my mother took me back to swordplay. The man who is training me is of course, the man in charge of guarding the Radars grounds.
"Swing...!"
"Swoosh... swoosh...."
"Slash...!"
Over and over. I swung the sword. With every movement my senses grew more focused. With every slash, my precision improved.
The man kept walking around me. He made sure I didn't make the slightest mistakes in my movements.
An hour passed.
Then two hours.
My body was starting to get worn out. The strain in my arms felt even stronger. Still, I kept swinging the wooden sword.
I felt like stopping at some point. But everything I glanced at the man, he gave me a terrifying look.
I stopped for a moment and took a few gulps of water. Then back to my slashing.
"How many strikes have you made?" He asked as he came and stood before me.
"About seven loads of milia, sir." I said to him, halting my slashes.
He didn't say a thing but just stared at me. If he dares to tell me go on, I'm gonna collapse on the spot for sure.
I couldn't help but pray he doesn't say that.
The man turned and walked away. I fell to my knees and layed on my back. Finally, I felt my body lighten. But I celebrated too soon.
Before my panting stopped, the man appeared before me.
"Get up, now." He ordered without batting an eye. I jumped to my feet and stood composed before him.
The man stabbed a sword before me and without saying a word, he slowly held his. He didn't unsheathe it.
"Pick it up and cut me down." He ordered with a plain tone.
Slightly, I felt a wave of fear hit me. This man just physicalized the word "punishment". And now I have to lunge at him?
I gulped down a lump before picking up the sword. Funny enough, it was... comfortable.
The blade felt at home. Perfectly fit in my grasp. A bit heavy even though it was small. I guess my arms were still very strained.
I held the blade and lunged at him. The man simply and lightly blocked my blade. He moved his blade to the side and I passed by him.
'Damn it, I messed up.' I thought to myself. My body was drawn to the side by the gravity and my speed.
I stabbed the down and used it to jump to the other side. After I picked it up, I charged at him again.
The man still didn't show any problems blocking me.
I thrust my blade, and he just swatted it to the side. I pulled it back in and slashed it with force. He just blocked it without a hitch.
My hands felt as if something tore in them.
"He didn't just block me. He deflected the force through my blade." I thought in realisation.
Without relenting, I kept slashing and striking at the man. But my onslaught was futile. Whether I struck him directly or tactics, he treated me like a pure amateur.
For one direct attack, I gripped my blade tightly.
I struck at him and the man blocked without batting an eye. The force I put in was againt deflected. My hands felt like they were torn from inside.
Blood dripped from my grasp.