Styles of the Sword
"Just because you hold a sword doesn't mean everyone uses the same swordsmanship. It all depends on how you wield it and move your body."
Called to the front, Maness and Kyle each gripped a practice wooden sword and faced the students seated on the ground. The sudden spotlight made Maness feel like he was sitting on a bed of nails.
"You know those mana classes, right? It's like that—using one mana to cast all sorts of attribute magic. Same idea."
After a quick explanation, Barton beckoned Kyle over.
"A demo's the quickest way. Kyle, take this."
"Yes, sir."
Kyle stood about three paces from the professor, wooden sword raised. His feet shoulder-width apart, his posture straight from waist to crown—it exuded rock-solid stability.
"Perfect stance. First up: the strong sword."
Barton raised his wooden sword high overhead, telegraphing the attack path clearly. Kyle's eyes hardened with resolve as he settled into defense. Even in a demo, he was all in—a fresh Snowrobe sword prodigy, already winning the professor's favor.
"Hah!"
After evenly distributing power through his body, Barton unleashed a thunderous shout. The blade arced down from above. From behind his head straight to the opponent's crown.
Crack!
The ferocious downward strike collided with Kyle's sword, ringing out with that distinctive wooden snap. Despite the heavy blow, Kyle's stance didn't budge. A slight stagger from the shock rippled through, sure, but he held enough poise for the next exchange.
"The strong sword focuses raw power into a single strike to overwhelm. Suits big, heavy blades best. Nothing shows off force like it, but it can slow you down—pick your moments carefully."
Barton reset his stance. This time, the blade wasn't pointed at Kyle.
"Take the strong sword, ditch fluidity for even more power..."
Once more, the wooden sword slashed down hard. But the students spotted the difference in trajectory right away.
Whoosh!
The thin blade tore a scream from the air itself. A whirlwind trailing its path wouldn't have been an exaggeration.
"That's the heavy sword. Power like that means high risk—tough to use unless you're safe. Most of you won't need it; just know it exists."
Unlike the distant onlookers, Maness—right up close—felt chills crawl his skin. He'd only seen such moves in media before, but feeling every motion firsthand? Even the practice sword hummed with killing intent.
"I've had my fun. Time to let Kyle get some payback, eh?"
Barton sheathed his sword and faced the sword prodigy again. The sight stirred memories in Kyle of sparring with the professor during frequent visits to his estate.
"Kyle, what's your family's style?"
"Flowing sword, built on the quick sword."
"Show me your best."
With permission granted, Kyle's stance shifted subtly. His upright sword hovered near his temple, tip aimed at the opponent's chest. As if centering his circulating energy, he closed his eyes, locking his form. Precisely on his third breath.
His sharpened gaze pierced Barton.
Crack!
The thrust that seemed destined to skewer flew sideways toward the throat in a blink. Barton blocked effortlessly, but Kyle yanked back mid-clash, denying any opening.
Grind!
Sawdust scattered before the next strike whipped toward the opposite forearm.
Crack!
Flawless precision, yet the clear ring of wood on wood couldn't pierce Barton's guard. He had mere instants, but parried the barrage with calm ease.
Undeterred, Kyle twisted his withdrawn blade and pressed the assault.
Crack! Crack!
As the one-sided flurry dragged on, sweat beaded on Kyle's brow. He held the offensive, yet felt an intangible pressure mounting.
"Ngh!"
Teeth gritted against wrist pain, he kept swinging. But the professor's blade flowed on, teeth bared yet never biting.
The students gaped at the surreal display.
Swordplay on another level.
Maness shared their awe. Relentless, flashy dominance that stole your breath—no gaps for the eye to rest. Even from childhood training, matching a professor at that age by relentlessly exploiting slivers? Any lesser swordsman would've been black-and-blue by now.
But he'd picked the wrong foe. Professor Barton, veteran mercenary. The man who'd ruled the monster-haunted eastern frontier.
