Chapter 19
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: Sword and You (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Around the time the morning sun began to rise, I opened my eyes in my temporary quarters.
"Yaaawn..."
What I called temporary quarters had now become a full-fledged living space. Thanks to the fireplace, it was warm; the bed was plush; and I'd even decorated it to feel like a cozy log cabin.
"...Man, I'm sleepy."
It was currently 8:40 a.m.
The day was Thursday, when elective liberal arts classes were held.
I sluggishly changed into my uniform. I didn't forget to grab my sword, either.
The heirloom blade passed down in the Askal family since Grandfather's time.
Today's elective was Swordsmanship Studies.
There wasn't any special reason I'd chosen this class.
My father, Dale Askal, had been a knight who wielded a sword.
"Good morning. I'm 'Gioli,' the instructor for Thursday morning elective liberal arts: Swordsmanship Studies. Please take your seats."
The classroom for Swordsmanship Studies was an ordinary one. There were quite a few seniors. At a glance, around seventy of them.
They said it was the most popular elective, and it looked like that was true.
"First off, let me be clear. I won't be teaching you swordsmanship. You should have already mastered that yourselves. Swordsmanship Studies builds on your existing foundation."
It was disappointing for someone like me without that foundation, but he was right. At the senior level, it was less about learning and more about application.
"So, how much do you all know about Swordsmanship Studies?"
Instructor Gioli posed the question to the students. Someone raised their hand.
"Swordsmanship Studies is the discipline of not only performing swordsmanship but also breaking it down into elements, researching and analyzing them, and sometimes even inventing new ones."
It was Elise again.
Why did she keep ending up in the same elective as me?
I shot her a quick glance, and our eyes met. Elise silently mouthed an insult with a blank expression.
"Yes, exactly. As Elise said, Swordsmanship Studies is the study of performing and researching swordsmanship."
Gioli scanned the faces of the seniors as he continued.
"That's why 'swordsmanship scholars' and 'knights' are very different. Extremely so. Among renowned swordsmanship scholars, many aren't knights at all, and even among knights, plenty don't use swords. The same goes for Count Centrel, who established Swordsmanship Studies."
In truth, swordsmanship scholars and knights were quite distinct.
A swordsmanship scholar was a pure swordsman devoted solely to the blade and the pen, whereas knights placed more emphasis on mana than swordplay.
Of course, nearly fifty percent of knights did use swords as their primary weapon.
"You've probably heard this before: family or dojo heirloom sword arts. You know, 'Secret Sword Arts.'"
Gioli continued earnestly.
"But you can't just slap the word 'secret' on anything. Only the 'Swordsmanship Association' can officially recognize a Secret Sword Art. Anything not approved by them is fake. Speaking of which... there's a scion of the Arkne family here."
He pointed to the very back of the classroom.
The name Arkne made my eyes widen, but I deliberately held my breath.
"The Arkne family's Secret Sword Art is indeed a five-star technique recognized by the Swordsmanship Association."
Instead, I slowly turned around.
There was Soliet, her face slightly stiff, her cheeks flushed a shade halfway to her hair's vivid red.
Some might mistake that expression for shyness, but no.
It was disgust.
"Anyway. Swordsmanship Studies isn't about swinging here and there to make stances. First, let me demonstrate."
Gioli picked up a sword.
"I'll use mana."
As he infused it with mana, the blade glowed blue.
"When you swing a sword cloaked in mana like this..."
A line of mana traced through the air.
One stroke, two strokes, three strokes.
"The mana lines overlap like this. We call them 'strokes.' Anyone know?"
"A stroke is the smallest unit that constitutes swordsmanship. At least three strokes must connect to form a single stance."
Naturally, it was Elise again. Gioli chuckled softly.
"Correct. When at least three strokes connect seamlessly, they form a stance, and sometimes that stance functions like magic. Why, you swing your sword, and lightning crashes down from it, or it distorts space, or the swordplay itself is so artistic... The purpose of Swordsmanship Studies is to invent or research and understand such stances."
Gioli checked the clock. Less than twenty minutes had passed since class started.
"Since this is the first lesson, let's keep it simple and just swing some swords. Follow along."
"This is the swordsmanship training room."
The place Gioli led us to was the [Swordsmanship Training Room] on the seventh floor of the senior dorms.
"Whoa..."
I marveled as I took in the interior layout.
First floor: doors lined both sides of the hallway. They all seemed to be individual training rooms, and at the end of the corridor, there were three or four spacious sparring arenas.
Next, up the stairs to the second floor: balconies overlooking the interiors of the individual rooms and the arenas.
