The moment Asher pushed open the door, a barrage of metallic clangs erupted through the air, crashing into his eardrums in successive waves, each one sharper than the last. It was as though the room itself breathed steel. Figures moved rapidly across the vast chamber, weapons flashing in sweeping arcs that blurred together.

But in Asher's eyes, and more importantly, in his sharpened senses, every one of those figures moved at the pace of drifting snails. Their motions, which to ordinary unawakened people would have been a chaotic storm of speed, appeared to him almost laughably slow.

Asher was not surprised by the sight before him; this was the next training ground on their progression path. The weapons training ground.

"Welcome to the weapon training ground," Asher said calmly as Finch and William halted beside him. The chamber stretched far beyond the size of every previous training area they had encountered. It was enormous, filled with dozens of people, racks of gleaming weapons, and layered combat zones where trainees clashed in synchronized rhythm. Their weapons collided in metallic harmony, producing a steady ring that reverberated throughout the entire space.

"Why are there a few trainees here?" William asked, his brows drawn in confusion. "Aren't they supposed to progress through each training ground together? Or am I wrong in my assumptions?" He had already formed the belief that no one else should be present here.

"You can think of these ones as the strongest within the First Training Ground at the moment," Asher replied, too lazy to explain further. William was smart, smart enough that Asher knew he would draw the correct conclusion from those few words. And he did; William simply nodded and said nothing else. Finch, on the other hand, continued staring ahead in a silent manner.

Far ahead, Instructor Clinton's black eyes snapped sharply toward the doorway. His gaze landed on Asher, and he froze for a brief moment as recognition struck him. Instructor Clinton could never forget Asher, someone like Asher was impossible to forget. In his eyes, there was no trainee as naturally gifted, as terrifyingly talented, or as effortlessly exceptional.

The memory of their first encounter flickered through the instructor Clinton's mind. He remembered walking toward the young boy, intending to correct his sword form during his first-ever session in the weapon training ground.

But the moment he observed him, Clinton realized the boy needed no correction, Asher's form, instinct, and precision were already too good for someone who just started.

Leaving the trainee he had been instructing, Instructor Clinton walked toward Asher with a rare, genuine smile spreading across his face. When he reached him, he spoke with subtle admiration, "Tenth Sun… who would have thought you'd return to a place like this."

"I simply came to look around, Instructor Clinton," Asher replied with a calm smile of his own. He knew Clinton was not exactly talkative; the man spoke primarily when discussions involved weapons, techniques, or training. But Asher calling him Instructor pleased him, and it showed in the softened expression on Clinton's face.

The instructor's eyes shifted to the two standing beside Asher. A flicker of curiosity sparked in his gaze. 'Is he here to enlist them?' he wondered.

Asher noticed the glance and introduced them. "Instructor Clinton, these are William Canestane, heir to the Canestane Barony, and Finch Whale, heir to the Whale Barony. They're my teammates. We just returned from a mission at the Rivelle Barony."

"Nice to meet the both of you," Instructor Clinton said, though his tone remained flat. He didn't offer the same smile he had given Asher. He was not hostile, merely neutral. Finch and William did not mind; Asher had already warned them that Instructor Clinton was welcoming in his own unique way, but not exactly as expressive as Instructor Elowen.

Clinton's eyes moved back to Asher. "Since you came to look around, I won't be able to guide you personally. I'm in the middle of a training session."

"That's perfectly understandable, Instructor Clinton. I'm not exactly insensitive," Asher replied, letting out a soft laugh.

Instructor Clinton paused, contemplating something. Then he spoke again. "Although… there is a way you could join."

The moment those words left his mouth, wide smiles spread simultaneously across William's and Finch's faces. Within the Star Academy, they had witnessed firsthand how absurdly overpowered Instructor Jane was, capable of wielding numerous weapons with elegance and unmatched mastery.

To them, Instructor Clinton was the male counterpart to her: skilled, controlled, and terrifyingly precise in combat. Although they've never seen the man battle or swing a weapon, they had no doubt. The possibility of training under him was another invaluable opportunity.

"Why don't you have a light spar with them?" Instructor Clinton continued. "Since they often rotate opponents among themselves, adding new challengers will create a different kind of tension."

Asher turned his gaze to Finch and William. "Can they also spar with the trainees?"

"Of course, they can," Clinton answered without hesitation. Though he didn't know Finch's or William's exact strength, he had zero doubt that anyone qualified to stand beside the Tenth Sun would not lose to ordinary trainees.

Turning away, Instructor Clinton raised his voice. "All of you, attention."

Instantly, every trainee froze mid-swing, weapons halting in the air.

"The Tenth Sun, Young Lord Canestane, and Young Lord Whale are present in the First Training Ground," Clinton announced, his voice carrying authority. "Some of you may already know this: the Tenth Sun trained here, and he graduated here. The two Young Lords are his teammates, from the Star Academy."

He paused, as though giving them a moment to absorb the significance.

"From this moment onward, any of you may step forward and spar with any of them. This is a rare chance to spar with a Wargrave, a Sun, no less. It is also an opportunity to face two nobles who trained alongside him. Consider this an opportunity to measure the gap between yourselves and those who have already surpassed this level."

The trainees murmured among themselves in shock. They had all heard of the Wargrave Suns and Moons, living legends among young warriors, but none had ever met one in person.

Asher scanned the group. He recognized no one; the students he knew had already graduated. In contrast, during his earlier visit to the Physical Conditioning Ground, he had recognized several familiar faces.

"Who wants to go first?" Instructor Clinton asked, turning toward the trio.

After a moment, William stepped forward. "I will," he said, his claymore resting comfortably against his waist. To William, this was a perfect chance to humble some of the Wargrave trainees before they eventually grew into knights or warriors who would one day dominate real battlefields.

"Only shallow injuries are allowed," Instructor Clinton explained, giving a brief outline of the rules. William nodded at the instructor's words.

'The Wargraves truly are different,' William mused. In normal weapon training sessions outside the Wargrave system, wooden weapons were used, or strict injury-prevention rules were enforced. Yet here, William saw no wooden weapons at all, real steel glinted everywhere, and injuries, albeit shallow, were fully permitted.

"Who will spar with Young Lord Canestane first?" Instructor Clinton asked.

Without hesitation, a girl stepped forward. She walked with calm, measured steps, holding two sharp chakrams in each hand. She said nothing and simply took her stance. William smiled at her, not mockingly, but with interest. He could see the confidence blazing in her eyes. She believed in her strength. But William didn't bother with words. He simply drew his claymore in one smooth motion.

"Begin," Instructor Clinton intoned.

The instant the signal was given, the girl dashed forward. In mere seconds, she erased the distance between them, her chakrams slicing toward William's neck from both sides. Her speed would have overwhelmed an average trainee.

But William did not bother dodging. He moved his claymore slowly, insultingly slowly, to match the path and speed of her strike. The heavy blade slid between the curving metal of her chakram with perfect timing.

Then, with effortless ease, he twisted.

Her weapon flew from her hand.

Then the second.

And just like that, William disarmed her with a casual elegance that made it seem as though she were nothing more than a clueless child swinging toys rather than steel.

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