Chapter 95. Reading Pages of His Mind He Hasn’t Even Written Yet
Throughout the remainder of the session, Catherine operated not as a student seeking guidance but as a seasoned lieutenant overseeing her troops. William observed her from the periphery, a quiet sense of pride swelling in his chest.
There was a new steel in her spine, a crispness to her commands that spoke of a past life as a knight who had once led units through fire and blood. The hesitant, fractured woman who had struggled to grip a wooden practice sword weeks ago had been replaced by someone who commanded respect simply by standing still.
"Your weight is too far forward, Kaela... Again." Catherine’s voice was calm but carried the absolute authority of experience.
She stepped into Kaela’s space, using a light but corrective touch to nudge the girl’s lead foot backward. "Ember rewards aggression, yes, but it cannot survive recklessness."
"You’re still telegraphing leaning into the strike before the power has actually left your hips."
"If you miss with that posture, you’re not just open... you’re dead. You’ll have no leverage left to recover."
Kaela wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her glove, breathing hard. "I’ve never missed, Vice Headmaster! My strikes have been true since day one."
"Because you’ve never faced anyone who could read your intentions before you even moved," Catherine countered without hesitation. "You’ve been fighting opponents who were slower than your reflexes."
"Eventually... you’ll meet someone who sees the lean before you even swing."
"I’d rather you learn this correction here, on wooden swords, than in the field where the correction comes in the form of a severed artery."
Kaela grumbled something under her breath about ’excessive caution,’ but she adjusted her stance nonetheless, planting her feet with renewed awareness. William watched them, feeling something settle warmly in his chest.
Catherine wasn’t just healing; she was remembering who she was meant to be.
Then came the moment the entire training ground had been waiting for.
As the sun began to dip lower, casting long, amber shadows across the blood-stained dirt of the arena, William gave the signal. The chatter died instantly.
The other students retreated to the sidelines, their eyes wide with anticipation.
Kaela didn’t hesitate. The moment William stepped into the center circle, she dropped into her stance.
It was a low, coiled readiness, the unmistakable posture of the Ember stance. Her body seemed to hum with restrained heat, every muscle twitching with the need to explode forward.
William met her with the single-wield configuration. He kept his blade lowered slightly, deliberately restraining the terrifying economy of motion that defined his true combat style.
He wasn’t here to dominate her; he was here to provide the resistance she needed to sharpen herself.
’Don’t let her intimidate you,’ William thought to himself, watching the way her pupils dilated. ’She’s hunting... Let her hunt...’
Kaela exploded forward.
The first strike was a blur of motion, a diagonal slash aimed at William’s shoulder. But it wasn’t the wild, flailing attack of weeks past. It was controlled, committed, and precise.
William didn’t deflect it; he allowed the wooden blade to bite against his raised forearm guard with a sharp crack, offering a silent acknowledgment of the clean execution.
Kaela’s grin split her face, feral and triumphant.
"Got you!" she crowed.
She didn’t pause to celebrate. She immediately channeled the momentum of the first strike into a second, a vicious horizontal sweep aimed at his ribs.
William pivoted on his heel, the wooden blade whistling past his ribs by mere inches, feeling the displaced air against his skin.
"Better," William said, his voice steady despite the sudden spike in adrenaline.
He deliberately gave ground, retreating two steps to give her space to pursue, forcing her to maintain her balance as she closed the distance. "Keep your weight centered like that."
"Don’t chase the strike; let the strike carry you."
Kaela grunted, her breathing becoming more labored as she pushed her body harder. "I’m trying! It’s harder when you actually move back!"
"That’s because you’re learning to hunt a target that isn’t standing still," William provoked gently. "Again!"
Kaela lunged again, a complex series of three rapid-fire strikes: a feint to the left, a thrust to the center, and a brutal downward cleave. William parried the first two with economical flicks of his wrist, the wooden weapons clattering violently.
As the third strike descended, he stepped inside her guard, his elbow brushing her shoulder as he redirected her force upward.
For a split second, they were chest to chest, the heat from Kaela’s exertion rolling off her in waves. Her eyes were fierce, locked onto his with an intensity that would have unnerved a lesser man.
