After wiping out the entire snowfield Jerry clan, Noah returned to his residence in the Holy Land of Swords.
The next day, for the first time in quite a while, he stepped into the Sanctum’s training hall again.
Sword God Gal and Sword Emperor Timothy occupied their usual seats of honor.
Timothy was verbally instructing the Sword Saints, while Gal yawned beside him with his usual lazy expression.
The disciples, who had been absorbed in the lesson, quickly noticed Noah entering.
“Yo, Noah.
Healed already?”
Gal finally looked awake.
Even he hadn’t expected Noah’s injuries to recover quite this quickly.
“Uh…
thanks to Master’s mercy.”
Noah’s real thought was, ‘You’re the one who put me in bed in the first place, old man.’
“If that’s the case, let’s go.
This place isn’t suitable.”
Gal’s behavior was pure Sword God Style: think of something, do it immediately.
He stood and motioned for Noah to follow.
Inside the hall, Nina, Jino, and the other Sword Saints sat upright.
“Sword God, should Noah’s name be added to next week’s general disciple sparring session?”
Just as Gal was about to leave, one of the Sword Saints asked him.
Once every month, every disciple in the Holy Land of Swords participated in a general sparring session.
Students fought on the same floor, exchanged swordsmanship, and settled their rankings.
It was an ironclad tradition of the Sanctum.
Matches were usually assigned in advance and played a major role in promotions and rankings.
Naturally, some people also used the formal occasion to settle personal grudges.
“Of course.” Gal waved dismissively.
“I don’t get special treatment.
Why should my disciple?”
He looked back at Noah.
“Right, kid?”
“Father, Noah’s injuries still aren’t completely healed, are they?”
Unexpectedly, Nina frowned.
She’d heard from girls of her generation that quite a few male disciples now considered Noah a target.
They couldn’t wait for him to step onto the sparring floor so they could personally crush his arrogance.
Noah had behaved so provocatively when he arrived that defeating him in a formal setting would be deeply satisfying to them.
Many of those disciples had also watched his earlier sword techniques.
Inside the Holy Land of Swords, studying an opponent’s technique, breaking it down, and designing a counter was completely normal.
Nina herself had gone to spy on Noah’s training for exactly that reason.
She had simply gotten caught.
Her words were actually directed more toward those disciples than toward Noah.
If someone defeated an injured opponent, that victory wouldn’t prove much.
Nina didn’t want the person she now considered a future rival to lose through such a cheap method.
That was what she told herself, anyway.
Noah, unfortunately, noticed none of those thoughts.
“Of course.
I don’t mind.”
He nodded immediately.
His injuries really were almost healed.
More importantly, Noah desperately needed opponents to feed him attacks and improve his level.
Practical combat was one of the best ways to progress.
He knew plenty of people in the Sanctum disliked him.
Honestly, he was a little curious whether an even larger number of enemies would unlock another title.
He’d even brainstormed possible methods.
Blowing up the Holy Land of Swords, for example.
Just kidding.
Nina heard his answer, turned away, and gave him only the back of her head.
Fine.
She wasn’t getting involved anymore.
Very soon, however, Noah discovered that his injuries weren’t quite as healed as he’d imagined.
…
The courtyard of the Sword God’s residence.
“I’ve only had two direct disciples so far,” Gal began.
“The first was Ghislaine.
You know her.”
Noah nodded.
Ghislaine Dedoldia.
Sword God Gal Farion’s first direct disciple.
The Black Wolf Sword King.
“She’s a beastfolk girl.
Wild by nature.
Fought like a beast too.
What caught my eye first was her ferocity and animal instinct.”
“Here, Ghislaine learned proper stances, proper force generation, proper Sword God Style techniques.”
Gal paused.
“Then she became a Sword King.
And stopped there.
So I kicked her out.”
“I regret how I taught Ghislaine.”
“A beast belongs in the wilderness.
Pull its claws and fangs, and it’s not worth shit.”
Gal had no interest in polishing another direct disciple into a perfectly standardized “orthodox Sword God Style swordsman.”
“If you want to become Sword God, you just have to kill me and take the title.
For that, talent and hard work are enough.
But forget that for now.”
“Your ambition—your target, Dragon God Orsted—is a monster on a completely different level.
Ordinary instruction won’t do much for a goal like that.”
Gal seemed to drift into an old memory.
Back when he himself had been a gifted Sword Saint, he had once encountered Orsted and fought him.
The result was obvious.
Gal had been crushed.
For reasons he still didn’t understand, the Dragon God had spared his life.
Now Gal had become Sword God, the fastest swordsman of his era, but he still believed that talent within ordinary human limits wasn’t enough to challenge a being like Orsted.
“So, kid.
If your talent really matches that ambition, dig every last bit of it out.
Otherwise…
stopping where you are might not actually be a bad thing.”
The first step was simple.
Adapt to the attacks and rhythm of the Sword God Style.
Then Gal began a brutally inhumane session of wooden-sword education.
It was practically live combat.
Every strike left Noah only the tiniest window to react, and Gal slowly increased the speed as the session continued.
Noah suspected the old bastard was using him as a practice dummy.
Still, he forced Mind’s Eye to track every trajectory.
At least Gal wasn’t using a real sword this time.
And his control was exquisite.
Every blow maximized pain while stopping just short of creating injuries serious enough to interfere with Noah’s movement.
It reproduced the pressure of real combat almost perfectly.
Noah spent the morning gritting his teeth and hissing through bruises.
One thing had clearly encouraged Gal to use this method: Noah’s recovery speed.
The Sword God had been surprised by it.
‘If he’s this tough and heals this fast, beating him a little more shouldn’t matter, right?’
Gal chose the exact opposite teaching method from the one he’d used on Ghislaine.
He didn’t directly teach Noah techniques.
There was a reason.
Orsted knew the Sword God, Water God, and North God Styles and understood how to counter all three.
If Noah truly intended to challenge him someday, standardized techniques alone would never be enough.
Only exceptions had even the slightest possibility.
In Gal’s eyes, Noah’s instinct and understanding of swordsmanship were his most valuable gifts.
The boy had even created a technique of his own to counter the Longsword of Silence.
Gal only needed to force those talents to their limits.
Teaching Noah how to respond to all three major schools would merely be the first step.
He already had other plans for the future.
The Holy Land of Swords’ routine was normally simple.
Morning: train under your master.
Afternoon: spar with fellow disciples.
Evening: independent practice or rest.
After spending the entire morning being beaten by Gal, Noah returned to his residence covered in bruises.
He didn’t go looking for anyone to spar with.
He was the Public Enemy of the Holy Land of Swords, not an idiot.
Going around asking hostile disciples for fights while already battered would just be volunteering for another beating.
He had come back for something else.
To complete ten thousand swings of Tsubame Gaeshi.
Once his injuries had improved enough, Noah had tried using Tsubame Gaeshi normally.
Nothing happened.
Only when he performed one focused, technically correct execution did he feel something in his mind register a completed swing.
So he would keep accumulating them.
All the way to ten thousand.