Thirty years after the birth of this world and their daughter had come. Many things had changed in such a short time. One was the private practice yard in Sunreach that had multiple racks of wooden weapons set up. Each looked new, always repaired by Max after they had endured the beating and abuse they saw every week. Today, the wind blew stronger, somehow carrying the smell of salt from the distant sea. Miranna stood barefoot in the chalk ring, her practice sword resting across her fit, slim shoulders. Max couldn’t believe she appeared sixteen by human standards. Their bright - eyed, lean daughter was a mystery to him and Tanila. One moment, she was as playful as the other teens she had grown up with; the next, she was the monster across from him. He knew the truth because of the quiet confidence of her stance. Thirty years of being alive, and less than half of them showed on her face. Yet his daughter had thirty years of watching and learning. This is going to be interesting. Max rolled his shoulders, already starting to ache in anticipation. He held a wooden greatsword in his hand and stepped into the ring. Fashionably, Max answered, stretching his hamstrings even though he didn’t need to. Besides, it buys me time to show her that I’m still faster. Pretend harder like you’re not about to enjoy this as much as you are. I can sense the joy every time you step into this ring with her. Miranna flashed a grin. “Of course. Some of us have been waiting for an old man to show up. Try not to cry this time, Dad.” “Only if you hold back,” Max replied, saluting with the blade. She mirrored the gesture. She did so with a perfect angle, her wrist relaxed. Weapon Mastery. Every day, I still can’t believe it. Poor Fowl, he almost got his mouth washed out for cursing so much about it. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ NoveI-Fire.ɴet And she learned that at age ten . Ten years ago, she learned Parry somehow, and on her birthday, True Blacksmithing. The truth that his daughter had learned a skill he didn’t possess had been the biggest surprise. A breeze blew across them, and the faint scent of salt from a sea too far away came again. He let his heartbeat settle. “Three touches with swords,” he called. “Then we switch.” Miranna nodded, expression blank as she shifted from a daughter who threw verbal jabs and teases to a warrior with lethal focus. Max opened with a classic thrust. Miranna matched tempo, her blade glancing aside in a tight parry that would have sent shock traveling the length of most grown men’s arms. She stepped inside, attempted a hip - check, before sending a fist toward his ribs. Max swiveled, deflecting, but she used the momentum, spinning under his guard. “Lucky,” Max muttered. “Whatever,” Miranna replied with a wink. Liar. You can’t fight at that level anymore. She’s far above that. Uncommon at the least. Potentially pushing toward the next rank, and not a single point invested in the skill. For round two, Max played more with footwork, watching her steps, sensing her movements as they danced along the packed dirt floor. Miranna’s eyes seemed to glow, her gold gaze studying every movement he made. She mirrored instantly. Strike—parry—feint—attack. Their wooden weapons created a battle song. Every few seconds, the pace picked up. She blocked his attack, used his leverage trick, and almost disarmed him, but Max wasn’t using the strength he was supposed to be. A second tap came, right to his sternum. Max’s brows rose. “Who taught you that move?” “I watched you teach King Edward last spring,” she replied with a shrug. “I’ve also watched you teach a few of the others. You also cheated… your sword should be on the ground.” Max chuckled, seeing the accusation in her gaze. “Daddy might need to cheat a little just to make this interesting. Right?” “Keep telling yourself that,” Miranna said with a grin. “I’m just going to make sure Mom knows.” He nodded, and they saluted, the dance beginning again. This time, he poured more of his focus into speed. He wanted to see where she was and moved at a pace that put most level twenty adventurers who focused on speed on their heels. It was designed to be a flurry of attacks, meant to overwhelm one’s opponent. Miranna backpedaled, her blade a blur. The sound of their dance grew faster, his daughter retreating toward the chalk ring, bare feet shifting perfectly along the dirt. Max moved into the combo he always did for this sequence, waiting to see what she would do. Bob’s