Five minutes into setting levys posture and all, Razeal finally started.

"Yes. Let me show you how to actually be strong when you aren't strong enough," he said flatly, his tone as steady as the sea beneath them. "Extend your arm."

Levy had already been through the basics: how to stand, where to place his feet, how to keep his balance from collapsing under the smallest push. Razeal's corrections had been sharp, precise, and mercilessly direct. Now, with sweat already gathering on his forehead, Levy obeyed, thrusting his arm forward, straightening it to the best of his ability.

"Good. Now…" Razeal raised his palm slowly, eyes focused on the limb. "Try to stop me from pushing your arm down. Don't let it fall. Harden it as much as you want."

Levy swallowed. His heart thumped faster. That's it? Just stop him? It sounded simple, but when the opponent was Razeal.. A mad man.. it felt like wrong idea..

Still, he clenched his fist tightly, forcing his arm to become as rigid as steel. His muscles tensed, veins visible as he tried to lock the arm in place. His jaw clenched as well, determination scrawled across his face.

Razeal said nothing more. He simply lifted his hand and let it descend in what looked like the gentlest of motions.

The palm landed on Levy's wrist. There was no sting, no pain.. only a feather-light contact. But despite all the effort Levy had put into hardening his arm, his limb collapsed instantly. His wrist dropped downward, his whole arm following like it had no bones.

Levy's eyes widened. What the hell…? His face flushed with embarrassment. He'd prepared himself for pain, for the possibility that Razeal might not know his own strength and accidentally break his wrist. Instead, it hadn't even hurt. And yet, his arm gave way as if it had no resistance at all.

He glanced up, searching Razeal's expression for mockery, for judgment. But Razeal's face remained calm, unreadable like he had expected this outcome all along.

"Again," Razeal said, voice flat, without a hint of ridicule. "Bring your arm up."

Levy did as told, though his pride stung a little.

"Now don't clench your fist. Keep it open. Relax. Loosen it."

Levy blinked. "Huh? You mean… don't try to stop you?" His voice was hesitant, skeptical.

"Do as I say," Razeal replied simply.

So Levy raised his arm again, but this time with his palm open. His fingers spread slightly, his muscles slack. It felt wrong, as if he were offering no resistance at all. His shoulders slouched slightly, eyes flickering with doubt.

Razeal lifted his palm again, just as gently as before, and pressed down on Levy's wrist.

This time, Levy's arm didn't collapse. It trembled faintly, vibrating under the pressure, but it held. His wrist remained firm, his arm steady.

His eyes went wide. "What.. how…?"

Razeal stepped back and released him. "See? Now you were able to stop me."

Levy stared at his arm, baffled. "But… I wasn't even tensing anything. I thought I wasn't resisting."

"You weren't using your muscles," Razeal explained, his voice calm, patient, yet carrying the weight of authority. "The first time, you tried to harden your arm with strength. But muscles are slow. They need commands from the brain, they take time to tense, and that delay costs you. That's why your arm failed."

He gestured to Levy's now-still wrist. "The second time, you loosened it. Your fascia.. the connective tissues reacted faster than muscle. They caught the pressure before your muscles even had to respond. That's why it held."

Levy blinked, staring at him like he was speaking another language. His brain processed slowly, like mud struggling to clear from water.

"This is the difference between being muscle-driven and fascia-driven," Razeal continued. His voice remained steady, his gaze sharp, as though he were carving the lesson into Levy's very bones. "Most people think they need overwhelming strength to win. They waste years trying to build it. But the truth is, you don't need enormous muscles to fight. You just need to know how to use what's already inside you. Most battles are won with skill, not raw force."

Levy blinked, eyes darting between his arm and Razeal. He felt like he had glimpsed some secret knowledge even tho it was sounding little stupid and too easy.. It does seems useful..

"Think about it," Razeal said, taking a step closer, his voice lowering. "A punch isn't deadly because of raw strength. Yes, enormous power can make a difference. But with the right technique, with the right motion, even a weak punch can kill. Perfection in form makes it deadly."

