The soothing wind curled around my thin, sleeveless vest as I swung the duelling cane in practice arcs, shifting my balance from front to back foot. My arms ached from the repeated motions. I had been moving through them for close to an hour.
I did not complain. Not about my aching arms, not about the exhaustion, and certainly not about the stupid sword form. The two people sitting on the porch, my parents, were probably waiting for me to whine, to give in to a complaint, but I would not give them the satisfaction of being right. After all, I had asked for this. I’d follow through, even if I had to lie down all day afterwards.
The practice was obnoxiously boring. Well, what had I hoped for? I was repeating the same motions over and over without rest. It wasn’t some secret sword art, just basic sword motions. One swing from my upper right downwards, followed by a returning arc.
Needless to say, the electrifying feeling I had experienced during my spar with Priam last evening was nowhere to be found. Since the night had passed, the sensation had faded, making me question whether it had simply been a rush of thrill.
[A new Way is accessible: Swordsmanship I (1/100)]
I faltered mid-swing and finally rested my aching arms, gasping for breath. Turning to my parents, I found Father watching me with an unreadable expression, while Mum’s gaze was a mixture of motherly worry and something else I couldn’t quite place. Pride, perhaps?
“Did you get it?” she asked.
I nodded with a bit of disappointment. “It is a three-layered Way.”
I had been hoping it would be like Meditation or Essence Sense—divided into ten layers, which would grant me more rewards, making all this exercise worth every minute.
“Swordsmanship can be as awfully simple as it is complex,” Father said, standing up, the twin of my duelling cane in his hand. It looked like a toy in his grip, out of place compared to the greatsword he usually carried.
“There’s a reason it’s one of the most common weapons,” he continued, stepping in front of me. “Ease of use, lightweight in the hands, and, of course, the dual functionality of offence and defence. There’s no novelty to it, no matter what everyone says. Its superiority lies in its simplicity and versatility.”
I remembered reading about a time when common folk were forbidden to wield swords. Aside from the weapon being far more expensive than others, some high-class patricians had made up absurd rules about the sword being the sovereign’s weapon—that one had to be born of privilege to wield one. Of course, such notions did not last long.
While spears and axes were just as good, they weren’t as effective when required to cleave through massive creatures standing several metres tall. Only the greatsword, with its large blade, came close to dispatching them efficiently.
When calamity struck, they had no choice but to abandon their moronic vanity and train soldiers in whatever weapon was most efficient. Conventional sizes of weapons became impractical when fighting colossus creatures. Larger battle axes, lances, and devilishly jagged spears were invented, which were essentially unusable without essence power.
“I’m not a big fan of lecturing,” Father said, “but it’s imperative that I tell you what my swordmaster once told me. A sword can mean different things to different people. To some, it’s their life; to many, a mere weapon to kill; to a few, a means to defend their honour. But in the end, a sword is nothing but a tool. The wielder is always greater than the weapon.”
Then he asked me to attack him. I questioned him no further and swung my cane, which barely reached his waist, given his tall stature. But, of course, Father blocked it with ease, his arm moving as lazily as ever.
“You learn as much, if not more, from sparring as you do from practising alone,” he said, continuing to parry my attacks.
If only I could call this sparring. Father acted as if he were playing with a child—which I was—but that hardly warmed my mood. I attacked more fiercely, the wooden weapon cutting through the air swifter.
The result remained the same, no matter what I tried or where I aimed.
“Finally,” Father said, “you’ve lost a bit of the stiffness in your shoulders.”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Remember, stiff shoulders can only defend,” he said, mounting onto his front foot, shifting from defence to offence. “But even then, they’re no good.”
His cane moved in the same motions he had asked me to practise, the pace low enough for me to parry them, knowing where they would land. He did not attempt any other moves, but I kept my eyes open in case he was waiting for me to lose focus. I didn’t need to.
Father simply continued with the same simple swings, though he added minor variations to catch me off guard.
I was breathless in no time. Compared to swinging my blade alone, defending against a grown man’s attacks was far more exhausting. Father noticed and soon called for a break.
“You’re a natural at defending,” he said while I panted on my knees. Wheezes came out of my burning throat like I was an old man out of breath. “But you cannot win on defence alone.” He paused, his eyes drifting to Mum. “Catch your breath and go back to practising the forms.”
Quickly, I sat down on the ground and controlled my breathing with a simple exercise. I supposed I had to abandon the childish notion that kids had infinite energy.
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Maybe it’s because I’m not a child in spirit.
As training continued, Father added two more moves to the first form. Now, I had to take a step forward for one long arc and pivot on my back foot for a block. Still, it seemed like there was room to add more moves to the form, but with these two additions, it felt more complete.
“This is the first form,” Father said. “The simplest of the eight katas passed down by our people for millennia. Over the ages, it has evolved in various ways, but the essence of the sword remains.” He stood beside me and moved with the grace of the wind. “The First Form: Whispering Gale.”
For the remainder of the practice, he trained beside me. His large frame shadowed mine, but I found it endearing to be training together, even though I hardly understood the man any more than I did the sword.
[A new Way is accessible: Armed Combat I (1/100)]
My training came to a sudden halt with the new Way. The first thought that came to my mind was whether there was an unarmed version of this Way. There had to be. I grinned at the thought.
I was about to return to practice when I spotted a familiar face peeking through the hedge.
“Eran!” I called, and my friend stepped into the open, looking slightly out of place.
His eyes flickered between my father and me. “I came to call you for a game,” he said, “but I didn’t know you were practising. I’ll come later.”
He turned to leave, as though he shouldn’t have seen our practice.
I called after him, dropping my sword to chase. I would be a complete fool if I didn’t notice the sheer awe Eran had for the sword.
