Chapter 22

It’s a blatant prejudice that narrow-minded people are weak.

There’s no guarantee anywhere that a cowardly person is necessarily weak.

The man before my eyes is, by the world’s standards, definitely not a weakling.

To be able to become a teacher means, for instance, that one’s skills and network of connections have been deemed suitable through a comprehensive evaluation.

Becoming a teacher at the empire’s prestigious academy purely on skill alone indicates one must truly be among the top swordsmen on the continent.

However, it’s unlikely that such skilled individuals are as common as pebbles by the riverside, right?

Thus, it’s only natural that assistants and replacements are needed to support them.

In this sense, being a teacher is a position where gaining social prestige is relatively easy.

Networking also flows smoothly.

“Hopefully, you won’t regret this.”

He swung the training wooden sword a few times while saying this.

With his gaze fixed on my midsection, he watched me closely, tension lingering in his eyes.

Was it because he was holding the sword? His breathing began to calm down.

I…

Even in this state with the sword drawn, I observed him for a while.

Carriel’s gaze was aimed somewhere above my head by at least two heads’ height.

His towering build would cast a shadow over me if we stood side by side.

His short brown hair accentuated his sharp features even more.

His reddish-brown eyes revealed a strong spirit; just meeting his direct gaze could make anyone instinctively feel fear.

That’s why Carriel couldn’t easily meet his eyes either.

Thinking about it…

I had unconsciously feared making eye contact without knowing why.

Whenever I did, it was like an unspoken agreement—trouble always seemed to follow.

And then, inevitably, chaos would ensue.

…Whatever.

The training wooden sword in his hand was a versatile piece, usable both one-handed and two-handed.

One type was designed for single-handed use, while the other had an extended hilt meant for gripping with both hands.

Each has distinct advantages and disadvantages, so choosing either is up to personal preference.

The imperial sword style considers these factors when dividing techniques.

Then what about me?

‘Maybe it doesn’t matter.’

An identical training wooden sword.

At first glance, there’s not much difference.

Thanks to our size difference, the sword I chose is structurally shorter, but…

Since swords aren’t my main forte anyway, honestly speaking, whether I wield a spear or any kind of polearm makes little difference.

Still…

There are still too many unverified aspects about myself.

I can’t trust myself recklessly until I’ve proven and verified everything.

I can’t trust anything at all.

“Hmph…”

I grip the sword hilt with both hands, positioning the straight blade in front of my chest.

Para.

Literally, the starting point.

The fundamental parade stance.

Preparation posture.

Whatever works.

Even in this knight-filled empire where knights are called warriors of God, and despite swearing oaths here in the Berke Empire…

Why do those who’ve taken vows so often act against their promises?

While expecting God’s blessings and mercy…

Why don’t they extend that same compassion to others?

Prayers for personal gain are inherently wrong.

We were undoubtedly taught from childhood:

Pray only for others.

Dedicate yourself solely for others.

Sacrifice yourself for others.

Practice these teachings.

“…”

In this hall where knighthood and chivalry are taught…

Why have they oppressed and rejected the weaker versions of themselves?

“…”

Perhaps they didn’t see me as weak?

If that’s the case, treating me casually doesn’t make sense, does it?

No…

This contradiction is precisely what makes humans human.

Are they so foolish?

So simple-minded?

“Where did you learn that stance?”

With his eyes closed, Carriel maintained steady breathing. Slowly, he took a half-step back with his left foot.

The straight sword held with both hands and arms facing forward naturally shifted to the left with just that motion.

Though limited, every stance ultimately depends on how the feet are placed.

Ultimately, control of the upper body lies with the lower body.

Thus, it resembles a deeply rooted tree.

Even if swayed by the wind or bent by storms, as long as the roots remain intact, neither the center nor balance will collapse.

Even the swaying and bending are part of the process, part of the movement.

If I tilt the sword forward here, it’s Fortes.

If I pull it back and rest it on my shoulder, it’s Grate.

There’s no need to obsess over resting it there.

Don’t mistake the means.

Don’t get caught up in the process.

Just by turning the tip of the rear foot inward, the upper body naturally tilts to the right, transitioning into Fortes as if preparing to lunge.

Even with the same stance, the purpose and method can differ drastically.

The same thrusting stance varies depending on whether it’s used for counterattacks or charges.

When using it to check movements while sidestepping, it’s different again.

From that position, instead of thrusting, one could strike downward or slash—but I don’t.

Just by changing stances…

Defense and offense naturally connect.

The key is the root. The lower body and center. Control and utilization of all these elements.

Not with the mind, but with the body.

Without relying solely on vision, utilizing the distributed senses throughout the entire body.

Before consciousness catches up, reflexively.

“Is this your way of giving me the initiative out of courtesy?”

“Yeah, obviously.”

Literally.

If it’s obvious, then it is.

But why does it feel deflating somehow?