"Stronger isn't deadly," Razeal said, his voice calm. His body moved with precise control as he demonstrated a slow, deliberate punching motion. The air whistled faintly around his fist as it cut forward, but he stopped it short, holding it there for a moment before retracting.

"The technique is. Even with very little strength, the right strike can be devastating." He straightened his arm again, repeating the motion. "That's why it's perfect for you. You said it yourself.. your body is weak. Then forget strength. Focus on technique. I am not saying go fight deadly beasts but just for survival.. Little much is very important."

Levy watched closely, his brows drawn together, his lips slightly parted. The seriousness in Razeal's tone made something stir inside him something close to hope.

"It's like a sword," Razeal continued. "A blade can be sturdy and sharp, but if you swing it carelessly, without precision, you won't cut anything cleanly. Power alone won't split your target. But the perfect angle, the right motion that cuts deeper than raw strength ever could."

He let the example hang in the air, his fist lowering to his side as he turned to face Levy. His expression was calm and serious. "Do you understand?"

Levy hesitated, his throat dry. But then a faint light sparked in his eyes, a flicker of something new. "I… think I do. At least somewhat," he admitted, nodding.

Before the moment could settle, laughter rang out across the deck. Deep, rumbling, and full of pride.

"Want me to train him instead?" Yograj's voice carried as he strolled toward them, wiping his hands as though he'd just finished another lesson with Aurora. His old but broad frame looked relaxed, but his eyes gleamed with amusement. "I could teach the boy better than you, most likely."

Levy blinked, startled, glancing between the two of them.

Razeal, however, didn't flinch. His gaze slid toward Yograj, utterly unbothered. "No need," he said flatly. "I saw how you were teaching your daughter just now. Your methods are good, but they are far behind mine."

The deck fell into silence for a beat.

Yograj's face twitched. The confidence in his eyes cracked, disbelief flickering across his expression. "Ooooooh…?" His voice was almost incredulous. "Did you just say my skills are behind yours?"

Razeal didn't blink. He didn't soften. "Yes."

Yograj's lips curled, twitching with suppressed irritation. He let out a sharp laugh, though his pride glared through every syllable. "Kid… you're bold. Training inside some backyard or under a tutor doesn't make one skilled. Real combat.. real battle shapes warriors. That's what I've lived. Wherever you learned your tricks, whoever your teacher was, I can assure you, they weren't as better as me." His chest puffed as he spoke, his tone thunderous, his pride swelling.

But Razeal shook his head slowly, as though disappointed. "I never had a teacher. Everything I know, I learned myself. In real combat. Every form, defense, attack it came from fighting. I had pointers about where to look, yes. But the skills? The techniques? They are mine. Born from my own hands."

"Experience comes from fighting," Yograj said, his voice carrying the weight of conviction. His arms folded across his broad chest as he stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the deck. "And for the time it is fought for, I have fought far longer than you. More deadly battles than you can comprehend." His tone hardened, almost as if he was laying down a universal truth. "Not only that.. every spare moment of my long life has been poured into training. Your whole age, boy, wouldn't even be enough to scratch the surface of the hours I have invested. My experience," he declared, his chest swelling with pride, "is far greater than yours."

His words hung heavy, like an iron bell ringing through the silence.

Razeal, however, simply shook his head. His eyes, calm yet sharp, didn't waver. He looked almost pitying. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said quietly.

Yograj's brows twitched. His jaw clenched. "Not convinced?" His voice grew louder, pushing forward like a storm. "Even if you say you're more talented than me.. talent alone isn't enough! Even if I were to grant you that advantage, it would be meaningless without effort. Talent needs hard work. Hard work needs time. Experience needs both. You cannot skip steps, boy. You cannot leap to mastery." He jabbed a finger at Razeal's chest, his words biting. "You have to bleed, sweat, and endure before effort matches results. That is the truth. That is the law of strength."

But before he could continue, Razeal's voice cut in, steady and unshaken. "Your experience is far inferior to mine."

The old man's eyes widened a fraction. "Inferior…?" The word hissed from his lips, as though it were poison.

Razeal didn't blink. He didn't flinch. "Yes."