“You came at the right time,” I said, dragging him back into the yard. “Well, a little late, but we can still practise together.”
“What?!”
“You don’t want to?” I asked.
“I…” Eran craned his neck towards my father, who had stopped practising and was watching us with amusement.
“One can only learn so much alone,” Father said. “It is indispensable to have a sparring partner.” He held out the duelling cane to Eran. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to learn.”
Eran’s gleaming eyes told me everything I wanted to know, but there was still hesitation in his stance. I didn’t know if it was because of the ridiculous issue of birth or if his family was against him learning swordsmanship. All I knew was that my friend wanted to learn.
So, I pushed him forward.
Eran stumbled before Father. “I want to,” he rasped.
Father handed him the weapon and gestured for him to take a stance beside me. I showed him the form and asked him to follow along. Eran imitated as best as he could on his first try, which was to say, calling it awkward would be an understatement.
“Your grip is wrong,” I told him, showing my own grip—left hand near the pommel, right at the other end of the hilt, a big gap between. “Hold it like me.”
“But I feel like I can use more strength like this,” Eran said, clasping his palms together as if holding a bat.
“No,” I cried. “That grip compromises the whole utility of the blade.”
“A day with a sword, and he’s already talking like a swordsman,” Mum’s voice came from behind me. “What have you done to my son?”
“Nothing,” Father replied. “He has more of your cleverness than my brute hands.”
“You’re not wrong.” Mum smiled, turning away. “I’m going to prepare breakfast. Don’t go all out on day one.”
Father left the teaching to me, saying something about how you learn as much, if not more, by teaching others. Perhaps he was simply being lazy, but there was some truth to the statement. I had no problem teaching. In fact, I kind of enjoyed it. It added some variety to the monotony of practice.
Unfortunately, my friend didn’t have the slightest bit of respect for his young teacher. Whatever I taught him, he would second-guess and turn to my father for approval.
“I got this,” Eran said. “It’s not that difficult. So, what now?”
I glanced at Father, who said nothing. I supposed we had to continue with the first form.
We resumed training, alternating between attacking and defending against each other until both of us were completely drenched in sweat.
Soon, it became apparent that Whispering Gale would be the only form we were going to learn today, as Father turned to leave.
“We’ll continue tomorrow,” he said, more for Eran’s benefit than mine. “Do not be late.”
The moment he left, our bodies slumped onto the lush grass. The morning mist had vanished, and in the last couple of hours, the sun had climbed higher, radiating brilliantly over the Candor Mountains.
“Don’t be late tomorrow.”
“Hmm?” Eran replied, trying to replicate the fancy sword spin Priam had shown yesterday. He almost managed a full arc through his thumb and index finger, but the cane fell before he could grab it on its returning arc.
The trick was not useful, perhaps even fatal with a true blade, yet I found myself imitating it.
“You said something?”
“Ahh~” I jumped in glee, managing the sword spin after a couple of tries. “Oh, practice begins two hours after sunrise.”
“I’ll be there,” Eran said with sure finality, and I did not doubt him.
“Actually, you could come sooner,” I said. “We could meditate together…” Hmm, though that might be more distracting than doing it alone.
“Thanks, but I jog at that time,” Eran said, still catching his breath.
“You can jog in the afternoon or evening,” I pointed out. “Since archery is going to take more time now, I think I should focus on it too.”
“Will your mother let you?”
“She’s letting me learn swordsmanship.”
Mum would probably be worried that I was overworking myself. Unification and swordsmanship were already exhausting enough. She definitely wouldn’t let me run around for another couple of hours, even if I split it into two separate sessions. Maybe she would agree to half an hour. Way of Running only measured the distance covered, not the time spent.
“I can skip jogging for swordsmanship,” Eran said, suddenly jumping back into practice. “I asked Da to teach me last night. Since he was a legionnaire, he should know a thing or two about it. But he said he hadn’t practised in years and had forgotten the forms that would give me the Way.”
I raised an eyebrow. Five years wasn’t that long to forget something that was once your profession.
“I’m going to train until I receive the Way,” he declared.
I wanted to join him, but my arms wouldn’t allow it. Mum would call me for breakfast any minute now. Besides, I had an interesting book to finish reading.
“I’m going to bathe,” I said. And meditate while I’m at it.
It was a good idea, even if meditation did little to heal the ache in my limbs. Meanwhile, Eran finished practising and left, resting the two wooden canes on the porch. I carried them inside and found breakfast was already served. Father was helping Mum dish it out.
“Did Eran leave?” she sighed. “I should have told him to stay for breakfast.”
He probably left because he knew you’d ask him, I mused. Eran was noticeably shy around my parents, especially my father. I couldn’t blame him. I was just as bad at addressing unfamiliar people. Even now, I still felt awkward talking to my own father.
“Come on,” Mum waved me to my seat. “Training drains a lot of energy. You’ll need more for forging next.”
“Forging?” I raised an eyebrow.
Is she finally going to let me enter the workshop?
“Well, it's more like giving you a tour of the workshop, where you watch me forge stuff,” she smirked. “For all its worth, swordsmanship doesn’t pay nearly well enough, even if you turn out to be any good at it. Whereas Runesmithing is the wealthiest vocation in the realm.”
“Arguably,” Father added, sipping his water.
Mum ignored him with practised ease, her eyes studying my expression. “Why don’t you look as eager as you did when you were learning to poke things with a stick?”
“You carved the stick,” I argued.
“And what a fine stick it is,” she snorted. "We can postpone the lesson if you feel too drained right now."
“No!" I exclaimed. I had been waiting for too long to give up so easily. "I am interested."
Mum smiled. "I'll show you how true forging is work today..."