"Why not?"
Ofalil asked, her voice laced with confusion at Black's reply. But instead of giving her a direct answer, Black fixed her with an amused gaze before posing a question of his own.
"How proficient are you at manipulating your mana right now?"
"About eighty percent, I'd say…"
Ofalil answered promptly, though she failed to notice the slight twitch at the corner of Black's eye as he heard her words.
Eighty percent mastery of mana manipulation without any formal instruction?
Genius didn't even begin to cover it.
Black had long known the princess possessed extraordinary self-control—she'd maintained her sanity even as a *Soul Ember Wraith*, and over these past days, she'd watched the chaos of battle unfold without succumbing to panic or fear. But mana flow was an entirely different matter. Though Black himself could neither learn nor cast spells, he'd fought alongside mages often enough to know just how difficult it was for even the most talented spellcasters to master their mana core.
"Then try concentrating all your mana into your right hand."
At Black's command, Ofalil nodded, extending her right hand and closing her eyes. A faint, shadowy aura soon began to curl from her pale palm, enveloping her fingers in its cool mist.
"Good. Now hit that boulder—hard. Focus all your mana into a single point."
Black gestured to the waist-high stone beside him. Ofalil frowned, looking uncertain.
"Hit it… hard?"
"That's right."
"I understand."
Ofalil nodded, stepping up to the boulder. She took a deep breath, fixed her gaze on the rough stone surface, clenched her mana-wreathed fist, and swung it forward with all her might.
"HYAH!!"
…
The mountain remained, the clouds drifted on, and the boulder stood as unyielding as ever.
"Ugh…"
Ofalil clutched her stinging right hand, her lips pressed tight as her small frame trembled. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to swallow the cry of pain bubbling in her throat. It was hardly a surprise—punching a solid rock with her bare fist was never going to end well.
"See what I mean?"
Black watched her with a mischievous smile, the girl now huddled like a wounded animal. Ofalil took a few deep breaths of the crisp night air, blinked hard to dispel the tears welling in her eyes, and glared at him through her fingers.
"I don't understand, my lord…"
She muttered, massaging her throbbing knuckles. Truth be told, she had no idea what Black was trying to prove.
"Judy."
Black called out, waving to the group of spirit warriors standing nearby. Judy stepped forward at once, her steps light with eagerness, and joined them beside the boulder.
"Show her how it's done."
"Yes, my lord."
Judy's voice held a note of excitement. She glanced at Ofalil, then raised her right hand.
A brilliant, blazing inferno erupted from her palm, instantly sheathing her iron-clad fist in searing flame. With a sharp cry, Judy drove her fist straight into the boulder.
"BOOM!!"
The deafening crash echoed through the clearing. The waist-high stone shattered into a shower of jagged fragments, scattering across the grass at their feet. Ofalil's eyes went wide with astonishment, darting from the pulverized rock to the fading embers on Judy's gauntlet.
"That's why I can't teach you combat skills."
Black shrugged, finally offering Ofalil an explanation.
"Your attribute isn't suited for direct combat—or at the very least, it won't help you develop any physical fighting prowess."
"But that's only because I've never trained before!"
Ofalil protested, clearly unwilling to accept his verdict.
"If I just practiced—"
"It won't work."
Black cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"If you had a living body, then yes, training could strengthen your physique, sharpen your reflexes, and boost your strength. But don't forget—you're nothing more than a soul coalescence right now. Physical training would be completely useless to you. The only way for you to fight is to condense your mana into a tangible form of power. But…" Black paused, letting the words sink in before continuing. "The *Wraith* attribute is incredibly unique. Unlike other magical affinities, it doesn't grant its wielder any additional physical enhancements. You'll never gain extra strength or speed through this attribute alone."
"So that means I have to find a fighting style of my own?"
Ofalil quickly grasped the implication of his words.
"Precisely."
Black nodded, then turned the conversation to another topic.
"What do you know about the warrior strength hierarchy?"
"…I only know they're divided into Low-Tier Swordsmen, Mid-Tier Swordsmen, High-Tier Swordsmen, and Knights… That's all I've ever heard, my lord."
Just as clueless as a common townsfolk, Black thought, suppressing a sigh. It seemed he had a lot to teach this princess. This was exactly why she'd asked him to train her—if she was going to be his adjutant, she'd need to accompany him on the battlefield, and being able to accurately assess an enemy's strength would be a vital skill. If she continued to cling to naive notions like "a High-Tier Swordsman can take on ten men at once," she'd get herself killed sooner rather than later.
"I won't waste time on Low-Tier Swordsmen—you've seen plenty of them these past few days. The bandits we've been clearing out are all at this level. Even in the regular army, most soldiers are Low-Tier Swordsmen. Frontline legions might be a bit stronger, and city guards often have a fair number of Low-Tier Upper Rank Swordsmen among their ranks. They're the most common fighters—stronger, faster, and tougher than ordinary people, but nothing special otherwise. In fact, anyone with enough dedication to train regularly can reach this level."