Crack!
A comparatively meek snap ended it as Kyle lowered his sword. He'd clashed countless times before—always against an unyielding wall. He knew better than anyone: his current skill couldn't even scratch the man.
"Thank you for the bout."
Barton ruffled the bowing student's hair.
"Save the thanks—you did the demo. Good work."
The heartwarming exchange drew applause from the class. Barton accepted it with satisfaction, then stabbed his wooden sword into the ground to silence them.
"What Kyle showed was the quick sword. Unlike the strong sword, it overwhelms with speed. Tough for anyone who can't read trajectories, and it guzzles stamina. Now..."
Barton's gaze slid slyly toward one side. Maness straightened instinctively.
"Maness, know what style I used blocking Kyle?"
A total novice like him? No way. But Maness did. A technique honed since his mercenary days, now second nature. Something you'd memorize playing the original from Kyle's perspective—his master's signature.
"The slow sword."
Barton's pride and joy.
"Hooh..."
The professor's eyes widened briefly. Few truly grasped the slow sword; even fewer recognized it on sight. And this freshman nailed it.
"Thought you weren't into swords. Humble, are we?"
"...Helping with the trading company meant traveling everywhere—picked up all sorts."
"Someone that memorable with the slow sword, huh? I'd love to meet 'em sometime."
Maness inwardly sighed relief, scraping together a trading company excuse. He should've played dumb, but the mesmerizing duel had hijacked his brain.
"Can you describe its traits too?"
"Slow movements, but not from lack of skill—intentional minimalism."
Might as well spill what the original taught him. Good thing Barton bought the "met a master on caravan duty" story—no inconsistencies.
"Only for those who master trajectories. Predict the path, pre-set defense, repeat to pressure. That's the slow sword's power."
"And?"
"Deeper in, it's space domination. Foresee every motion in the shared space, trap them in a net of one sword—inescapable."
"Applause!"
Barton couldn't hold back, rallying cheers. The kid deserved it for that textbook answer. But the half-hearted claps lacked punch—only Kyle and Iris clapped loud and clear. Conien nodded appreciatively but stayed quiet.
"These guys, and our classmate nails it cold? Lame response."
Scratching his head, Barton elaborated.
"As Maness said, the slow sword looks sluggish to foes but is insanely precise. Demands mastery of all styles—top-tier stuff. Like the heavy sword, you won't use it. Just know it."
Barton's judgment was spot-on. In Class 1, only Kyle pursued the blade, honing his family's flowing sword. He'd never allow others half-assed sword dreams without basic fitness—that'd insult the path.
"But knowing and wielding are different. Say you face an anti-mage squad."
Anti-mage squad. Ears perked across the room—mages continent-wide tensed at the name.
"They reject magic, purge its users. Fanatics with no qualms killing."
Students swallowed hard at the loaded topic.
"How'd they threaten you? Magic? Nah—blades in their hands, obviously."
Barton paused, drawing a sharp dagger from his pocket.
"You might not use class sword styles. But blades are blades."
The dagger whispered through air—a silent call to death.
"They all follow set paths to hit. Downward chop, side slash, straight thrust. To survive worst-case, sense those paths instinctively and counter."
"But we have magic, right?"
Morras raised his hand. Maness smirked—classic him.
"Dumb question."
Yeah, it was.
"Forgot how you wheezed and flopped after a lap?"
"What's that got to—"
"Swordsmen have stamina. Mages have mana. Got a grandmaster's reserves in your Mana Well, huh?"
Maness winced inwardly—professors had marveled at his mana, at least.
"S-sorry."
"Ignorance isn't shameful. Learn and improve. No other idiots left, right?"
Every student, Morras included, nodded silently. Barton yanked his grounded sword free.
"Grab a wooden sword each. Maness up front—I'll correct basics from his example. Watch and mimic."
Maness's eyes flicked to the professor. He'd been nodding quietly to theory till now.
What'd he just say...?