"Today's lesson is simple. Half of the seventy students—thirty-five—will enter these individual rooms for thirty minutes."
Gioli opened the door to one of the individual rooms. Students crowded around to peek inside.
A space equipped with cameras on all sides. The floor was set up with dirt, sand, and grass, and in the corner sat a desk, chair, and tablet PC.
"The other thirty-five will deploy any swordsmanship here. Even basic techniques are fine. Meanwhile, the observers head up to the second-floor balcony."
Gioli closed the training room door and pointed to the stairs leading to the second floor.
"From the balcony, watch the training room interior. And write a report."
"A report?"
Elise asked.
"Yes. Observing and analyzing swordsmanship visually is just as important as performing it."
I scanned the faces around me.
More precisely, I was looking for someone.
Soliet Arkne.
She stood quietly in a corner of the training room, her expression curt and rigid, as if she couldn't care less about the class.
"Alright, then. First group, let's head into the training rooms? I'll call the names. Gerkken Kal Dun, Demolli, Sethan..."
And Sion Askal.
I entered the individual room. First thing, I checked the cameras all around.
They must record the swordplay for playback and review.
"Hm..."
I glanced up at the balcony overhead. No one was watching my side. They must all have crowded around Gerkken's room.
Since it's the first class, just swing freely. Any sword art you've already learned is fine, or one from a dojo or academy. Or if you want to create a brand-new stance of your own, that's okay too.
Gioli's voice echoed from the ceiling speakers.
I relaxed and drew the Askal Family Sword.
"...Come to think of it, I've never really looked at this thing."
Too shabby to call an heirloom sword—one that, before my regression, I'd sold off to cover hospital bills. Yet it was my family's treasure.
I hadn't opened it since Father passed away.
It was pointless stubbornness. A mad, idiotic pride, swearing I'd only wield it once worthy of it.
And then selling it the moment I got dantian cancer? Yeah, I was a real piece of work.
Shing—
I unsheathed the sword.
The blade bore no ornamentation. Simple yet elegant, devoted solely to the purpose of killing.
I placed two fingers on the flat. Like tuning a violin, I slid them from base to tip.
——That was when it happened.
...
Sion. What do you think a knight is?
Suddenly, Father's voice whispered in my ear.
In that instant, time rewound.
Pulled back into a distant past, as if my consciousness were sucked away.
...
A knight... is someone who protects.
Sometime in the past, I'd seen Father wielding this sword.
A very old memory.
To a mere four-year-old child, the most handsome and strongest figure in the world gleamed before my eyes.
...
Clang!
The sword rang sharply. Father's form materialized like mist in one corner of the garden.
I watched him silently.
...
A stance is, simply put, a chain of movements. Horizontal cuts, vertical slashes, thrusts, pulls, pushes—these single strokes combine to form a stance.
Phantoms buried in a corner drawer of memory rose vividly.
...
A routine is the motion that executes that stance. That's why the same stance can differ vastly between knights. One might perform it as softly as flower petals, while another brings it down like a crude, heavy hammer.
Father gripped his sword, gazing at young me. I faced his features, his wrinkles, the blond hair he'd passed to me.
As vividly as last night.
...
A sword path is the trail blazed by those stances and routines. Once complete, a sword path is like a swordsman's fingerprint. With infinite variations in sword paths, no two identical swordsmen exist in this world.
In the most perfectly refined posture, without the slightest deviation—stubborn and straightforward, mirroring his personality.
...
This is...
A little late,
clearly before my eyes,
his swordsmanship revived and danced once more.
...
...the swordsmanship of the Askals.
Past Father cleaved through the scarecrow.
——Slash!
The next moment, like a switch flipping,
my dantian activated on its own. Mana surged suddenly. Meridian pathways opened. Mana flooded like steam, scorching my body before cooling it with a shiver down my spine.
I slowly opened my eyes.
"..."
My retinas tinged blue.
The world opened bright and clear.
The training room lights burned deep; drifting mana particles shimmered. Father's swordsmanship overlaid the air. The sword path etched into the blade lingered as an afterimage.
I moved naturally. Tracing memory's trajectory with the Askal sword. Father's stance bloomed in my grasp. The blade flowed, spread, surged. Blue mana seeped between strokes like petals.
A trance.
In that ecstatic resonance of sword and self, I realized.
This was no mere memory.
Beyond simply remembering—making the memory wholly my own—
Reenactment.
"...Ah."
At some point, I halted the sword dance. The blade's vibration reached my heart belatedly. My body trembled greatly, then slowly subsided.
Suddenly, I looked up at the balcony.
"Who's... there."
For a fleeting moment, a presence brushed past and vanished.
Red hair.