"You’re succeeding, Kaela," William murmured as he disengaged, spinning away to reset. "You’re actually doing it."
William’s praise acted like gasoline on an already blazing fire. Kaela’s pupils dilated until her amber eyes were nearly black, consumed by the hunt.
For the next full minute, the training ground echoed with the violent staccato of wood meeting wood—crack, crack, thud—as the intensity ratcheted up to a fever pitch.
Kaela was no longer just practicing; she was attacking. She unleashed a torrent of ember-fueled strikes, each one carrying the desperate weight of her ambition.
She lunged forward in a series of vicious, overlapping slashes that forced William into a constant state of controlled retreat. He moved like water, his feet dancing across the dirt in precise arcs, his wooden blade singing as it met her fury.
He was testing her limits, pushing her to the very edge of her stamina, letting her feel the phantom sting of what a real blade would do if she failed to maintain her discipline.
’She’s getting faster,’ William noted internally, his heartbeat quickening to match the rhythm of the fight. ’But she’s getting desperate as well.’
’She’s starting to trade balance for raw power...’
Kaela roared with exertion, spinning into a powerful roundhouse strike that William narrowly evaded by dropping his center of gravity. But as she completed the rotation, her momentum carried her a fraction of an inch too far, her left flank exposed for a heartbeat.
"Your left side, Kaela!" Lia’s voice cut through the sounds of combat like a whip crack.
Lia was leaning forward, her knuckles white as she gripped the training rail, her analytical mind having dissected the fight faster than the combatants themselves. "You’re leaving it open every time you commit to the follow-through!"
"You’re over-rotating!"
Kaela’s eyes flashed with momentary frustration, ’Damn it, not now!’ but she didn’t falter. In the middle of her next lunge, she forcibly wrenched her hips back, tightening her guard mid-motion to compensate for the opening Lia had spotted.
It was a desperate, instinctive correction, but it worked.
William saw the adjustment and immediately seized the moment to end the exchange before her muscles burned out entirely. He stepped forward, not with a strike, but with a firm, controlled parry that forced Kaela’s blade harmlessly to the ground, and then he stepped back and raised both hands.
"That’s enough," William announced, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion. "Spar over."
Kaela stood there for a moment, bent over with hands on her knees, sweat pouring off her chin and soaking through her training tunic. Her lungs burned, and her muscles screamed in protest, but her face was split by a grin so wide it looked painful.
"That was..." William paused, wiping sweat from his own brow. "That was the best I’ve seen you fight, Kaela... Truly."
"You were controlled, you were patient, and most importantly, you were actually thinking between your strikes instead of just reacting like a wounded animal."
Kaela straightened up slowly, her legs shaking slightly, but her pride was unshakable. She shot a triumphant, panting look toward Lia.
"Did you hear that? Did you fucking hear that, Lia!? Best he’s ever seen me fight!"
Lia rolled her eyes, though there was no real heat in it. "I heard him, Kaela... I was standing three feet away from you."
"I’m just making sure the official record reflects the magnitude of the achievement," Kaela wheezed, grinning wickedly.
"I don’t need to document verbal praise, Kaela... It’s not exactly ambiguous," Lia retorted, though she couldn’t hide the small smile of approval.
On the sidelines, Catherine watched the display with quiet amusement. When William’s eyes met hers, she didn’t look away; instead, she offered him a small, private smile, one that lacked any instructor’s formality.
It was a look of shared understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of how far they had all come. William felt a rare moment of genuine peace settle over him, the kind of warmth that made the exhaustion of the day feel worthwhile.
The peaceful atmosphere was broken by a familiar, unhurried voice drifting from the perimeter of the training grounds.
"Well, now... This looks cozy."
William turned his head, recognizing the melodic cadence immediately. Leaning against the wooden fence was Selena, looking as unbothered and effortlessly composed as ever.
She had a stack of heavy leather-bound books tucked under one arm, clearly having wandered over from the library, but her attention wasn’t on her studies. Her gaze was fixed on William, sharp and knowing, carrying that particular brand of curiosity that always made him feel like she was reading pages of his mind he hadn’t even written yet.
’Selena...?’