After the baptism of lightning, Lancet noted some more changes. Not only had the flow of Grace become much faster, smoother and more precise within him, but the response time had also vastly increased.

The normal response time between intent and result (activating a Skill and manifesting it) was 0.5 seconds. The stronger an Awakener became, the shorter the time.

Lancet attempted a few Skills, burning 3 out of his remaining 4 charges. He realized that his manifesting time had reduced to 0.2, which meant he would be more responsive and effective when in battle.

Not long after the Heavenly Tempering, Kestrel moved him on to the second lesson. She called this one edge-threading, and it nearly humiliated him.

Kestrel had him intentionally guide Grace through the Radiant Guillotine until the sword became the channel, not his hand, not his arm, not even his shoulders, but the blade as a living extension of his body.

At first the Grace kept breaking apart, slipping into the hilt wrong, buzzing through the metal like a current that had forgotten where to go. Kestrel only watched him fail, then demonstrated again with maddening elegance, letting her own Grace run through her Dragonsword in such a clean line that the steel glowed like a sliver of moonlight.

It looked serene, but the more he watched the more he understood that precision and confidence was all that it was.

He lifted the Radiant Guillotine and tried to walk the path.

The Grace moved through his shoulder, through his arm, through his wrist, into the hilt, and this time he did not force it.

Yesterday, when Kestrel had surprise-attacked him, the Grace had flowed so easily into the sword. It might have been subconscious, but still, it was only because he wanted it to happen and so it did.

Lancet didn’t need to think about it, he didn’t need to physically or mentally force the Grace into the blade. All he had to do was accept that the Radiant Guillotine was part of his arm, and it was only natural for Grace to flow through his arm.

So, Lancet simply held the sword and let the energy know where it was meant to travel, the way water knew to find the lowest ground. The Grace climbed. Slowly. Unevenly. It reached the lower third of the blade and caught there, a faint golden glow that wavered but did not break.

Lancet held his breath and focused on keeping the line steady. The moment he thought about it too hard, the glow flickered. The moment he relaxed too much, it began to fade.

The balance between control and release was razor-thin, and he could feel himself learning it in real time, the way a musician learned the exact pressure needed to hold a note without breaking it.

The glow crept higher. Halfway up the blade. Then two-thirds. Every tiny fluctuation in his focus sent ripples through the light. Every doubt made the steel dim.

Kestrel watched him in silence, her Dragonsword still faintly luminous at her side.

Lancet took a deep breath and willed the light on. For one full second, the Radiant Guillotine was lit from end to end, a single unbroken thread of golden Grace running through the steel like a vein of lightning frozen in place.

Kestrel’s eyes lingered on him for a moment.

"Good work. Now do it again, but this time, do it in between swings."

"Is there any thing I should do different?" he asked her.

Kestrel gave him a bland look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Lancet hesitated. "...Do you have any tips on how to maintain control?"

Kestrel almost smiled at the question. "Just do what you’ve learnt so far. You’re only adding action. It’s not like your opponent will wait and let you infuse your sword with Grace. You have to be passive and active with it."

Lancet took a deep breath.

He knew why she had asked him to that. She wanted to judge whether he could still channel the Grace into his sword when his intent was somewhere else — swinging his blade.

Lancet lifted the sword and swung.

The first cut was rough. The Grace flickered in the blade as his attention split between the channel and the motion, and for half an instant the golden thread thinned to almost nothing.

But then he remembered what he had just learned—that the Radiant Guillotine was not a separate thing, that it was part of his arm, and Grace flowing through his arm was the most natural thing in the world—and the light steadied before the swing even finished.

He stepped into the next cut without pausing. Inside the blade, the Grace thrummed and sang this thin, bright note as the Guillotine split the air.

Lancet noticed that the sword was much faster now and even cleaner with the slices. The golden glow traced the arc of the swing and left a faint afterimage burned into the light. It would be there for a breath and gone before the next.

Kestrel watched him find his rhythm and said nothing.

Lancet got better and better with each swing. He could now manipulate Grace into his sword just as easily as he could pick up a basketball.

The difference was immediate and undeniable.

His attacks were faster now, the resistance that normally dragged at the edge reduced to almost nothing as the Grace smoothed the path through the air.

The strikes landed harder too, each cut carrying a weight beyond the physical mass of the steel. The Radiant Guillotine felt lighter in his hands and heavier on the impact, a paradox that made no sense until he felt it happen.

Better. Everything was better.

After a few more testing swings and slashes, Lancet stopped in the center of the summit, chest heaving, the Radiant Guillotine still glowing faintly in his grip. The golden light ran from hilt to tip in a single unbroken line, steady as his heartbeat, sure as his breath.

Kestrel looked at the blade. Then at him.

There was no sharpening of her eyes this time. No fraction of approval. Just a long, quiet moment in which she observed what he had become in the span of a single lesson, and then she spoke.

"You’re not a natural," she said. "But you are a fast learner."