章 216: Winter Break VI
After lunch, I decided it was time to train with my father—a rare opportunity, and one I couldn't afford to waste. His Sword Intent had a certain precision, a focused simplicity that aligned closely with the style I sought. He'd reached the Wall but hadn't yet scaled it, wielding Sword Resonance without the full formation of a Sword Heart. For me, his technique was the most accessible to emulate, bridging the gap between potential and mastery.
"Show me your Sword Intent," I asked, hoping to glean something new, something I could incorporate into my own training.
He nodded with a subtle smile, ever the quiet mentor, and we moved to the open grounds. The three princesses, of course, decided to tag along, declaring they wanted to "observe" my training. The knights shifted uneasily, probably wondering if their job description included chaperoning a royal entourage at sword practice.
"Are you three here for the lesson or the show?" I asked with a raised brow, trying to keep my focus as they settled onto a nearby bench.
"Oh, definitely the show," Cecilia replied, eyes gleaming as she leaned forward with feigned innocence.
Rachel crossed her arms with an amused smirk. "Let's see if that Sword Intent lives up to the hype."
I sighed, trying to hide my amusement as my father stifled a chuckle. "Alright, but keep the commentary to a minimum."
He drew his sword and took his stance, his blade emitting a faint glow as his Sword Intent gathered—a calm, unwavering energy, the manifestation of years spent in search of a breakthrough he hadn't yet reached. It wasn't as flashy as some higher-level techniques, but there was a raw, disciplined power in his intent that spoke volumes.
"Observe closely," he instructed, his voice steady. "Sword Intent isn't about grand gestures. It's precision. Efficiency. Restraint." With one smooth movement, he swung his sword, the air rippling as the tip barely grazed a leaf, severing it without disturbing the branch.
The girls watched with widened eyes, the subtlety of the movement not lost on them.
"Not bad," Seraphina murmured, her gaze fixed on the scene.
"Not bad at all," I agreed, feeling a deep appreciation for my father's skill.
"Care to try?" he asked, sheathing his sword as he gestured for me to take his place.
I nodded, stepping forward and drawing my blade. Channeling my own Sword Intent was still challenging, and I could feel the difference—the intent felt rougher, lacking the precision of my father's. I steadied my breathing, trying to recall the feeling I'd observed. I swung, attempting the same delicate strike, though the result was far from perfect. The leaf fluttered in a less graceful arc than my father's, and the branch wobbled in response.
A polite smattering of applause erupted from the bench.
"Good attempt," Cecilia called out, though her smirk said she enjoyed my less-than-perfect attempt more than she let on.
"Guess I have a ways to go," I muttered, sheathing my sword with a sigh.
My father placed a hand on my shoulder. "It's not about perfection—it's about progress."
The girls, however, looked far from serious, trading amused glances. Clearly, my training session had become the day's entertainment.
"Next time, you're all going to try it," I warned, grinning at their expressions of mock horror.
"Maybe I'll just stick to observing," Cecilia replied with a smirk. "Much safer that way."
And with that, my training continued, though now it was interspersed with more than a few sidelong glances and quiet chuckles from my "audience."
I took a deep breath and steadied my stance, letting the feel of the sword settle in my grip as I focused on what my father had demonstrated. Sword Intent was elusive, a level of mastery that required the swordsman to pour not just mana, but purpose into every movement—a will that guided the blade as much as any physical force.
Sword Intent wasn't just swinging with strength or speed; it was a delicate infusion of purpose. Where aura reinforced a weapon or one's body, Sword Intent gave the blade a sense of command, bending the air around it to its will. The first level of true swordsmanship, it required the swordsman to imbue their intentions directly into their weapon. At its best, it turned the sword into an extension of the soul itself, capable of striking with precision and force beyond mere physical limitations.
I held my breath, remembering the fluidity and calm of my father's movement, the way his Sword Intent flowed like water down a clear stream, unbroken and silent. There was no excess, no flash—just a refined energy that hummed with purpose. I tried to emulate that, letting my mana and my focus settle into the blade, holding myself back from forcing it.
My first few attempts were clumsy, my mind still fighting the urge to swing with power instead of intention. Each time, the blade felt unsteady, the swing off-balance, as if it wasn't quite mine to command.
"Remember," my father said quietly, observing my form, "Sword Intent is about harmony, Arthur. The moment you force it, it's lost."
I nodded, grounding myself and letting the intent flow from me to the blade without pushing. Slowly, I let my mind reach a place of calm, finding my focus in the rhythm of my breathing. I swung again, this time easing the mana into my grip as I directed my attention to the edge of the blade, imagining it slicing the air before it moved.
As I struck, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer accompanied the movement, a slight ripple that cut the air with purpose. The blade's edge hummed as it passed through a single leaf, severing it cleanly from the branch without disturbing a second.
It wasn't perfect—not yet—but there was something real to it. The cut was clean, precise, the blade following a will beyond its own metal.
I looked to my father, who nodded in silent approval, a small smile on his face. "You're starting to understand," he said, his voice proud but reserved.
My hands adjusted on the hilt as I prepared again, the blade beginning to feel more like an extension of my own will. Each swing, each pulse of mana, felt smoother, the intent slowly sharpening into clarity. After hours of practice, I finally moved with a flow I hadn't achieved before, each movement containing that faint resonance of intent, the cut sharper, cleaner.
Finally, as I completed another swing, the blade seemed to sing, a slight hum reverberating as it sliced a cluster of leaves with a single stroke. They fell to the ground in perfect silence, untouched by the slightest disturbance.
A quiet settled over us as I lowered my sword, a smile creeping across my face. I'd done it—well, not fully, but I was close. For the first time, I'd achieved a glimpse of true Sword Intent.
Cecilia clapped from her place on the bench, the sound breaking the calm.
"Well, look at that!" she called, grinning as Seraphina nodded approvingly and Rachel watched with eyes alight with pride.
I couldn't help but feel a quiet thrill, the satisfaction of progress settling over me. Sword Intent, the first true step toward the mastery I was seeking, was finally within my grasp.
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