"One of the judges is my aunt."
Richard decided to be upfront about the connection.
"Isabella Ashford, associate professor in the Classics Department at Imperial University."
The Coleman couple exchanged a look.
The glance was quick, but Richard caught it.
"...The Ashford Family." Mrs. Coleman repeated the name.
"Yes."
"Is your mother from the Ashford Family?"
"She is."
"Then..." Mrs. Coleman’s phrasing shifted slightly. "Was your family based in the Imperial Capital before?"
Richard took a sip of tea and didn’t answer directly.
’Beneath this family’s politeness, a balance scale is constantly at work.’
"Where’s Coleman?" he asked, changing the subject.
"He’s in the backyard." Old Coleman stood up. "I’ll take you there."
"Dad."
A voice suddenly came from the top of the stairs.
Coleman came down from upstairs, carrying a set of protective gear.
"Richard’s here. I can take him myself."
He tilted his head toward Richard. "Follow me."
Richard stood up and placed his teacup back on the tray.
"Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Coleman."
"Don’t be a stranger. Stay for dinner."
"I shouldn’t, my family..."
"You must stay." Mrs. Coleman was insistent. "I’ve already asked the kitchen to prepare."
Richard glanced at Coleman.
Coleman didn’t respond, turning to walk toward the backyard.
Richard followed him, and the two of them passed through the kitchen and out the back door.
The backyard was larger than Richard had imagined, enclosed on all four sides by old-fashioned red brick walls.
Richard scanned it with his Spiritual Vision.
Within the carvings on the wall, there were extremely faint fluctuations of Ether.
"What are these carvings?"
"My grandfather’s generation carved them." Coleman set the protective gear on a long bench at the base of the wall. "They’re some of the most basic anti-eavesdropping Inscriptions."
"Are they still effective?"
"Not for a long time."
Coleman kicked the base of the wall. "The brick wall is still here, though."
He turned his head to look at Richard.
"The yard is a bit bigger than average, and the walls are thicker, too."
"My family has produced a few Hunters over the generations."
Coleman stood in front of the long bench at the base of the wall, putting on the protective gear piece by piece.
"There was also one from the Secret Direction, who specialized in weaponsmithing."
"In the first few decades of the industrial revolution, they caught a lucky break. One ancestor from that generation became a Minor Mastery, and the money they earned was enough to support our family for several generations."
He fastened his chin strap. "By my dad’s generation, the money was pretty much all spent."
"So they were counting on you?"
"Yeah."
Coleman buckled his helmet tight.
"Before the results from the military academy came out, they were just as attentive to me as they were to you just now."
"After the results were announced, the family’s collie ate better than I did."
Richard didn’t say anything.
Coleman fastened his shoulder guards and walked toward the center of the yard.
"The reason they’re so enthusiastic about you is because you’re on the Scholar path."
He stood in the middle of the yard and extended a hand toward Richard.
"Don’t mind them. Let’s just focus on our training."
Richard placed his bag at the base of the wall and pulled out the roll of Silver Needles.
"Let’s begin."
As soon as Coleman said this, he began to move around the yard.
He moved at a steady pace, his strides small, his footwork following no discernible pattern.
Richard locked onto him with his Spiritual Vision and followed the three steps of Moon Nail.
’Draw the needle, Breath Introduction, Piercing Needle.’
Just as he was halfway through the third step, he saw Coleman’s foot subtly shift half a step to the left out of the corner of his eye.
Richard adjusted his aim.
He threw the Silver Needle.
"PFFT."
The Silver Needle grazed Coleman’s left shoulder as it flew past, hitting the brick wall behind him.
’The Moon Nail formed well, but it was three inches off.’
Coleman pulled the Silver Needle from between the bricks and handed it back.
"Again."
"Okay."
Richard took the Silver Needle and returned to his original position.
This time, he anticipated Coleman might move left and aimed an inch to the left of him.
As he threw the needle, Coleman shifted half a step to the right.
"PFFT."
Another mark appeared on the brick wall.
In the time that followed, Richard tried every aiming point he could think of.
He tried leading the target, using fixed leads, aiming up close, and aiming for the far side. He aimed for the left shoulder, the right shoulder, his chest, and his waist.
Six throws resulted in six more shallow pits in the brick wall.
He stood at the east end of the yard, his breathing starting to become ragged.
Coleman pulled the sixth Silver Needle from a crack in the bricks, weighing it in his hand.
"You can read my movements," Richard finally figured it out.
"That’s right. Reading movements is a fundamental skill in the Path of Burning Blood."
"Although I can’t see Ether, your breathing rhythm changes when you gather your power."
Coleman lowered his hand.
"The moment your breathing changes, I know you’re about to strike."
Richard remembered his aunt saying something similar that morning:
"Your Spiritual Vision has good range and precision, but you have no way of concealing it."
"Is there a way to hide it?"
"Don’t gather before you strike. Gather, but don’t strike. Strike, but don’t retract."
Coleman offered the three principles. "First, try the simplest one: after you’ve gathered your power, don’t strike immediately."
For the next half hour or so, Coleman used the simplest methods to adjust Richard’s aim.
The reason they only practiced for half an hour was that Richard’s Ether was almost depleted.
And that was with [Healing] accelerating his Ether recovery through Breathing.
The needles thrown during this time were basically all dodged by Coleman, and even the ones that hit were blocked.
When the training ended, he rolled up the Silver Needles and placed them back in their long box.
By delaying the Breath Introduction, he was now able to hide the "glow" that appeared when he prepared to strike.
Restraining his Spiritual Vision when reading an opponent was, in itself, practical training for the [Perception] skill.

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