After pondering for a moment, Arthur finally spoke. "Tell me, Wilson—do you know how to wield a sword?"
In the world of wizards, swords held little distinction. Few truly understood swordsmanship, and even fewer respected it. Many wizards referred to their blades as "knight swords," pretending to practice some form of chivalric swordsmanship. But in truth, most wielded their swords with as little technique as they did discipline.
Yet Wilson Ember felt something shift in Arthur's tone—a gravity he hadn't heard before. His attitude toward Arthur had undergone a complete transformation. Gone was the suspicion, the defiance. What remained now was reverence, almost bordering on awe.
"I've dabbled in swordplay," Wilson admitted, lowering his gaze slightly. "But I wouldn't call what I know true swordsmanship. It's crude, unrefined."
"Would you like to learn?" Arthur asked, his voice calm but edged with meaning.
Wilson hesitated. It wasn't because he lacked talent. Far from it. The truth was, Wilson had never taken swordsmanship seriously. In his eyes, a sword was just another tool—no different from a staff, a dagger, or a wand. What mattered was the will to fight, not the shape of the weapon.
Besides, mastering sword techniques required time and relentless discipline, something few wizards considered worthwhile.
But then, Arthur's earlier display replayed in Wilson's mind.
The hesitation evaporated like smoke on the wind.
"I am at your command, teacher," Wilson replied solemnly.
Arthur gave a small nod, saying nothing more. With a silent thought, he turned his attention to the translucent light curtain that only he could see.
A list of sword arts bloomed before his eyes—each title gleaming like stars in the night sky. Dozens of ancient techniques, long lost to the world, scrolled past his vision.
"That one," Arthur whispered.
A single name burned brighter than the rest. His eyes lit up with intensity as he selected it without hesitation. The light curtain vanished, and in its place, an overwhelming flood of information surged into his mind.
Arthur took a steadying breath. "Watch closely."
He raised his hand, and in a shimmer of light, a long sword manifested from the ether. In the strange, void-like training space provided by the system, creating a weapon was a simple task for Arthur.
But to Wilson, the sight was nothing short of miraculous.
His eyes widened as Arthur slowly drew the blade from its sheath. But the moment the sword left the scabbard, Wilson's breath hitched in his throat.
A cold sweat formed across his brow. His pupils constricted. Without realizing it, he stumbled two steps backward.
In that instant, the gentle and scholarly teacher before him seemed to vanish. In his place stood a harbinger of death—a being who had walked through a sea of corpses and rivers of blood. The aura of slaughter around him was suffocating.
An overwhelming killing intent surged upward, shaking the space. A sharp, razor-thin sword intent followed, slicing through the air and rising into the sky like a storm.
Then the blade moved.
In a blink, a flash of sword light tore through the ground, leaving a deep scar in the earth. From within that fissure, flames erupted—raw, molten magic energy gushing out like a volcanic wound.
Wilson swallowed hard, his throat dry. But the demonstration wasn't over.
Arthur's movements flowed seamlessly—from domineering, godlike slashes to elegant, almost poetic motions. The sword became an extension of his soul, its form ever-shifting, its technique cycling from flamboyant flourishes to humble, pure fundamentals.
Yet no matter the form, the sword intent remained—an overwhelming declaration of mastery that screamed with each swing: This is the true essence of a knight's sword art.
It was swordsmanship that transcended common understanding.
Wilson's legs felt weak. "This… this is still considered knight swordsmanship?" he muttered in disbelief.
What he saw had shattered his perception. Compared to this, the sword skills he once scorned looked like child's play.
No forbidden spell, no ritual magic had ever looked so terrifying.
He couldn't help but wonder—Could even my father withstand this for ten minutes?
Because what Arthur wielded… no, what he commanded, didn't feel like something of this world. It was as if a god had descended, carving through sky and sea alike.
After ten minutes, Arthur calmly sheathed the sword.
The pressure vanished instantly. The killing aura, the oppressive atmosphere, all dissipated as if it had never existed.
Arthur turned to his student. "Wilson, remember this well," he said quietly. "The sword skill I just showed you is called… Astral Flux Sword Art."
Wilson stared in awe.
As he had suspected, this was no ordinary swordsmanship. It didn't belong to the wizarding world.
Arthur continued. "This technique was born from an ancient sword wizard—an unprecedented figure who walked alone through a mountain of corpses and a sea of souls. She created this sword art through endless duels and countless battles, forging her legacy in blood and steel."
"She claimed mastery over every form of swordsmanship the wizarding world had to offer. And so, she gave herself a name—Sword God."
Not only was she a top-tier ancient wizard, but her sword skills were peerless.
"Sword God…" Wilson echoed in a whisper.
He didn't understand the true weight of the name—only that it sounded unimaginably powerful.
Yet his heart burned with longing, with a desire to wield power on such a scale.
Suppressing his excitement, Wilson stepped forward and said earnestly, "Teacher… please teach me."
The disdain he once held toward sword arts was now completely gone, replaced by respect and ambition.
Arthur raised his right hand. A swirl of magic energy coalesced in his palm, pulsing with immense power. Then, like a torrent, it surged toward Wilson—entering his mind as a stream of pure memory and foundational knowledge.
This was the beginning—the groundwork of Astral Flux Sword Art.
Arthur had instantly mastered the technique upon selecting it through the system. But Wilson? Wilson would have to learn it step by step, starting from the most basic principles.
That was the essence of the Hidden Teacher system: learn from the master, earn the power.
"Thank you, teacher," Wilson said, his face glowing with joy.
"For now, focus on the fundamentals. Practice on your own, and I'll assess your progress in a few days."
"Yes, teacher," Wilson nodded deeply, bowing with sincere respect.
With that, he turned and exited the space. His figure vanished before Arthur's eyes.
Left alone, Arthur let out a long, quiet sigh.
"Finally… both disciples have accepted me," he murmured.
It seemed simple on the surface, but it had taken careful planning.
Neither Adam nor Wilson were impulsive children. Winning them over required insight into their desires—Adam's yearning for the Absolute Zero Ice Source, and Wilson's hunger for power.
Without those keys, drawing them in would've been nearly impossible.
Now that they were his students, Arthur's next goal was clear: to make them stronger—as fast as possible.
Normally, a wizard's peak came in their thirties, when their magical potential fully matured. But if Arthur waited that long, it would be far too late. The Hidden Teacher system demanded results within a limited timeframe.
He had no choice but to accelerate their growth—force it, if need be.
Arthur's thoughts quieted. He couldn't afford to waste time.
There was still so much to master.
The Heart of Frost. The Absolute Zero magic source. Emberforge's Heart Flame. Forbidden fire spells. The legacy of the Sword God.
And of course… the myriad sword arts that once shook the world.