Ibar Abaddon the Steadfast. A name known all over the coalition, despite his tragic passing dozens of years ago.
The man was a nightmare to all who had faced him, a superpower sitting at the edge of the Sixth Wing, half a step away from becoming a proper angel.
Yet even with all his strength, he had died all the same. Who could have achieved such a feat? No one knew, or rather, no one was willing to talk about it.
Among other things, Ibar Abaddon was known to be extremely nosy. Why was that relevant, one may ask?
"For the last time, shut up, grandpa. Ever heard of ’dead men tell no tales?’ Because I’d like to keep it that way."
The specter glared at Helix, then disappeared. Vanished as if he wasn’t there at all.
Finally, now I can practice.
He just wanted to swing his sword in peace; was that too much to ask?
Sighing deeply, Helix walked towards the dagger he had thrown at his grandfather and leaned down to pick it up. Just as his finger touched the hilt...
[BOO!]
"GAH."
His feet left the ground so violently that a cloud of dust rose behind him. Instinctively, his sword slashed through the air with a whistle as he stumbled over his feet and fell.
His eyes darted across the arena, searching wildly for whoever had whispered in his ear. But there was no one, not a soul.
Nothing but the rustling of leaves and the shuffling footsteps of a mansion coming to life.
That damn bastard pulled a quick one on me.
Slowly but surely, Helix was coming to hate the existence of his grandfather, but not in the way one would hate their enemies. Because, dead or not, Ibar was still family, and Helix could never truly hate.
And speaking of the devil..
[How pathetic, lad. Can’t even handle a surprise. If it was me, I would have returned the favor tenfold, yet what did you do? Grovel pathetically and beg for your life.]
"Huh? When did that happen?"
Ibar’s eyes turned cold, hollow in a way even Helix couldn’t yet manage.
[It did happen; you just don’t know it yet. And just advice, lad, but flailing your arms around like a noodle won’t magically make you a better swordsman.]
"That..."
Helix wanted to argue, but the longer he thought about it, the more he realized...he didn’t know what he was doing.
How was he going to practice if he didn’t know what he was practicing?
Sure, Helix knew a bit of swordsmanship, but nothing that would actually be decisive in a battle.
Damn my past self. Why was I so lazy?
[So you do know what’s wrong, and yet you still come here without a master to train you.] Ibar stared at the golden sky above, his expression heavy with grief.
[Is this the future of Abaddon? If so, we’ll lose the war before it even begins.]
The words landed like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t afford to lose to the Malakhim; his family’s fate was on the line.
He opened his mouth to fire off a response but...nothing came.
After all, the old man was right.
Helix had come here to swing a sword he didn’t know how to swing, chasing strength with no plan, no discipline, and worst of all, no master.
He wasn’t a talented bastard who could learn ten things after being taught one. Hell, he needed to be taught multiple times just to learn a single thing.
All he had was hope. But hope had never won any battles.
His cheeks burned with heat, and as Helix lowered his head from shame, an idea came to mind.
...Isn’t Grandfather supposed to be one of the strongest people alive? The only one I know who is stronger than him would be the Blood God.
But the latter was basically a myth, which made his grandfather the strongest there was.
"Grandfather...why don’t you teach me? I mean, I am your dear, cutie-patootie grandson."
Ibar hummed thoughtfully, stroking his graying beard.
[Not a bad idea. Lad, what style do you practice?]
"I...don’t know?"
Ibar stared at Helix as if he was about to disown him.
[Alright, sit down, lad.]
Helix sat without further complaint. Ibar floated closer to him and began to explain.
[There are three different Houses. Each one represents a different philosophy and way to fight. The House of Reflection, focused on counterattacking, the House of Tyranny, focused on, well...fighting like a tyrant, unyielding and aggressive. And finally, the House of Ryuzen, focused on peacefully disarming the opponent.]
Ibar floated far into the sky, his voice resounding from the entire training field.
[Choose carefully, lad, because mastering one is better than knowing three. The only person known to have mastered all three is Cyril. But you’re not him. No one even comes close to him in potential.]
Which one should I choose?
The Ryuzen style was out of consideration almost immediately. Helix was no pacifist. He wanted a way to kill his enemies, not merely disarm them.
Which left Reflection and Tyranny. What would be better: to counteract the opponent’s attacks, or to not give them time to attack?
After thinking it through for a long moment, Helix came to a decision.
"Grandfather, I choose Reflection. Now come and teach me."
A ghost popped up right next to him, but this time Helix didn’t so much as flinch.
[Peculiar choice, truly. Sadly for you, lad, I’m a practitioner of the House of Tyranny, which means I can’t teach you much on the Path of Reflection. Only up to a Second Wing level.]
Helix clenched his fists.
"Doesn’t matter, as long as I grow stronger..."
As long as I can avoid that terrible future.
He would even sell his soul to Lucifer if it brought his family peace.
Ibar clapped his hands, [Well then, let’s begin.]