As the horizontal Wind Slash flew through the air, it struck the tree near the middle—but the blade of air wasn't strong enough to cut through.
Icariel stumbled back and collapsed onto the dirt, frustration bleeding across his face like an old wound reopened. "That's the 32nd time I've failed. Damn it…" he muttered, breath hitching.
The sun had already begun its descent, bleeding orange across the forest canopy.
"Don't be impatient," the voice said, calm as ever. "Look at the middle of the tree—exactly where I told you to cut. Focus only on that point. Don't think about your surroundings—your White Sense handles that for you. Your only job is to cut. There. Nothing else."
Icariel clenched his jaw until it ached.
"Yeah, I know, but like you said... I've got White Sense—and I can draw in mana while casting. So why shouldn't I just go all out every time? What's the point in holding back?"
The voice paused—briefly, like it was weighing something. Then it relented.
"Fine. If your Wind Slash isn't strong enough when you control the mana output, then try casting it with as much power as you can. Let's see what happens."
Icariel stood up, dust clinging to his back. "Nice." His lips curled into a sharp grin that didn't reach his eyes.
He locked onto the tree's core. Not its bark. Not its shape. Just that single point—where the voice had told him to cut.
Inhale. Stillness. Let the mana flood.
With one clean, ruthless motion, he swung his arm.
FWWHH—
The Wind Slash tore through the air, a whip of pressurized force howling with precision. It struck the tree exactly at its center.
The tree shuddered—then cracked down the middle like a snapped bone and crashed to the forest floor.
"I did it!" Icariel called out, something triumphant flickering in his voice. "See? That's way better!"
But then—
Crack… crack… CRASH!
Four more trees behind it groaned—and fell.
"Oh… shit."
Silence.
Then, without warning, the voice asked something unexpected:
"Tell me. Will you always live alone?"
Icariel blinked. "What?"
"Even though you're too young to think about that… being lonely—it's fearful, isn't it?"
He looked down, brushing dirt off his fingers. "…I guess so. If I didn't have you, I think I would've been crushed already by everything that's happened."
The voice didn't soften—but it slowed.
"Then think about this. What if, in the future, you find yourself in a real fight… and you're not alone? What if your allies or friends are near your enemy—and the only way you know how to cast Wind Slash is like this? Powerful. Uncontrolled. Sure, you'll kill your enemy…"
"…But you'll kill your friends too, because you couldn't control it."
Icariel stood still. That thought slithered beneath his skin like cold iron.
He had always clung to survival, wrapped himself in fear like armor. He would never risk his life to save someone—not if there was a safer way out. But to be the reason someone died? Someone he… cared about?
He saw Fin's face.
Galien's—worn but kind.
Irena's smile—frozen forever in death.
Sacrificing them for victory?
No… He couldn't do that.
Not yet.
"I don't have that kind of resolve," he muttered, eyes stuck on the fallen trees. "And you know that."
"I do," the voice replied. "That's exactly why I'm telling you this—and why I'm training you like this. So if a situation like that ever happens, you won't make such a mistake."
A quiet breath passed before the voice continued.
"Unlike your flame spells—deadlier in raw damage—they need time to spread. They build slowly, like infection. Your water spell? It only kills if someone is trapped inside. You're in control."
"But Wind Slash? You've already seen it. It doesn't wait. It cuts first and decides nothing."
Icariel nodded slowly.
"That's why I told you to go all out earlier. When you pour more mana into the slash, the power increases—but so does the range, and the speed. That's what makes it dangerous."
"In this scenario," the voice said, steady and instructive, "you'll train the three key elements: speed, aim, and power. You nailed the aim when you cut that tree where I told you. Let's keep going."
A faint smile ghosted across Icariel's lips. "You never teach me something useless."
"Never," the voice replied. "Now—give the spell only half the mana you used before. Focus on your aim this time."
"Fine."
Icariel centered himself, summoned the mana—but held it back like reining in a wild beast. He raised his hand toward another tree.
Fsshh—
A horizontal, thinner Wind Slash snapped forward—smaller, but no less precise.
Crack—
The tree split clean at its center and folded to the ground like a toppled statue.
"See?" the voice said. "It's not hard when you're patient. And when you respect what your power can do."
Icariel's eyes narrowed with something colder than satisfaction.
"Now," the voice said, "focus on the places I tell you to hit. Let's refine your precision."
"Yes," Icariel answered.
And so, two days passed.
He trained without pause. Sweat clung like a second skin. His arms throbbed. But his aim—his control—sharpened like a blade.
Then, the voice again: "Now. The branch to the left. The middle of the tree on your right. And the tree behind you—cut it at the bottom."
No hesitation.
Fsshh—Fshhh—FSHHH—
Three Wind Slashes screamed through the air. They weren't large—but they were perfect. Razor-thin, death-sharp. Each strike landed with surgical precision.
"Good," the voice said, pleased. "You've now mastered aim and power control. The last part—is speed."
"Speed?" Icariel tilted his head.
"That's right." The voice grew more serious now. "You will learn to control the velocity of your slashes. One spell slower. One faster. Launch them together—make the faster one catch up to the slower one."
"That sounds… kinda crazy."
"Exactly. It'll be your trump card. Something no one will see coming."
"So… how do I do it?" Icariel muttered, breath steadying.
"Easy. You remember how fast, strong, and wide your Wind Slash became when you cut down five trees?"
He nodded.
"Now that you've gained full control over the spell's output—here's what you do. Attack a tree with a controlled Wind Slash. The second you do, follow it up with a full-powered one. Can you do that?"
"I'll try," Icariel said.
He raised his hand again.
Fshhh— the first spell flew—balanced and sharp.
Fshhhhh— the second came roaring after, wide and overwhelming.
The two collided just before reaching the tree—shattering midair. Wind erupted like a storm. Leaves flew. Dust curled into the sky.
"They canceled each other out," Icariel noted.
"That method can be used as a bluff. With precise distance and timing, the spell disappears before impact—confusing your opponent. But that's not your trump card."
"Then what is?"
"Now," the voice said, more deliberate. "Cast the controlled spell again—but this time, feed it slightly more mana. Make it just stronger. Just faster. Then unleash your full-power version after."
Icariel steadied his lungs, hand lifting.
Fshhh— The first slash—faster, sharper—cut through the air like a scalpel.
Fshhhhh— The full-powered one followed like a guillotine of wind.
The first struck the tree's center—clean. The second hit the same spot a breath later—widening the wound until the tree split in two, pieces flying like bone fragments.
"Amazing…" Icariel whispered, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.
His mana replenished constantly—but his body had limits. His arms screamed. His breath burned. Still… it was worth it.
"This is a real trump card."
"For the next two days, you'll train that technique,"the voice replied."Refine it. Adapt it. Let your body get used to its toll."
"As you say," Icariel muttered, grinning faintly. "Just… let me breathe first."
Time passed. The sun climbed. The sun fell.
Night came.
Shirtless, a skinned rabbit hanging in one hand, Icariel walked through the moonlit forest. The trees stood quiet—bathed in silver. The sky was cloudless, stars scattering above like frost across black glass.
"Tomorrow's the last day of training," he said aloud.
"And I've learned the speed technique for Wind Slash. Water won't work the same way… but Flame Spear—it might. I'll test it later."
Then—
A sound.
A scream.
Sharp. Distant. Real.
Icariel froze.
"...What was that?"
He turned, head snapping toward the direction of the sound. His eyes narrowed, breath catching.
Every sense in his body lit up like blood rushing into old scars.
[End of Chapter 20]