words were cut off as Miranna ducked, shoulder rolled, and jabbed his thigh. “Three,” she breathed, her cheeks flushed. Max chuckled and leaned on his sword. “I remember a time when you tripped over your mother’s skirt.” Miranna sheathed the practice blade. “Please, I never tripped. Besides, I remember when you burned muffins.” “Still do,” he lied. “Axes next.” They switched weapons. Max hefted a wooden greataxe; Miranna twirled dual practice daggers. Her expression changed to one of absolute focus. The style she was using was a newer one. A year she picked it up and was already mastering it. Their first exchange, Max feinted overhead, sweeping low instead. Miranna danced inside the arc of the haft, daggers ticking against his forearm protector. “I believe that’s a touch,” she teased. Act two came without delay. He spun, using the axe spike. Miranna cartwheeled like an acrobat. She parried with the hilts and then drove forward, driving her knee against his chest. The third took place in a whirlwind of dust and laughter. Miranna disarmed him as he chose not to cheat this time. With a flourish that made Max unhappy to see, knowing she was showing off, his daughter tossed a dagger into the air, caught it by the blade, and tapped his forehead with the pommel. Max grunted. “That’s new, but should never be done.” “I know, Dad. A knife - thrower in the market showed me that a few weeks ago,” she said. “We traded muffins.” She’s confirming our observation idea. If she’s able to watch and learn what she sees, already having the skill… Her limits might be greater than yours. And the ten-year theory stands. With four skills and one appearing every ten years, the real question is, does it ever stop? Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators! For the next round, Max chose a staff while Miranna selected a short spear. They bowed, and the fight began. This time, Max managed a point, baiting her lunging thrust. His staff hooked her ankle as she overstepped, falling into a feint and attack he had never shown her. She landed on the ground and rolled back to her feet in a moment. “It looks like you still got it, Dad,” she joked, grinning from ear to ear. “This old bear still has some teeth.” She answered with what seemed impossible for her skill level. Her spear reversed under his guard, the shaft locked his elbow in place, and with a little leverage, flipped him. Max listened to Bob, ignoring the desire to cheat, absorbing the ground’s impact with his back and the wooden point to his chest. “Okay, maybe I was wrong, you lost it.” Max shook his head, standing and retrieving his staff. The third pass ended with a mutual tap, both landing a blow at the same time, thus ending in a draw. He bowed to his daughter, knowing he was smiling just as much as she was. “You know I love it when you win,” Max said. “Makes me feel like I actually know how to teach someone something.” Miranna rolled her eyes. “Please, we both know you enjoy winning more.” The bellows roared as heat shimmered around the room. Max guided Miranna to the anvil row where rods of steel, mithril, and common iron waited. “What do you want to craft?” he asked, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. She eyed the bars spread out before her. Miranna held her fingertips over them all, slowly moving her hand past the metal waiting to be used. “You can feel that? Right? Each somehow… sings, differently.” Her sensitivity is growing. You could sense the metal and materials when you got your skill, but yours was much higher. She’s only a few days old, and already she can seem to hear and sense it better than most. Miranna selected three different kinds. A few strips of mithril, a small sliver of orichalcum that he had let her attempt to use, and a filament of void-silk wire that Sog’s demons had acquired. “I want to try a pattern - weld.” Max blinked. “That’s advanced blacksmithing. You sure?” She shrugged. “It feels… right.” They fluxed, heated, and folded. Miranna’s hammer strokes landed in hypnotic rhythm, twenty - three beats long. It was a prime tempo Max often used for masterwork blades. She aligned the grains, twisting the billet with tongs as though adjusting pastry dough. Max only had to correct her twice. Hours later, a shimmering short sword lay cooling. The pattern on it rippled like dragonfly wings. Miranna frowned for a moment. “I think it needs a cedar grip and moon - quartz pommel. The other woods you have won’t do what I think it needs or maybe wants.” Max