Ofalil nodded earnestly, committing every word to memory. This was exactly the kind of knowledge she needed right now.
"Mid-Tier Swordsmen are a different story entirely, and they're easy to distinguish. Every Mid-Tier Swordsman can manifest a *Soul Aura Barrier* in battle. As a soul entity yourself, seeing this aura should come naturally to you. Mid-Tier Swordsmen outclass Low-Tier Swordsmen in every way—strength, speed, endurance—and their aura barriers make them immune to attacks from lower-ranked foes. Once they reach Mid-Tier Upper Rank, they can awaken and master their innate Soul Attribute."
"Soul Attribute?"
The term caught Ofalil's attention, and she glanced over at Judy standing nearby. She vividly remembered Daros mentioning something about attribute powers during their battle with the bandit leader.
"That's right."
Black nodded.
"Every living soul is composed of Mana Essence, and each soul possesses a unique attribute as a result. Some people are born with the ability to sense their attribute, but most only awaken it through years of intense combat, learning to harness its power. Judy's *Flame* attribute is a perfect example. In fact, awakening one's Soul Attribute is the defining requirement for advancing to Mid-Tier Upper Rank."
Ofalil frowned thoughtfully, a faint glimmer of understanding in her eyes.
"As for High-Tier Swordsmen, the biggest difference between them and Mid-Tier Swordsmen—beyond raw strength and speed—is their ability to *project* their soul power."
With that, Black drew his sword in one fluid motion. A dazzling, otherworldly light immediately surged along the blade, casting a faint glow over the clearing.
"Mid-Tier Swordsmen can only channel their soul power through their weapons—like how Judy coats her sword in flame, but can't launch that flame at an enemy. A High-Tier Swordsman, however—even a newly advanced one—can project their soul power outward to attack at range. They can take down a dozen enemies in a single strike, and if those foes are just Low-Tier Swordsmen, the body count would be even higher."
Ofalil said nothing, but her mind flashed back to the crescent soul blade Daros had launched at Black. If that attack had been aimed at a group of bandits, she suspected at least a dozen of them would have been cut down in an instant.
"What about Knights, then?"
"Knights…"
Black smiled at her question, pausing for a moment as if choosing his words carefully.
"Becoming a Knight isn't something you can achieve through training alone. Unless you master a Knight's Sword Art—or create one of your own—you'll never be anything more than a High-Tier Swordsman, no matter how strong you get."
"Knight's Sword Art?"
Ofalil looked even more confused now.
"But aren't sword arts something anyone can learn? Why can't a Swordsman just master a Knight's Sword Art and become a Knight?"
"Ordinary sword arts, yes—anyone with enough skill can learn them."
Black shrugged.
"But a Knight's Sword Art is far more than just a set of combat techniques. In fact, a Knight's Sword Art is the physical manifestation of their very *conviction*."
"Conviction…"
Ofalil repeated the word softly, her brow furrowed in confusion. Black chuckled, clapping her gently on the shoulder to reassure her.
"That's right—conviction. What do you live for? What do you fight to protect? Gold? Power? Status? Do you fight for a loved one? For justice? Or do you fight simply to destroy? To conquer? To shield someone you cherish? Conviction is the very foundation of a Knight's Sword Art. Only those who have reached High-Tier strength and mastered their Soul Attribute can hope to comprehend it. Any ordinary warrior who tries to force their way into learning it will meet a swift and brutal end."
"But even after everything you've said, I still don't understand just how strong a Knight really is, my lord."
Ofalil's confusion was understandable. So far, Black had only explained that Knights possessed a unique sword art tied to their convictions—hardly enough to convey the sheer gap in power between a Knight and a High-Tier Swordsman.
"You don't need to understand."
Black shook his head, his tone turning serious.
"Knights are far beyond your current ability to handle. Remember this—if you ever see a Knight's banner on the battlefield and I'm not by your side, your only option is to retreat. No fighting, no probing—just run. A Knight's power is unlike anything you've ever seen. Their strength varies wildly depending on their convictions, making them far less predictable than Swordsmen. All I can tell you is this: a single Knight can defeat a dozen Mid-Tier Swordsmen like Judy with one hand. Even ten High-Tier Swordsmen as strong as Daros wouldn't stand a chance against a Knight."
Ofalil fell silent, still not fully convinced deep down, but she chose not to argue further. There was only one question left on her mind.
"Then, my lord—if I'm to be your adjutant, I should know where you stand in all this. You were able to kill Daros, a High-Tier Swordsman… So that means you must be a Knight, right?"
At her question, Black fell quiet. His gaze drifted down to the Dark Adamantite sword at his hip—now slimmer, sharper, and far more menacing than before.
"I am not the kind of Knight you're thinking of."
Black replied with a faint, enigmatic smile, his tone as cryptic as ever.