For a moment, silence consumed the deck. Even the sea seemed to quiet, as though waiting for the clash that might erupt.

Yograj's face darkened, his pride stung. His voice grew cold, calculated. "The only way such arrogance could be justified is if there were a vast, immeasurable difference in talent. And my talent," he spat, "is not low. On top of that, my experience has been shaped by immortality itself. My battles were different from yours. I never fought with safety. I fought without considering death. I can tell the name of a sword technique just by feeling its slash cut across my flesh.. and I can dismantle it the next time I face it. That is how far my experience reaches." His eyes burned with a fierce light, his words heavy with the certainty of a man who had lived through centuries. "I understand pride, boy. But to look me in the eyes and call my skill inferior? That is not strength. That is ignorance."

He leaned forward, his presence pressing down like a wave of suffocating authority. "Being arrogant is always the way to fall."

"Even I, as I stand now, would never dare to judge another's experience or skill just by looking at them," the old man said, his voice low but firm. "To teach someone while dismissing their abilities as inferior to your own that is arrogance as just by looking at it?... I have come close to death tens of thousands of times in battle. Experience like that cannot be measured by appearances alone. Remember this as a lesson, boy: being too prideful in your strength isn't true confidence.. it is ignorance."

The old man's words would have silenced most men. But Razeal only straightened, his presence calm but somehow heavier. His voice was quieter than Yograj's, but it carried like steel cutting through silk.

"You 'almost' died tens of thousands of times in your battles," Razeal said, his gaze boring into Yograj's. "I have died millions."

Levy's breath caught in his throat. Maria's fork froze in her hand.

Razeal's tone never wavered. "That is the reason I said what I did. Do not take it offensively, old man. I am not speaking blindly. I know exactly what I am saying."

For the first time, Yograj faltered. His brows knitted together. "Millions…?" His thoughts recoiled, dismissing the absurdity of it. A boy like this throwing out empty numbers ridiculous.

From the side, Levy swallowed nervously. He could feel the tension sparking like lightning between the two. The air felt heavy, charged, as if a single spark might ignite a storm. He didn't like this. He didn't like where this was going.

"Uh hey, guys," Levy spoke up, raising his hands in a half-placating gesture. "How about… you both teach me? You know, together? There's no need for us to argue over this, right?" His laugh was weak, his voice trembling slightly, but he tried anyway.

Two sets of eyes turned toward him instantly.

Levy froze. His breath hitched. He felt as though he had just stepped into the gaze of two predators. Their eyes held no kindness, no softness only a dangerous edge. Beasts, both of them. His hair stood on end, his heart hammering in his chest.

"I.. I didn't say anything," Levy stammered quickly, raising his hands higher in surrender. He took a cautious step back.

Maria, on the other hand, was far less rattled. In fact, she looked downright entertained. Sitting gracefully at the round table, she dabbed her lips with a folded handkerchief before placing another morsel of food delicately into her mouth. Her every motion was elegant, refined, the very image of a noblewoman trained from birth in proper manners.

Her aqua-blue hair caught the sunlight, her posture flawless, as though she were seated in the grand hall of a ducal palace rather than aboard a ship with chaos brewing on deck.

This is getting entertaining, she thought, her eyes flicking briefly to Razeal and Yograj before returning to her plate.

The sound of her fork against porcelain was delicate, precise. She chewed slowly, savoring the dish she had prepared with her own supplies, ignoring the thick tension in the air.

Idiots, she thought inwardly. Just idiots, arguing and growling like dogs over scraps of pride. Why should she care? This wasn't her problem. No one had invited her into this display of arrogance. Why should she intervene?

Her lips curved faintly, the barest hint of amusement touching her face. If they wanted to compare themselves, let them. She would sit here, eat like a proper lady, and watch. Let the beasts bare their fangs she would enjoy her meal.

After all, what did it matter?

She lifted her glass, tilting it slightly, the sunlight catching on the liquid within. A sip, refined and measured. Then another bite of food. Perfectly timed. Perfectly mannered.

This all looks so stupid..

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Fhewww got so late while writing..

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