felt his eyebrows raise. “Why would that make you want to use a moon-quartz?” “Sirae did a set of daggers a month or two ago with them. She said it increased the mana conductivity of mithril. Besides, I know you can feel the metal wanting to go that way.” Then his daughter smiled at him. “Also, it’s pretty.” Chuckling, he nodded and motioned for Miranna to pick up the materials and start. Quartz amplifies mithril’s mana conductivity by seven percent based on the research and crafting you’ve done. But for her to know that already and want to do that goes beyond simply hearing about it. Show - off. Seven percent… Still, you’re right. I know what it does and can feel it, but we’ve seen her make horseshoes, nails, and every other item with precision that some of the newer smiths can’t do. Most have chalked it up to being my daughter, but this kind of growth is beyond what I ever considered. Tanila poured jasmine tea as Miranna slept upstairs. Even with her impressive stats, exhaustion had finally caught up with her. Max sank onto the couch. “So… four skills by the time she’s turned thirty. She has my Weapon Mastery, your Elemental Affinity, Parry, and True Blacksmithing.” Tanila nodded, holding her teacup in her hands. “She learns what she loves.” Max relayed Bob’s line aloud. Tanila frowned and shook her head. “Do you really believe it’s by exposure alone? She spends hours in the library but hasn’t gained Lorekeeper or some other book-based skill.” “Maybe it’s intent plus a spark of some kind,” Max said. “A resonance threshold perhaps. Even now, I wonder what Miranna would be like if she could have received our spark. It’s a shame they wouldn’t take.” Or a blessing. Such power… at that age. Tanila’s gaze softened. “I’m proud… and worried. Every decade has brought a new gift. But what happens in a hundred years? Or a thousand?” “I don’t know,” Max replied, running his hands along his bald head. She will become a threat. Every god and even the system itself might see her as something to be controlled or removed. I’m not saying that to frustrate you or upset you. We both know it. I can feel the pain and fear you have over that thought. We both know the potential is frightening. Even when you two duel, you’re having to add a little more each time or you’d never score a point. Tanila’s eyes glowed. “Let them try.” The cup rattled against the saucer as she frowned. “But you and Bob are right. We must guide her heart. Skills without wisdom breed arrogance and a hunger I’ve seen before. We do not need another one like that.” Max nodded, knowing what Tanila feared. “We’ll keep her grounded. Chores, forge shifts, pastry stalls, and Rakonath’s wyrmling, Shale Spark, helps as well.” Tanila smiled at the mention of Shale Spark. “Balance flighting and life. It’s going to be time for her to enter the dungeon soon. You and I both know we can’t hold her back much longer.” She’s still a child who laughs when that wyrmling chases her. Tanila is right, nurture that. Max leaned back and sighed. “In ten years, we’ll see what comes next. I think what’s harder is she’ll be forty, but still look maybe eighteen. As a dad, I’ve seen the way some of those boys look at her.” Tanila moved to sit beside him, lacing her fingers with his. “I believe my husband would say time, muffins, and love make everything better .” Max’s stomach growled. “Speaking of muffins—” She groaned. “The kitchen’s closed. Are you planning on cleaning it?” He pouted. “The Hero of Tower can’t get a midnight snack?” It appears your Baker God privileges have been revoked. Max relayed Bob’s words, causing Tanila to laugh. Her tone was soft and melodious. A few seconds passed before she sighed. “Promise me we’ll tell her the risks.” Max squeezed her hand. “Tomorrow. We celebrate tonight.” They sat in companionable silence, the obelisks outside pulsing. Far below, the forge’s coals cooled. In her room, Miranna was asleep. He prayed she was dreaming of swords and stars, unaware of the dangers that might seek her out. Max closed his eyes, letting Bob’s presence serve as a reminder that there was a path through darkness. Whatever she becomes, we stand with her. I will do everything I can to protect her, just as you will. The wind moved through the open windows. Max smiled into the dark, already planning the blueberry muffins he would make for his daughter’s breakfast. Every time his daughter asked why he made them for her, he simply said, because love sometimes tastes like butter and berries .