"Power and speed are important, of course, but you also have to master the right technique. A sword isn’t like a saber. The Thrust is a critical killing blow, and you must master it."

"A moment ago, you were just pushing the sword with your arm. That stupid method is highly inefficient. A true Thrust is an explosion of your entire body’s Power, concentrated at a single point."

Gray dropped his flippant expression, his face growing serious.

"Imagine you’re a bow. Your body is the bow itself, and your back leg, ready to push off the ground, is the fully drawn string. The sword in your hand is the arrow that will pierce your enemy’s throat."

"Your arm is only there to guide it. The real Power comes from the instant you release the bowstring—the moment your back heel violently pushes off the ground!"

"The Power starts from your feet. Shift your center of gravity to your back leg and feel the connection between you and the ground."

Gray’s voice was firm and resonant as he assumed a ready stance.

"The moment you Thrust, your arm doesn’t move first. Your back heel does, pushing off the ground! That force will surge up your thigh, then your waist and hips will violently twist forward, transmitting the momentum to your shoulder."

"And finally!"

Gray took a sudden step, his movements instantly accelerating.

"Body, footwork, and sword tip—a trinity. The sound of your front foot landing and the sound of your sword tip tearing through the target’s flesh must ring out at the exact same moment."

The moment he finished speaking, Gray shot forward like an arrow released from a bow.

The Wooden Sword shrieked as it tore through the air, then precisely struck the training dummy in the chest.

The entire motion was fluid, concise, and efficient, with no wasted movement.

"Understand? Your entire body weight and forward momentum must be channeled into the tip of your sword at that one instant. That’s what makes it lethal."

"So that’s how it is..."

Zelir had a profound realization. He recalled his own movements from a moment ago; his arm had moved first, with his body following after. The Power was completely disjointed.

"Again!" Fighting spirit ignited in Zelir’s eyes.

He took a deep breath. He stopped thinking about specific techniques and focused completely on feeling out the method of generating Power that Gray had described.

He shifted his center of gravity to his back leg, feeling the muscles tense like a fully drawn bowstring.

Push off!

Twist the hips!

Lunge!

"THUD... HISS!"

Two distinct sounds.

The thud of his front foot landing was followed by the sluggish impact of his sword tip against the target, leaving only a shallow white mark.

"Wrong! You didn’t drive with your hips! The Power transfer broke at your waist!"

Gray corrected him at once. "Again!"

"THUD... HISS!"

"Still wrong! Your body and the sword are separate. You have to make them one!"

For the next hour, the only sounds in the Swordsmanship Training Ground were Gray’s relentless critiques and the clumsy thwacks of the Wooden Sword against the training dummy.

Zelir repeated the simple motion tirelessly, sweat soaking through the back of his shirt.

But as he practiced, he gradually discovered the trick to it.

’Honestly, the way muscles generate force isn’t even half as complex as a Spell Structure.’

Once he started getting the hang of it, Zelir found the knack quickly. He could precisely analyze the errors in how he generated Power with each attempt and adjust accordingly.

He was surprised by his own efficiency.

’It seems there’s some truth to the Intelligence Attribute’s description: "Warriors can quickly grasp Combat Skills."’

Finally, after dozens of thrusts, Zelir felt something click.

He closed his eyes. The world seemed to fall silent, leaving only the sound of his own heartbeat and breath.

The next moment, Zelir’s back foot shot off the ground!

A powerful force erupted from the sole of his foot, surging up his tensed thigh muscles to his waist and hips in an instant.

He could clearly feel his body snap open like a compressed spring, all of its Power channeled through his arm and delivered, without reservation, to the tip of the sword!

He thrust forward!

"WHOOSH!"

This time, there weren’t two sounds.

The instant Zelir’s front foot landed, the Wooden Sword in his hand struck the training dummy with perfect precision.

The solid wooden target was thrown back violently by the blow. The tip of the sword pierced straight through its chest, sending splinters flying!

’Success!’

An unprecedented sense of satisfaction washed over Zelir.

The power of that one strike was several times greater than when he had relied on pure arm strength.

"Hoh..."

Gray leaned against the weapon rack with his arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow, his tone casual.

"Not bad... that’s more like it. Remember that feeling. That’s how you Thrust."

’A monster! He’s an absolute monster! It took me at least two weeks to learn this!’ Gray roared internally.

"I can’t..."

Once the adrenaline faded, a huge wave of exhaustion washed over him.

Zelir plopped down onto the soft sand, leaning on his sword and gasping for breath.

Even with his outstanding physique, training so intensely all at once was starting to take its toll.

"Take it slow. Don’t be in such a hurry. Your progress is already incredibly fast. Over the next few days, I’ll teach you the principles and Power generation for the remaining Basic Slicing Techniques."

As he spoke, Gray picked up the Foil Zelir normally used and examined it.

"I’ve been meaning to say something. This kind of sword isn’t right for you. Or rather, this kind of sword isn’t right for fighting Demons at all."

Gray gave it a couple of test swings, then flicked the flat of the blade. The sword let out a faint hum.

He sneered in disdain.

"This thing is like a hairpin for a noble lady. It’s pretty, I’ll give it that, but it’s too fragile."

"It’s too light, so your slashes lack force. The material was chosen for its low weight, not its durability. It might be good enough for cutting up some squishy little goblins..."

"...but the blade is guaranteed to chip the moment you run into a Demon with tough scales or a carapace. And a double-edged design isn’t good for blocking or parrying."

"Then what kind of sword should I be using?" Zelir asked earnestly.

He had absolutely no knowledge on the subject. He’d only bought the Foil because it felt comfortable in his hand.

"Come on, I’ll take you to pick one out." Gray clapped Zelir on the shoulder.

The two of them left the Swordsmanship Training Ground.

Black Stone Town had more than one Blacksmith Shop, but by sheer coincidence, the one Gray led Zelir to was the very same one he frequented.

Before they even stepped inside, the familiar smell of hot iron and the CLANG CLANG CLANG of a hammer reached them.

"Yo, Brown."

Gray raised a hand in a familiar greeting.

Brown, who was hammering a red-hot iron billet, looked up, a rugged smile breaking out on his sweaty face.

"Well if it isn’t you, Gray."

"Been busy lately? Haven’t seen you at the tavern in a few days."

Gray gave him a suggestive look, leaning in to nudge Brown with his elbow. "Remember that group of girls from last time? It’d be a real shame if you missed out again tonight."

"Ahem... don’t talk about that stuff in broad daylight," Brown coughed.

"Hahahahaha... still so shy." Gray roared with laughter.