Fundamentals of the Blade
“Which direction should I cut in?”
“Pick any. It’s all the same anyway.”
His words carried the certainty of someone who already knew the outcome.
To shatter that assumption, Palan chose his most confident diagonal slash.
Fundamentals mean control over the sword.
Since he’d been told to make it one with his body, he gripped the hilt tightly.
“Tsk, tsk.”
Hamus clicked his tongue at the sight.
It grated on his nerves, but Palan ignored it as best he could and raised his sword.
“Hoo.”
After steadying his breath with a deep inhale, he was ready…
Slash!
The blade followed the exact path he’d practiced hundreds—no, thousands—of times, slicing through the straw dummy.
Thud.
Half the dummy dropped to the ground.
Even he had to admit it was one of the cleanest cuts he’d ever made.
How’s that? Not bad, right?
In case it had changed his mind, Palan fixed his gaze on Hamus’s mouth.
“Tsk, tsk. Not progress—regression. If you’re going to grip that hard, why not just fight with your fists instead of picking up a sword?”
Hamus tsked again and raised his own right hand, brushing the cut edge of the severed dummy.
“Come here and feel this.”
He pointed to the dummy’s cross-section.
To figure out exactly what was wrong, Palan approached and ran his fingers over it.
“Remember that texture.”
Hamus picked up a wooden practice sword from the floor—one of those blunt, bladeless ones.
Was he seriously going to use that on the dummy? He held it up casually.
His stance looks so half-assed.
Leaning at an angle like that—how the hell was he going to cut the dummy with a wooden stick…?
Slash.
“Huh…?”
The dummy’s other half suddenly hit the ground.
What the…?
It had happened in the blink of an eye.
Even though he’d been watching intently, Palan hadn’t clearly seen him swing.
“Come feel it. See the difference.”
Hamus indicated the fresh cut he’d just made.
“Y-Yes, sir.”
Still dazed, Palan stepped forward and touched the surface.
“What is this…?”
It was smooth.
Made of bundled straw, yet the cut was perfectly even, as if it had always been one piece.
No resistance at all when he ran his fingers over it.
“Feel the difference?”
“Yes.”
Anyone who couldn’t tell would have to question their intelligence.
“You probably pictured the same ideal line in your head. But without the fundamentals, you can’t control the sword, so you end up with that mess. Get it?”
“Y-Yes, I understand.”
Seeing it demonstrated firsthand made the gap in his basics painfully clear.
“That’s your first task. Replicate this exactly. Once you do, then I’ll teach you swordsmanship.”
“Like this…?”
The very first assignment felt like being told to write a damn thesis.
“It’s not that hard. Got a problem?”
“No problem, but… could you give me some tips on how?”
“Huh?”
Hamus looked down at him with utter disbelief.
“Fundamentals don’t have a ‘how.’ You do it until it works. What, you want me to spoon-feed you everything?”
He couldn’t argue—it was fundamentals, after all.
“I’m really going to sleep now, so practice on your own time and get out.”
“Yes…? That’s it?”
Forty-one minutes left.
Meaning he’d taught for a whopping nine minutes and called it quits.
“What else is there to teach a guy without basics?”
His tone was final.
As Hamus returned to his spot and lay down, it felt irreversible this time.
Tsk. I didn’t learn nothing, so I’ll call it a win.
He’d even secured a promise for more next time—not a bad haul.
“Sigh, tough stuff.”
Palan touched Hamus’s cut one more time.
To achieve this, he couldn’t waver even 0.1 centimeters. Was that even humanly possible?
And one nagging doubt surfaced.
This doesn’t even feel like basics.
The era he’d lived in must have been vastly different from now.
Or maybe his standards were just light-years beyond common sense.
Whatever. If I can learn it, great.
A man who’d reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
Doubting his skill after that glimpse would be pure idiocy.
“Let’s do this. Hoo!”
He steadied his breath and raised the sword.
“Hooo.”
Breath control was key to minimizing error.
Once he felt stable after several adjustments…
Slash.
Without hesitation, he swung and cut the dummy.
“Hmm.”
Feeling the cross-section, it was better than before, but still far from flat.
“You’ve got a lot of practice ahead. Cut back on sleep.”
Hamus, who’d claimed he was sleeping, was still watching him.
Unfortunately, nothing useful came from his mouth.
This guy’s my master…?
* * *
“Sir! First Platoon has returned after subjugating the goblin pack. One minor injury, no other issues.”
Sergeant Jeren reported after the mission.
“Good work. You went out at dawn—must be exhausted. Get some rest.”
