"You will not be able to achieve anything by doing the same thing," the old man said.
I raised my eyebrows, my irritation flaring. "Why not?"
Instead of answering directly, the old man posed a different question. "You were unable to gather mana into your core, weren't you? Even though you are the son of a viscount, and your family was given a unique-grade Mana Accumulation Art, you couldn't gather any type of mana, could you?"
I froze, his words cutting deeper than any blade. How did he know about my struggles with mana? My failure to live up to my family's legacy was a wound I kept hidden, a source of shame and frustration.
I clenched my fists around the spear, my voice a low growl. "How do you know about that?"
The old man's gaze was steady, unyielding. "I have seen many in my time, boy. I can recognize the signs of someone who has faced the same struggle. You carry it in your posture, in the way you push yourself beyond your limits, hoping to overcome a hurdle that seems insurmountable."
I looked away, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "What does it matter? I've trained harder than anyone, but nothing changes."
"It matters because you're trying to fight a battle you can't win by normal means," he replied softly.
I could not understand. What did he mean by "by normal means"? What was that supposed to mean?
It is not like there is any other thing in this world.
The old man looked at the weapon in my hands, his gaze lingering on the long spear.
"Spear is not a weapon for you to use," he said, his voice calm but firm.
I narrowed my eyes, a surge of frustration bubbling up. "What does that mean?"
The old man looked into my eyes, his expression unwavering. "Your body is not suited to use a spear."
I narrowed my eyes, frustration bubbling up inside me. "What does that mean?"
Instead of answering directly, the old man posed another question. "Have you ever felt like there are certain movements that you can do better than others?"
I frowned, his words stirring memories from my past. I thought back to the times when my body seemed to flow more naturally when I instinctively moved in ways that felt right. During those moments, I developed a peculiar style of wielding the spear, incorporating fluid and unpredictable movements. It was weird, and others commented on it a lot of times.
Many times, they said that I was fighting a lot differently compared to them.
"Yes," I replied after a moment, nodding slowly. "There have been times when I felt like I could move better, more naturally."
The old man nodded, his eyes reflecting a knowing look. "Of course, that is the case. Because your body was reacting to the specific types of movements, and you subconsciously noticed that while moving as well."
I looked at him, my curiosity piqued. "So what if that's the case? Which weapon is my body suited for then?"
The old man smiled, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. "Ah, that is a question only you can answer. Think about it. For which movements do you feel the most comfortable when doing them?"
I closed my eyes, searching my memories. I tried to recall the times when I felt most at ease, most in sync with my body. Moments during training when everything seemed to click, and my movements were smooth and effortless.
As I delved deeper into my thoughts, a picture began to form in my mind. I saw myself moving fluidly, my body shifting seamlessly from one stance to another.
My hands and arms moved with grace, executing precise and controlled motions.
I imagined myself in the middle of a fight, my body twisting and turning with agility. My strikes were swift and accurate, each movement calculated and intentional. The image in my mind was clear, and without realizing it, I began to move, mimicking the motions I envisioned.
The old man watched me with a knowing smile, his eyes following my movements. He said nothing, allowing me to immerse myself in the exercise.
As I continued, I felt a sense of familiarity wash over me. These movements felt natural, almost instinctual. My body seemed to remember each step, each strike as if it had been doing this all along.
I stopped and opened my eyes, breathing heavily. "I felt it," I said, a note of wonder in my voice. "I could see the movements in my mind, and my body just followed."
Even if my hands held a spear, my body did not move according to it.
A spear was a weapon that focused mainly on stabbing, designed for long reach and powerful thrusts. The essence of the spear was in its directness, its ability to keep an opponent at a distance and strike with precision.
My movements, however, were different. They were fluid, adaptive, and close-range. The spear felt like an extension of myself, but it did not align with the natural flow of my body.
My strikes were not just about reaching out and piercing through; they involved intricate maneuvers, swift changes in direction, and a blend of offense and defense that seemed more suited to a weapon requiring agility and finesse.
I looked at the old man, seeking confirmation. "The spear's essence is in its stabbing, its reach. But my movements... they aren't just about thrusting forward. They are about flowing, adapting, and moving with precision and grace."
The old man nodded, his eyes twinkling with approval. "Exactly. The spear, while powerful and noble, does not align with your natural way of fighting. Your movements are more suited to a weapon that allows for close combat, agility, and precision."
I considered his words, the image of my fluid movements still fresh in my mind. "But what weapon is that? What fits with these movements?"
The old man smiled enigmatically. "Think about the weapons that require such fluidity and precision. Which weapon allows for both offense and defense and thrives on the user's ability to adapt and react swiftly?"
I closed my eyes again, picturing the movements. I imagined a weapon that complemented my style, one that allowed for quick, decisive strikes and seamless transitions. My body twisted and turned, blocking and attacking with equal finesse.