The opponent narrows the distance.

The tip of the sword slightly tilted forward.

By now, it’s neither Para nor Fortes, but it can encompass both at any moment.

Thud, thud.

There’s no swinging of the sword.

Thus, even though we’re within striking range…

I raise the sword but don’t swing first.

This situation is quite perplexing.

It’s like…

Just charging in with the sword raised.

But he isn’t running.

Thud, thud.

Slowly walking closer, his expression distorts suddenly.

“What are you doing—”

If he keeps talking, my wooden sword could easily pierce his throat, chest, or face.

But I neither thrust nor swing.

I just walk.

“Che!”

Only then, stepping toward his vertically positioned wooden sword…

Changing my motion naturally while walking.

Bettyta.

The wooden sword, still tilted forward, has its hilt raised high toward the sky.

The guard between the hilt and blade is elongated, resembling a cross.

This is why the empire’s swords are called Cross Swords.

Even the guard has a special name: Cross Guard.

“?!’’

As soon as he swings forcefully at the upper section, I block it with the guard.

By then…

The distance between us is close enough to touch with an outstretched arm.

The reduced space caused the centrifugal force of his swing to weaken somewhat, so the impact absorbed by the guard was relatively light.

“Not yet!”

A single failure doesn’t mean the end.

Retrieving the sword after striking the guard, he quickly lowers his stance and aims for the middle section again.

This time…

Instead of tilting the sword forward, he simply pivots his foot outward.

Naturally, I tilt my sword toward his incoming attack.

Soon enough, his wooden sword hits…

Not my side but the guard.

Lowering my stance controls the height, which isn’t difficult.

Clang!

The impact is undeniable.

But maintaining a firm stance, I absorb and redirect it.

The shock traveling through my wrist disperses along my hand, wrist, arm joints, and shoulders, eventually reaching my chest and back.

But that’s all.

There’s no need for the force to reach my lower body.

The momentum of his sword strike dissipates right there.

But…

Isn’t it disappointing just to redirect it?

Simultaneously adjusting my upper body to avoid backlash while linking the next movement…

Reviving the dissipated force like breathing life into dying embers.

Using it as the driving force to guide my body.

Shortening my steps and raising the sword…

Actually, “raising” isn’t quite accurate.

Grate.

I merely…

Continuously change postures.

Connect the motions.

“Kuh!”

But the transition wasn’t clumsy or sluggish.

His wooden sword, which struck my guard, remains caught between the guard and blade, awkwardly pulled along.

“?!’

Though he reacts belatedly, by that point, my posture changes and links movements three times already.

Clatter!

Ultimately, losing his sword, he clutches his right wrist, staring at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“What… What kind of swordsmanship is this? Where… When did you learn such… such bizarre stuff?”

“…”

That blank reaction…

It seems he hasn’t even realized his defeat yet.

“Do I know?”

I haven’t even properly swung, let alone cut or slashed.

But…

This result…

…is why young Ruelde lost even while wielding the Sacred Sword.

Even after experiencing it once, learning from repeated encounters might improve responses.

But…

…that’s not the fundamental solution.

Even Father, hailed as a sword genius with innate talent…

Could only triumph in his prime by borrowing the power of the Sacred Sword and relics.

No matter how skillfully the opponent wields the sword…

Even Father, who could observe once and replicate perfectly due to his innate sword talent…

The reason why he couldn’t mimic or break through the technique wasn’t extraordinary or mysterious.

“Just learned it in my dreams.”

Because this…

Isn’t normal or ordinary swordsmanship at all.

If the training wooden sword lacked the extended guard, or if it were shorter or blunter…

I wouldn’t have toyed with the opponent like this and would’ve pursued another strategy.

Though my stance and movements wouldn’t have changed much.

“Get up.”

“Huh?”

Through the dazed expression, an unsettling question arises.

“Losing your sword once doesn’t mean the practice ends, does it?”

Pointing at the fallen wooden sword near Carriel with my eyes after taking a few steps back, I said,

“Let’s go again.”

“…”

This…

This…

…was strangely unsettling deep in my chest.

Instead of embarrassment, heat should rise.

Yet inexplicably…

My whole body bristles with goosebumps, every hair standing on end.

It was icy cold.

Not a shred of spirit remains, then or now.

Exactly. That’s the point.

Why did I notice this only now?

“Hurry.”

I feel nothing.

It’s like…

Being thrown into an empty wilderness.

Nothing but desolate sandstorms surround me.

Why…

…does looking at a mere human evoke such strange sensations?

He didn’t know.

He was still…

Thrown into an empty wilderness.

The wooden sword in his hand felt unusually light today.

Everything gets swallowed up.

The wilderness silently crushes his world with silence and emptiness.

Quietly…

Step by step…

…despite dropping his sword several times afterward…

Without any shame or even fear…

He crumbled.

…

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