My Talent's Name Is Generator

[Steve’s PoV]

Her eyes narrowed, sharp and unyielding. “Good. At least you’re not whining.”

Another flick, another slash screamed toward me.

This time I didn’t swing late, I moved first.

[Burst Flash] kicked in, blurring my form. I was lightning itself, driving my blade at the arc’s weakest point where it seemed thinnest. My sword cut into it, but the force exploded outward and ripped across my shoulder.

The cut burned like fire, deep enough that I nearly dropped my weapon.

“Better,” Hazel said, her tone steady as stone. “But tell me, where was your kill strike?”

Her question hit harder than the wound. She was right. I wasn’t thinking of killing. I was thinking of blocking, surviving, outlasting. She wanted me to kill in one swing.

I pressed my lips together, blood dripping from my arm. “Again.”

Hazel smiled faintly—if you could call it a smile. It wasn’t warm. It was the kind of expression a warrior gave when the student finally spoke the right words.

She raised her sword, pointing it lazily at me. Then, without warning, a dozen phantom slashes bloomed in the air, each coming at a different angle. A storm of death.

I had no time to think. My body screamed to move, and I let it. [Blind Rush].

Instinct seized my hands, dragging my blade into motion before thought could. Sparks burst as I intercepted one, then another. But I was too slow for all of them. A shallow line opened across my cheek. Another cut my thigh. Blood splattered the floor with each impact.

When it ended, I was still standing but barely.

Hazel lowered her sword, eyes calm, unshaken by the blood she had drawn. “You are still brute forcing your way.”

Her gaze sharpened, cutting right into me. “If you want to sever, Steve Harper, then you must see everything in one glance. The weakness, the line, the end. That is what Abyss Severance demands. To sever body, will, and resistance at once.”

I’d long since lost count of how many times she’d repeated that same line. Severance this, Severance that. The woman was starting to get on my nerves, but I bit my tongue and held back.

I panted, wiping blood from my cheek. “Then teach me to see.”

Hazel’s expression softened by a fraction, not kind, but approving.

“Good answer.”

She moved closer. Even standing still, she radiated the weight of a Grandmaster. “The first step is timing. Watch.”

Before I could blink, her sword vanished. No sound, no warning. One moment it was by her side, the next it was already resting at my throat.

I froze. I hadn’t even seen her move.

Hazel’s voice was low, unwavering. “I don’t swing fast, Steve. I swing when it matters. That is why it feels fast. You chase speed, but speed without timing is wasted effort. Understand?”

I swallowed hard. My heart pounded in my ears. “…Yes.”

“Good. Then we change the game.”

She stepped back and extended her sword. Essence shimmered around her, condensing into a massive floating blade of pure energy above her head. It hung like an executioner’s guillotine.

“This blade will fall at a random moment. You will not dodge. You will sever it before it severs you. Fail, and you die.”

Her tone was absolute.

My stomach tightened. She wasn’t bluffing. She would let it cut me in half if I failed.

I tightened my grip on my sword, blood still dripping from earlier wounds. Every nerve screamed at me to run, but I forced myself to stand. This was Hazel’s lesson. This was the path I had chosen.

The blade hovered, humming with raw Essence. My eyes locked onto it, my breathing slow, steady.

Then it fell.

Time stretched. The sound roared like thunder. My mind screamed, too fast. Too heavy.

But in that instant, I saw it. The line. The weakness. The moment.

Lightning surged through me, my blade moving in perfect clarity. [Abyss Severance]. My sword flashed, black and silver, splitting the guillotine down the center.

The blade shattered into dust.

My chest heaved, sweat pouring down my face. I had done it.

Hazel watched, her expression unreadable. Then she finally spoke, her tone quieter but no less sharp. “That’s it. That moment. Hold onto it. Refine it. Live in it. If you can, you’ll become the sword you dream of.”

I lowered my blade, my arms trembling. Pain burned everywhere, cuts leaking blood—but my grip never faltered.

Hazel turned away, her back to me as she sheathed her sword. “That’s enough for today. Heal. Tomorrow, we begin again.”

I sank to one knee, exhaustion crashing down. Yet beneath it all, I felt something burning inside me.

Clarity.

For the first time, I really understood how much timing mattered in my sword skill. It wasn’t just about swinging fast or hitting hard. It was about the exact moment, the breath between one strike and the next, where victory was decided.

My lungs burned like fire as I forced myself to stand again. The training ground was a mess, smeared with streaks of my blood.

My arms shook, and every muscle in my body screamed, but Hazel’s voice still echoed in my head, telling me to get up, to move again.

I staggered out of the training yard and into the small room just outside.

It wasn’t much, just a bed, a chair, and a dummy to train but it was enough. My body sank onto the bed before I even realized it.

I had trained with her for twelve straight hours, and when she finally left to do her own training, I felt like a husk left behind.

Still, I couldn’t deny it, I was improving. No level-ups, no fancy new powers, but something deeper.

My skill with the sword had sharpened. I could feel the blade now in ways I couldn’t before, like it was an extension of my own body, like it carried my will.

Every cut, every block, every stumble taught me more than the last.

Hazel was merciless. She never let me rely on my transformation. She forced me to put that aside and focus only on the sword.