A dagger felt closer to what the old man was hinting at, but even that didn't seem to capture the full scope of my movements. It felt like there was something more, something that required both hands to truly express the fluidity and precision I envisioned.
Slowly, an image began to form in my mind. A weapon that was balanced, capable of both offense and defense, allowing for swift, controlled strikes, and fluid movements.
The weapon was not overly long like a spear but not as short as a dagger.
It was something that did not demand both hands to be wielded effectively as a spear, yet at the same time, something that allowed for a dance of attacks and parries.
A sword.
Not short.
Not long.
A simple, basic sword.
I opened my eyes, a realization dawning upon me. The old man watched me intently, waiting for me to speak.
"A sword," I said slowly, testing the word.
"Indeed." The old man's smile widened, and he nodded approvingly. "Your movements, your instincts, they align with the essence of the sword."
I frowned, still not fully understanding. "But why? Why is my body suited for a sword and not anything else?"
The old man pointed towards my body, specifically to my dantian. "It's because of the same reason you cannot accumulate any mana into your core."
His words hung in the air, and I felt a surge of impatience. I looked at him, waiting for him to speak, but he did not say anything.
'This old man!'
It was so frustrating, to the extent that I wanted to punch him in the face. Well, that may have been an exaggeration, but I was angry, at least.
Thus, I decided to speak.
"What do you mean? Why can't I accumulate mana? What does this have to do with my weapon?"
The old man smiled at my frustration, clearly anticipating my reaction. He paused, letting the silence stretch before finally speaking.
"It is because of your unique body constitution."
He spoke, raising his fingers. From the tip of it, something appeared.
A bunch of characters formed by mana.
"You have what is known as the Physique of the Requiverse."
I blinked, confusion flooding my mind. "The Physique of the Requiverse? What does that mean? I've never heard of it before."
Even in the novel, there was no such thing. Though, it was not like the novel was focused on these physiques. While being a revenge story, Shattered Innocence's main focus was romance fantasy, after all.
The old man's smile widened, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "It's because all those who had this physique died."
-----------------------
You can check my discord if you want. The link is in the description.
I am open to any criticism; you can comment on things that you would like to see in the story.
And if you liked my story, please give me a power stone. It helps me a lot.
"It's because all those who had this physique died."
The moment I heard this, I could not help but let my eyes widen as the shock and disbelief washed over me.
"They all died?" I echoed, my voice barely more than a whisper. "What are you talking about? How could a physique like that cause people to die?"
What kind of bullshit that this old man was talking about?
How could someone just die just because they have a physique? That was the first time I heard of such a thing.
In the first place, what was a physique anyway? I have heard that father mentioning this before, saying only the rarest people would be born with a physique and they would be talented under the heavens, but the details were not there.
So, how?
The old man's expression remained somber, his gaze unwavering. "The Physique of the Requiverse is extremely rare. Those who possess it have bodies that react differently to mana. Instead of absorbing and accumulating mana like others, their bodies repulse it."
"Repulse it?" I shook my head, still trying to process what he was saying. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would my body repulse mana?"
"It is a unique condition," the old man explained, his tone patient. "Your body cannot contain mana in the traditional sense. Instead, it uses mana in an entirely different way, one that most people do not understand and cannot control."
I frowned, frustration bubbling up inside me. "If this physique is so rare, then how do you know about it? Why should I believe any of this?"
The old man's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. "Why would I lie to you, boy? What would I gain from it? I have no reason to deceive you. In fact, understanding your condition could be the key to unlocking your true potential."
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion lingering. "How do I know you're not just making this up? This could all be some elaborate trick."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You have a right to be skeptical. But think about it. Have you ever met anyone else who struggled as you have with mana accumulation? Have you ever heard of another viscount's son who couldn't gather even a drop of mana despite rigorous training?"
I hesitated, his words striking a chord. It was true; I had always felt isolated in my struggle, and my inability to gather mana was a source of shame and frustration. No one else seemed to have the same issue, and I had always wondered why.
It was the same for my brother and for my sister.
They were both able to master the family's Mana Accumulation Art, [Serpent Flame Spear], yet that was not the case for me.
Even for a common grade Mana Accumulation Art, I was not able to gather any mana around my core at all.
"Then, what am I supposed to do? What should I do so that my physique can be effectively utilized?"
The old man's expression softened as he looked at me. "Why do you think all those who had this physique died and were never able to live?"
I repeated what he had just said. "Because their bodies react differently to mana."
The old man nodded. "Yes, but why is that the case?"
I struggled to find an answer, my mind racing. "Maybe the body is inherently different?"
The old man smiled approvingly. "It is something like that. The meridians through which mana flows in the body are all reversed for this body type."
I blinked, trying to comprehend what he was saying. "Reversed meridians? What does that mean?"
