Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

Though he had consciously decided to forgo training, the deep-rooted habit was a harder master to disobey. The urge for disciplined movement, for the clarity that came with exertion, pulled at him. Before meeting Khione, he felt a need to ground himself. An idea surfaced: he would go to the training grounds and exchange a few pointers with that formidable butler.

After changing into his training gear, he left his room and moved through the silent, grand halls of the Leclair estate. His path to the designated training ground was uninterrupted; he encountered neither Lux nor Adam, both surely still lost in the deep sleep of their late night.

The training ground was a symphony of controlled chaos. The morning air, crisp within the estate’s shielded courtyard, rang with the clatter of practice swords, the chanted incantations of mages, and the grunts of exertion from dozens of knights and soldiers clad in the Leclair livery. Nero’s eyes scanned the organized duels and drills, searching for a specific, composed figure—the butler known as the Flash Knight. He was nowhere to be seen, likely attending to his duties within the manor.

A flicker of disappointment was quickly replaced by resolve. He had come to train, and he would. His gaze swept across the field, assessing. Many were too green, their movements telegraphed and clumsy. Others were veterans, their auras so dense and controlled that facing them would be less a spar and more a lesson in futility. He needed a whetstone, not an anvil.

Finally, his attention settled on a knight practicing forms with a long, glaive-like spear. The knight moved with a fluid, economical grace, the spearhead tracing complex patterns in the air that left faint, shimmering trails of moisture. His armor bore the insignia of a Red Knight level, but the pressure he emitted was more refined and potent than Nero’s own beginner-level rank. This was an advanced Red Knight, likely on the cusp of a promotion. More intriguingly, the subtle humidity in the air around him spoke of an affinity for the Law of Water—a perfect counterpoint to Nero’s own fiery path.

Selecting a well-balanced practice longsword from the rack, Nero approached. The knight ceased his forms, his helmeted head tilting in inquiry.

”A sparring match, if you’re willing,” Nero said, his voice cutting through the ambient noise. ”I seek to test my edge.”

The knight gave a short, sharp nod. ”A clash of elements is always instructive. I am Sir Alaric. I accept.”

They moved to an open dueling circle, drawing a few curious glances from those training nearby. The two young knights faced each other, a study in contrasts. Sir Alaric stood poised and grounded, his spear held at a ready angle, its tip steady as a needle. Water prana began to coalesce around him, forming a faint, shimmering aura that distorted the light like heat haze off a summer road.

Nero settled into his own stance, feet shoulder-width apart, the longsword held in a two-handed grip before him. He took a deep breath, reaching inward to the core of blazing prana that slumbered within him. He willed it forth. A wave of heat shimmered around his body, and with a soft whoosh, crimson-orange flames flickered to life along the length of the practice blade. The air around him grew warm, and the scent of ozone and dust filled his nostrils.

For a long moment, they were still, two predators taking the other’s measure. The tension built, thick and palpable.

It was Alaric who moved first. He was deceptively fast. A simple thrust of his spear became a torrential onslaught as water prana amplified its speed and force, the tip shooting towards Nero’s chest like a striking serpent. Nero reacted on instinct, his flaming sword sweeping down in a parry. Fire met pressurized water with a violent hiss, erupting into a cloud of scalding steam that filled the space between them.

Nero used the cover, lunging forward through the mist. The Law of Fire demanded aggression. He closed the distance, his sword becoming a whirlwind of blazing arcs, aiming for Alaric’s shoulders and legs, trying to break his solid stance. But the water knight was unshakable. His spear was a living thing, its shaft and blade moving in a continuous, flowing defense. Each of Nero’s fiery slashes was met not with a hard block, but with a deflecting circle or a soft, guiding parry that siphoned the force from his attacks. Water yielded, but it never broke.

”Your fire is passionate,” Alaric commented, his voice calm even as he effortlessly deflected a overhead chop, ”but it burns fuel quickly. Control its ebb and flow.”

Nero didn’t reply, saving his breath. He pushed harder, his movements becoming faster, more intense. He feinted a thrust to the head, then dropped low for a sweeping slash at Alaric’s ankles. For a moment, it seemed it would connect. But Alaric simply hopped over the flaming arc, and as he did, he stamped his foot down. A wave of water prana shot across the stone floor, not to attack, but to create a slick, icy patch under Nero’s feet.

Nero’s footing vanished. He stumbled, his aggressive stance broken. In that split second of imbalance, Alaric struck. The butt of his spear swung around, a hard, precise crack against Nero’s armored wrist. A jolt of numbing pain shot up his arm, and his grip on the sword faltered. The flaming aura around the blade sputtered and died.

He staggered back, shaking his hand. ”A dirty trick,” he grunted, a wry smile touching his lips.

”Water finds the path of least resistance,” Alaric replied, not unkindly. ”It does not fight the mountain; it flows around it. Again.”

They reset. Nero was more cautious now, his respect for his opponent having grown tenfold. He realized brute force would not win this. He began to use his fire more tactically. Instead of a constant inferno, he let it flare in controlled bursts. He would parry a spear thrust, and at the moment of contact, release a concussive blast of flame to knock the weapon off-line. He used short, fiery jabs to keep Alaric at a distance, creating space to breathe and think.

For a time, it worked. He managed to press Alaric back a few steps, the water knight now forced to deal with unpredictable eruptions of heat and force rather than a steady barrage. Nero saw an opening—Alaric overextended on a thrust. This was it. Nero poured the remainder of his prana into his sword, the blade glowing white-hot. He roared, unleashing his most powerful technique, a horizontal crescent of pure fire meant to smash through Alaric’s defense.

But Alaric was waiting. He hadn’t overextended; he had baited. As the crescent of fire roared towards him, he spun his spear in a blindingly fast circle before him. Water prana erupted from the motion, forming a massive, swirling vortex—a literal wall of spinning water. Nero’s fiery crescent slammed into it. The result was cataclysmic within the small dueling circle. A thunderous explosion of steam erupted, blinding everyone momentarily and sending a shockwave that staggered nearby observers.

When the steam cleared, both combatants were panting. Nero’s sword was bare, his prana reserves nearly depleted. Alaric stood firm, his water vortex dissipating, but his spear was now coated in a glistening layer of ice, the tip pointed unerringly at Nero’s throat.

The match was over.

Nero dropped his sword, the clatter loud in the sudden quiet. He placed his hands on his knees, breathing heavily, sweat and condensation dripping from his face. He had lost. Decisively.

He looked up at Alaric, who retracted his spear and offered a hand. Nero took it.

”A valiant fight,” Alaric said. ”Your adaptability is commendable. You forced me to use my Tidal Vortex—a technique I usually reserve for more seasoned opponents.”

”Thank you for the match,” Nero replied, his voice hoarse but sincere. ”You’re right. I was burning too hot, too fast. You controlled the flow of the entire fight.”

”It is the way of water,” Alaric nodded. ”And the lesson for fire is not to burn less, but to burn smarter. Conserve your embers so you may ignite when it truly matters.”

As Alaric walked away to rejoin his unit, Nero stood in the circle, the lessons of the duel settling deep within him. The loss didn’t taste of bitterness, but of revelation. He had come to blow off steam, but he had gained something far more valuable: a clearer understanding of his own path. The heat of his fire was nothing without the wisdom to control it.

’I should find the opportunity to kill some decent monster to finally unlock my second star, the Law of Lightning. I can’t wait to combine both laws to unleash some powerful skills.’ On his way back he recalled his second star, the one which needed one powerful monster to be unleashed, if weren’t because they decided to focus on spending some quality during their summer break he would have gone on monster’s hunting.

’Let wait a little bit’