Verren left without saying a word.
Michael didn’t stop him.
Instead, he stood in silence, deep in thought.
Advanced Mastery.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen skills at that level before.
He had.
Several of his undead possessed skills that had reached that realm.
But perhaps Verren was right.
Weapon mastery was different.
It reminded him of a post he’d once read—one that discussed the differences between Awakeners and traditional cultivators.
Getting stronger as an Awakener was easier.
But sometimes, that “easy” was subjective.
Michael remembered an example from the post: that it could take years to bring a weapon skill to the advanced level.
At the time, he had assumed it was simply because the difficulty curve was steep.
And perhaps it was.
Even Awakeners, who lived life on “easy mode,” still had to struggle to achieve it.
Now, he understood why.
Weapon mastery—true mastery—was a transformation.
No.
All mastery levels were transformations.
It was just that, for spells and abilities, the transition felt more direct, less mysterious.
But this…
“Sword Qi,” Michael muttered, repeating the term Verren had used when he displayed that strange, terrifying power.
It wasn’t mana.
It wasn’t any kind of energy Michael was familiar with.
But it was undoubtedly destructive.
“Depending on the strength of the person striking me… even a mana-infused magic sword might not cause too much damage. But that Sword Qi…”
He wasn’t confident he could handle it.
Michael glanced at the spear in his hand.
“Will I be able to replicate that in the future?”
Excitement, anticipation, and a flicker of doubt welled up inside him.
It took him a while to calm down.
“It’s fine,” he finally muttered to himself. “I’m an Awakener. I have cheat-like perks. Even if it takes time… I will reach advanced mastery in {Spearmanship}.”
Though he didn’t like how easily he had been outclassed in terms of weapon technique, he wasn’t bitter.
If anything, he felt hopeful.
He had something to look forward to now.
“Ordinary people truly can’t be underestimated.”
Being an Awakener was special—but it didn’t make him omnipotent, nor inherently superior to those who weren’t.
In fact, both the Princess and Teacher Brian, despite being “normal” humans, could easily crush him if they wished.
After a deep breath, Michael turned to look in the direction Verren had walked off.
‘Why did he even come to me in the first place?’
They hadn’t spoken more than a few words before today.
Verren was always there, always training alone, his sword never leaving his side. They hadn’t shared meals, barely nodded in passing.
And yet, out of nowhere, he’d appeared, demanded a spar, and thrown him into a whirlwind of confusion and defeat.
Michael tightened his grip around the spear.
It still stung—the way Verren’s expression had shifted after just a few exchanges.
Not just disappointment.
Contempt?
No. It hadn’t been malicious. But it was there, plain as day—Verren had expected more.
He wanted more.
Michael remembered the moment Verren stepped back and lowered his sword, not because he was finished, but because he was done.
Not because Verren was exhausted, but because he was disinterested.
That brief, flickering frown that crossed his face before he turned and walked away.
It wasn’t about winning or losing. Verren hadn’t seemed happy even as the victor.
If anything, he looked more frustrated leaving than when he arrived.
‘What kind of person seeks out someone he barely knows, fights him with such seriousness, and then walks away without a word?’
A battle maniac?
Hmmm.
Verren.
He seems to fit that mold a little too well.
Verren probably thought Michael would be a worthy challenge. And when he wasn’t…
Disappointment.
Michael wasn’t angry. Not really. It was just strange.
And a little sobering.
“Someone like that doesn’t need friends,” Michael said quietly. “He needs opponents.”
“I’ll catch up to you one day, Verren.”
Michael didn’t say it with resentment. He said it like a promise—to himself more than anyone else.
That special energy was cool.
It felt so cool!
For a moment it made Michael recall some fantasy stories he had read in the past.
It made him once again feel the novelty of the fantasy world that has become reality for him.
Michael exhaled slowly and stepped back into his stance.
The familiar weight of the spear grounded him as he began to move, flowing through a basic thrust, then a sweep, then a parry.
Over and over.
Simple drills.
Nothing fancy.
“Advanced Mastery. Perfect Stage…” he whispered.
Sword Qi had come out of nowhere.
Was Spear Qi a thing? Would he ever get to that level?
After all, even though there were some similarities, Michael could still find some differences in the power system of this world, or rather the place he was in the land of origin and his original world.
He moved into a stab-twist motion, pivoted, and struck an imaginary enemy’s neck.
Michael knew how to use the weapon.
No, that wasn’t the problem.
The problem was… he didn’t know how to fight with it.
Not truly.
His form was clean. His grip precise. His footwork followed the manuals. Everything about his motion screamed training.
However, he was textbook accurate and that was it.
He had no instinct, no flow, no improvisation.
Against monsters, it was fine. After all, he had been using his spear to kill all this time.
But against someone like Verren?
He’d been dissected in seconds.
Still, Michael didn’t feel discouraged.
One day, maybe he’d be able to shoot out “cool energies,” too.
Michael couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought, spinning the spear once before driving it forward into the air with a sharp whoosh.
It wasn’t until the sun dipped below the horizon Michael stopped practicing.
The night had grown quiet.
With a final glance at the now-starless sky, Michael turned and began walking back toward camp.
By the time he arrived, the guards were already alert.
The knights on night watch greeted him with the usual formality.
They bowed deeply, armored hands over their hearts. “Sir Mic.”
Michael nodded in return, not slowing down as he passed.