I Built a Divine Zoo in Another World

Lukas and Clavor arrived at the clearing, and Clavor carefully placed the wrapped bundle on a fallen log, setting it down with almost reverent hands. Before offering any explanation, however, he began the warm-up.

"Stretching." His voice was firm and professional.

Lukas obeyed immediately, his body responding to the command with the discipline he had developed during the previous week.

For fifteen minutes, they repeated the usual movements. Deep stretches, extending every muscle.

Shoulder rotations, loosening the joints. Light jogs around the clearing, increasing circulation. Jumps, activating the leg muscles. Squats, preparing the body for exertion.

Lukas’s body warmed up quickly, a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead. His muscles responded more easily than they had the previous week, as if they had already grown accustomed to the work.

When they finished, Clavor took a deep breath, his eyes settling on his son.

He turned toward him, his gaze carrying a seriousness unlike that of the previous days. A seriousness Lukas had never seen before, as though this moment held special importance.

"Starting today..." His voice echoed through the clearing, deep and solemn.

"We will continue strengthening your body."

He paused briefly, allowing the words to sink in.

"But we will also begin something that every member of the Dmond family must learn." A small smile appeared on his lips.

"Well, everyone except Judite, although I will still teach her someday in the future."

Lukas felt his heart pound in his chest, each heartbeat echoing in his ears. Finally. This was the moment he had been waiting for ever since his training had begun.

Clavor knelt beside the bundle on the log. His fingers moved carefully as he slowly untied the dark cloth wrapped around its contents.

The fabric fell away, revealing what had been hidden.

Two long wooden swords.

The blades had been carved from a pale, exceptionally sturdy wood with a smooth texture. They were perfectly polished, free of splinters or imperfections, gleaming under the light. They were well balanced, with their weight distributed precisely. The hilts bore small markings to improve grip, designed to fit perfectly in the hand.

Clavor picked up one of them, his fingers wrapping around the hilt with familiarity. Then he handed the other to his son.

The moment Lukas grasped the hilt, a strange sensation coursed through his body. The wood felt cool to the touch, yet somehow... alive. As though the sword were recognizing his hand, adjusting itself to him.

It was light. Much lighter than he had imagined. He had expected a weapon, even one made of wood, to have considerable weight. But this sword was almost like an extension of his own arm.

Even so... it felt natural. As though his hand had been made to hold it.

His fingers slowly tightened around the hilt, testing its texture. His violet eyes shone with an intense light.

It was his first sword. Even though it was only made of wood, this moment meant more to him than anything else.

Clavor raised his own weapon, the wood gleaming beneath the sunlight filtering through the leaves.

"Before you learn strikes..." He rested the tip of the sword against the ground, his eyes fixed on his son.

"You will learn how to stand still."

Lukas blinked, confused.

"Huh?"

His father smiled faintly, a smile that carried years of wisdom.

"Most people believe that fighting begins with attacking."

He slowly raised the sword, the wooden blade tracing an arc through the air.

"They’re wrong." His voice was firm, filled with conviction.

He assumed a solid stance, his feet moving with precision. He positioned them shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead of the other. His knees were bent but not tense. His hips aligned with his shoulders. His back was perfectly straight, as though suspended by an invisible thread.

The sword was held before his chest, its tip pointing directly at Lukas.

It looked simple, a man standing while holding a sword. Yet it radiated a strange sense of stability. Like a mountain. Like an unmoving rock in the middle of a storm. Something that could not be moved, no matter how hard one tried.

"Copy me." The order was short and direct.

Lukas immediately tried moving his feet to imitate his father’s stance. He placed one foot forward, searching for balance. He raised the sword, positioning it as he had seen.

Clavor walked around him, his eyes analyzing every detail. He corrected his feet first, making a slight adjustment to the left, then another to the right. Next, he gently rotated his hips, aligning his pelvis with his shoulders. He carefully pressed one of his shoulders downward, releasing the tension. Finally, he adjusted the angle of his wrist, positioning the sword more precisely.

"Relax your arms." Clavor’s voice was calm and patient.

Lukas took a breath, consciously releasing the tension in his limbs. His shoulders lowered slightly, and his elbows bent naturally.

The stance changed completely. He felt much more balanced, much steadier. As though he had taken root in the earth.

"Better." Clavor nodded, his eyes shining with approval.

"Much better."

Then he slowly raised the sword above his head, the wooden blade tracing a precise arc.

"The first strike." His voice became firm and commanding.

"Vertical slash."

The wooden blade descended slowly, a movement that seemed to last forever. No strength. No speed. Only precision. It traced a perfectly straight line until it came to rest before his body.

"The movement begins with your feet," he explained, maintaining the stance.

"It passes through your legs, your hips, your torso, your shoulders, and your arms. And it ends in the sword. Never attack using only your arms."

Lukas nodded, absorbing every word. He took a deep breath, preparing himself.

He imitated the movement.

The sword descended, tracing an arc through the air.

Crooked. His wrist turned a little too much, altering the angle of the blade. His shoulders became rigid, losing the movement’s fluidity.

Clavor stepped closer, his fingers adjusting the position of Lukas’s hand.

"Again."

Lukas repeated it. Better.

"Again."

Another repetition. Then another. Another. Another.

The minutes passed, and time lost its meaning. Before he realized it, Lukas had performed the same movement dozens of times, his sword slicing through the air in a steady rhythm.

His arm began to tire, his muscles burning from the repeated effort. His shoulder ached, the joint protesting the constant motion. Even so, he continued.

Little by little, the sound of the wooden blade cutting through the air became more consistent. Cleaner. More precise. The movement, once awkward, was beginning to feel natural.

Clavor watched in silence, his eyes attentive. He corrected only the smallest details, the angle of the wrist, the height of the sword, and the position of the shoulder.

When he deemed it sufficient, he demonstrated another strike.

"Horizontal slash." The sword moved sideways, tracing a straight line through the air.

Then came the diagonal slash, the blade cutting downward at an angle.

Next came the thrust, a direct, precise movement, the tip of the sword driving straight forward.

Every movement contained dozens of tiny details invisible to an inexperienced eye. The position of the thumb on the hilt. The subtle rotation of the wrist at the end of each strike. The pressure of the fingers, relaxed yet firm. The alignment of the spine with the movement. The distribution of weight, shifting subtly with every attack.

Lukas absorbed everything like a sponge, his mind engraving every instruction. He made mistakes, his wrist rotated too much, and his body lost balance. He corrected himself, adjusting according to his father’s guidance. He made another mistake, this time a different one. He learned again, the movement becoming increasingly natural.

Nearly two hours passed in this way, the sun climbing higher into the sky as father and son trained together.

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