The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the inn, casting golden beams over the simple, worn furniture. Valmaris was alive outside, the streets humming with merchants calling out their wares, higher-ranked adventurers discussing recent quests, and city guards maintaining a watchful eye over the bustling crowds. Ash watched a group of Silver Rank adventurers passing by, their armor gleaming in the light. He clenched his fists, reminded once again of how far he still had to go.

  Grant was missing from the shared room when Ash woke, but that wasn't unusual. After grabbing a quick meal, he wandered through the streets, his gaze lingering on a nearby weaponsmith displaying curved blades—katanas. He let out a slow breath before shaking the thought away and continuing on.

  A glimpse of movement in a secluded alley leading to an open field caught his attention. Curious, he followed it to find Grant, alone, his sword swinging through the air with practiced precision. Sweat glistened on his brow as he moved, his strikes carrying a raw intensity that spoke of both frustration and determination.

  Ash hesitated, watching. Grant's aggressive fighting style was an extension of his personality—bold, relentless, unyielding. Despite his brashness, he took training seriously. Ash found himself admiring the dedication.

  After a few moments, Grant noticed him and paused, lowering his weapon. "Spying, are we?" he asked, his tone teasing but guarded.

  Ash chuckled, raising his hands. "Didn't mean to. Just saw you out here and thought I'd say hi."

  "Well, you've said it. You can go now," Grant replied, turning back to his practice.

  Instead of leaving, Ash stepped closer. "How about we train together?"

  Grant glanced over his shoulder, skeptical. "You? Training?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Ash asked, feigning offense.

  Grant smirked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Alright, fine. But let's make it interesting. A one-on-one spar. No holding back. Let's see what you've got."

  Ash hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Deal."

  They set up in the field, drawing a rough boundary in the dirt. Ash unsheathed his sword, the familiar weight grounding him as he settled into a stance. Grant's grin widened as he mirrored the action, his blade gleaming in the sunlight.

  The mock battle began with a burst of movement. The clang of steel rang through the air, a sharp, resonant sound that sent vibrations through Ash's arms as he barely managed to block Grant's opening strike. The jolt traveled up his wrists, making his fingers tingle with the impact. The force rattled through his arms, forcing him back a step. Grant pressed forward, his attacks relentless. Each strike carried weight, forcing Ash onto the defensive.

  Ash's breath quickened. The heat of the sun beat down on him, sweat gathering on his brow. Stay calm. Breathe. He tried to focus, but Grant's relentless attacks left little room for thought. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, knuckles white. Why am I always reacting? I need to take control. His muscles burned, each movement growing heavier as he struggled to counter Grant's strength. The heat of the sun bore down on his back, sweat forming along his brow and trickling down his spine. Every breath he took felt shallower, his lungs working harder to keep up with the relentless pace.

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  He's stronger than me, Ash realized. I can't match him blow for blow.

  Instead of fighting strength with strength, he shifted his strategy. He watched Grant's movements more closely, looking for a pattern. He swings in threes. The first is heavy, the second is faster, but the third... the third is the real opening. Grant's swings, while powerful, had a rhythm. Ash focused on the small gaps between attacks, stepping back just enough to bait Grant into overcommitting.

  When the opening came, Ash took it. He sidestepped a heavy downward swing and countered with a precise slash, forcing Grant to retreat. The momentum shifted. Now, Ash pressed forward, each strike calculated rather than reckless.

  Grant barely blocked in time, eyes widening slightly as their blades scraped together, sending a metallic screech into the air. Sparks flared at the point of contact before they broke apart, their breathing heavy, chests rising and falling in tandem. Ash could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. This is different. I'm not just reacting—I'm setting the pace.

  "Not bad," Grant admitted, breath coming heavier. "You've got some fight in you."

  Ash didn't respond—he couldn't afford to. He kept pushing, his blade moving faster, lighter. For the first time, he wasn't fighting against his sword—he was moving with it.

  Then it happened. Grant overcommitted to a strike, leaving himself open. Ash pivoted, bringing his blade to rest inches from Grant's chest.

  Grant froze, surprise flickering in his eyes before he let out a breath. "Alright, you win."

  Ash lowered his weapon, a small smile playing at his lips. "You're not bad yourself."

  Grant sheathed his sword, shaking his head. "You've got skill, but your movements are... off. They don't fit your weapon."

  Ash tilted his head, confused. "What do you mean?"

  "Your stance, your strikes—it's like you're fighting against your sword, not with it. You'd do better with something lighter, more fluid. Like a curved blade. A katana, maybe."

  Ash blinked, surprised by the suggestion. "A katana? Those are expensive. I've never even thought about it."

  Grant's expression softened slightly. "Why not? You're not stuck with what you have."

  Ash hesitated, then sighed. "My family... we weren't exactly well-off. My father was a blacksmith, but he mostly repaired farming tools. I left home when I turned fourteen to become an adventurer. This sword was all I could afford."

  Grant listened silently, his usual bravado subdued. After a moment, he spoke. "I get it. We all come from somewhere."

  Ash glanced at him, curious. "What about you?"

  Grant hesitated, then shrugged. "I wasn't always Bronze Rank, you know. I used to be Gold."

  Ash's eyes widened. "What happened?"

  Grant's gaze turned distant. "I had a childhood friend. Her name was Eliza. We trained together from the time we were kids, always pushing each other to be better. She was a prodigy—the kind of person who made everything look easy. It didn't matter what challenge she faced, she always found a way to overcome it. I admired her for that, but... I think a part of me also resented it. She was always a step ahead, and I felt like I was chasing her shadow."

  He exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the ground. "Eventually, she was scouted by a higher-ranking party. She tried to get me to come with her, but I wasn't ready. I told myself I'd catch up, that I'd make my own way. But instead... I started making mistakes. I got reckless, lost fights I shouldn't have, and got demoted. Twice. Without her, I wasn't the same fighter. I realized too late that I had been relying on her more than I admitted.".

  Ash frowned, sensing the pain behind Grant's words. "I'm sorry."

  Grant shook his head. "Don't be. It's on me. But... losing her taught me something. You can't rely on anyone to carry you. You've got to stand on your own."

  Ash nodded slowly, his respect growing for Grant. "Still, you've got us now. We're a team."

  Grant gave a small, reluctant smile. "Yeah. I guess we are."

  Back at the inn, Leona raised an eyebrow as they entered, their camaraderie evident. "What happened?"

  "Just some training," Ash replied with a grin.

  Nel smirked from his spot near the hearth. "Training or trying to kill each other?"

  Grant laughed. "A little of both."

  Leona shook her head but smiled. Ash, however, couldn't stop thinking about Grant's words. And as he sat down, his gaze drifted back toward the distant weaponsmith shop.

  Maybe it was time for a change.