“Thank you, sir. But you look like you need rest more.”
Jeren eyed his fatigued face.
Palan knew he did too.
“Wish I could, but there’s just too much to do.”
“Winter prep?”
“That’s a big part of it.”
The anomalies were one thing, but winter—the real monster migration season—was here.
Tactically, it should kick off soon.
By now, monsters in the mountains were probably fighting fiercely over expanded territories.
“And I hear you’re doing personal training every day on top of that. Impressive, sir.”
“Just trying to survive. Motivation’s kicking in too.”
“Motivation?”
“Just… wanna get stronger.”
He couldn’t exactly say he was obsessing over dummy cross-sections.
“By the way, what happened to that mana stone the ogre left? If I may ask.”
Jeren brought up the one they’d hauled together last time.
How to play this.
Couldn’t tell the truth, so a white lie it was.
“Too big for me to handle, so I passed it up the chain. Don’t know what happened after.”
“I see.”
Jeren looked a touch disappointed.
Can’t blame him. Selling it would fetch a fortune.
Not the soldierly mindset, but understandable.
“You’ll probably get a bonus out of it, so don’t sweat it.”
“Pardon? Oh, no, it’s fine. I was the one who ran scared—what right do I have?”
“Glad you see it that way.”
He’d thought it since the ogre incident, but Jeren was a solid guy.
“When you have time, spar with the troops. The ogre fight lit a fire under everyone.”
The whole company had witnessed it.
Since then, the training grounds were packed from dawn till dusk.
“I’ll schedule it.”
“Looking forward to it. See you later, sir.”
Jeren saluted and left the office.
“More work piles up.”
At least it didn’t tax the brain.
Two months here today, huh.
His service so far suggested a transfer was due, but not this time.
Problems unsolved, plus winter—they’ll keep me here till spring.
Personally, it was tough work-wise but perfect for training. He was content.
Knock knock.
“Lieutenant Aisa reporting.”
As he buried himself in paperwork, her voice came from outside.
“Come in.”
She entered promptly, arms full of fresh documents.
“What’s that?”
“Settlement for last month’s monster subjugation revenue. I’ve reviewed it, but please check and sign.”
“Already a month? Damn.”
Monster corpses fetched far more than livestock.
Each hunt brought solid profits, with 50% going to the troops as incentives.
7th Legion’s top perk.
With monsters swarming lately, even the company’s bottom private had pocketed 30 gold last month.
For reference, his own first paycheck as a second lieutenant was 19 gold.
“I’ll review and sign by end of day.”
“Appreciate it.”
Aisa placed the thick stack on his desk.
She already checked it, so I’ll just scribble signatures later.
Trust her on this.
“And…”
She paused, glancing around.
“No one here. Spit it out.”
It was her habit before Intelligence talk—a caution ritual.
“Major Orpia wants you at base by 2 p.m. tomorrow.”
“Specific time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm.”
Usually it was “when you’re free” or “get your ass here now.” This was unusual.
Variables like this always end bad.
Sad truth.
“You coming too?”
“No, sir. Just you. I’m not official yet.”
“Right, yeah.”
He often forgot she was on probation, given how hard she worked.
Even with good evals, unless it’s major merits, formal status takes at least two years.
Not that he had room to talk.
“I’ll make it official with Intelligence someday.”
“Dunno why you’d pick that hellhole, but I’ll cheer you on.”
He’d love to hand her his spot, but it didn’t work that way.
“How’d you rack up merits so fast, sir?”
“Merits?”
“Yeah. You pull off what others can’t even once a year—every month.”
Dead serious expression.
She was genuinely curious.
Merits, huh.
He had stacked a lot.
How’d it happen again?
Never really reflected on it, so he leaned back and reminisced.
Dragged in, forced to lead, called competent and dragged again.
Not many fond memories.
“Just… put on a circus act on the line between life and death.”
“Pardon…?”
“High risk, high return. You ever nearly die on an Intelligence op?”
“Not yet.”
“That’s why no merits. Safe desk—no merits there. That’s just greed.”
“Ah…”
Sounded like sophistry, but Aisa looked enlightened.
Is this right? Not wrong, I guess.
All his merits—fries aside—came from brushes with death.
Fries were life-or-death too, if you count pissed-off soldiers with knives to your throat.
“I’ll work even harder—watch me!”
Determined face.
Made him uneasy.
She’s not gonna cause an incident, is she?
But enthusiasm deserved support from her mentor.
“Uh… yeah, fighting?”
“Yes, sir! See you at lunch.”
Unlike her entrance, she left with energetic steps.