"It means that the pathways through which mana should flow are opposite to the norm," the old man explained. "In a normal body, mana flows through the meridians in a specific direction, nourishing the body and allowing for accumulation in the dantian. But in your case, the flow is reversed, repulsing the mana instead of absorbing it."
"So, what can I do about it?" I asked, feeling a mix of hope and fear.
"You must adapt to your unique constitution," the old man said. "Your training must focus on harmonizing with the reversed flow of your meridians."
"The reversed flow of my meridians? But just how? I have never felt what the meridians are like. So, how can I harmonize myself with the flow of my meridians?"
The moment I asked this, the old man smiled.
"There is only one way. You are going to become my disciple."
*************
For old people, what is the goal of life?
Or is there even a goal?
Some just wanted to die after seeing their grandchildren; some wanted to die after their spouse.
But none of them would matter at the end of the day when the inevitable came.
Being old, the old man kept thinking about all this. He had seen his fair share of the world, yet even he had not expected to find himself here, in this forsaken place, where life seemed to be perpetually on the edge of a blade.
At the very least, he thought that he would get a comfortable place.
This was supposed to be his final resting ground, a place to live out his remaining years in relative peace.
He had hoped for tranquility, a chance to lay back and reminisce about the days gone by, away from the chaos of the battlefield.
Yet, that did not seem to be the case, as he somehow ended up right here once again. Even after all that time, he was still in that damned place.
'Once again, this life….'
However, never once in his life had he thought he would find something like this in this place.
Here, in this remote corner of the world, he had found something unexpected. A boy struggling against the very essence of his being, fighting a battle that seemed insurmountable.
The boy's determination and frustration had struck a chord within the old man, reminding him of his younger self, full of fire and defiance.
That boy had something that many people who were sent here would have lost.
A good heart.
Not being able to ignore the misfortune that would befall other people. When those two young people were trying to exert his ratios and trying to forcefully take them, even if he was weaker, he did not stop.
Even if everyone in the whole camp went against him, even the Captain of the camp, that young kid did not stop.
There was a fire that was burning in his eyes.
The time they spent talking, the moments when he was recounting his old stories. They were strangely fun for the old man.
At the end of the day, slowly but strangely, the old man became fond of the young kid. Somehow, the kid's gentle and innocent heart was a fresh sight to see.
Yet, on the other hand, he also couldn't help but worry. In this place where death would become common, could such a child survive?
The old man's thoughts were interrupted by a sound. He turned and saw the young kid standing in the night, holding a spear. But something was different.
The answer to his question was there, painfully clear.
The child was dead, no longer alive in spirit.
The body stood, but the light in the eyes was gone.
What remained were the eyes of a forcefully grown-up, a person who had experienced the dark side of the world a second time. The eyes now held vengeance and hatred, but there was something else—desperation.
The movements that the boy was doing, each desperate to hold the pain inside.
Yet, there was something else—something that piqued the old man's interest. The way the boy moved, the way his body seemed to resist and yet flow with the spear's weight, hinted at a deeper truth.
The old man's eyes narrowed as he focused on the boy's stance, his breathing, and the subtle shifts in his posture. He had seen many fighters in his time, each with their unique styles and strengths, but this boy—this boy was different.
"Reverse Meridians," the old man murmured to himself, the realization dawning upon him.
When they had talked with the young man before, he had learned that he was the son of a viscount.
A Viscount Family named Thorne.
The young boy described his family as a family that had fought the war under the emperor and a family that guarded the border of the empire.
He had never heard of this family before, meaning it was not that famous around the world, but he was aware of how the noble society worked.
Normally, such kids tend to be nurtured at a young age, learning about their family's arts. And they would become successful almost all the time, as they shared the bloodline of their ancestors.
But the boy was not like that; he was unsuccessful.
And the old man could now see the reason why.
The boy had a unique condition.
The Physique of Requiverse.
The physique of the Stars.
A special body constitution that he had only read once in an archive and had never seen in real life.
Thus, that part was a lie when he said that.
However, aside from that, everything else was true. The fact that everyone who had this constitution died.
Of course, that was something that everyone in this world would always experience, so he hid something.
He hid the fact that those with this physique would not live past 25, and it was recorded in the book.
And he hid one another thing.
The fact that such a physique could only be attained if the parents also had it.
And both the boy's parents were past the age of 40.
-----------------------
You can check my discord if you want. The link is in the description.
I am open to any criticism; you can comment on things that you would like to see in the story.
And if you liked my story, please give me a power stone. It helps me a lot.
Você também pode gostar
Comentário de parágrafo
O comentário de parágrafo agora está disponível na Web! Passe o mouse sobre qualquer parágrafo e clique no ícone para adicionar seu comentário.
Além disso, você sempre pode desativá-lo/ativá-lo em Configurações.
Entendi