บท 9: Fake Aura
We stopped in the middle of an open terrain, surrounded by patches of grass swaying gently in the wind. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the field.
Zatria dismounted, stretching her arms and rolling her neck. "How about a light sparring session?" she suggested with a playful smirk on her lips.
I hesitated, my grip tightening around the hilt of my sword. "I don't know…"
But she was already drawing her own blade, a slim but well-worn sword that seemed an extension of her arm. Despite my reluctance, I found myself stepping forward, accepting the unspoken challenge.
We stood facing each other, the air between us charged with anticipation. Zatria moved first, quick and precise. I barely had time to raise my sword to block, her speed catching me off guard.
"Come on, kid," she said, her voice light but edged with amusement. "You're not going to get better by hesitating."
"My name is Ron, not kid."
I gritted my teeth and swung at her, putting more strength into the attack than I intended. She sidestepped effortlessly, her movements fluid and controlled. Every time I attacked, she countered with ease, her blade tapping mine aside like I was a child playing with a stick.
It reminded me of how the 'old man' had circumvented me despite lacking one arm.
Frustration bubbled up inside me. No matter how much I pushed myself, her aura felt overwhelming, her skill far beyond my reach.
"You are too predictable," she chided between blows. "You should do better than that."
I swung again, but she was already gone, stepping around me and tapping the back of my neck with the flat of her blade. "See?" I stumbled forward, the tap a stark reminder of how outclassed I was.
At the back of my mind, I was tempted to use adrenaline… but my muscles felt too sore.
[It is unadvisable for you to continue overclocking your system.]
Yeah, sorry, Delilah.
I raised my sword again, summoning that strange energy—my aura, as they called it—and tried to focus. I pushed everything else out of my mind: the frustration, the fatigue, the hollow feeling that still gnawed at me. I just focused on the fight.
This time, when she attacked, I didn't swing wildly. I watched her movements, tracked the arrows that Delilah projected in my vision, and matched her step for step. She moved in to strike, and I blocked, redirecting her blade just enough to avoid taking the full force.
A flicker of surprise crossed her face. "Better," she muttered, then came at me harder and faster.
We kept trading blows, my sword clashing against hers in a rhythm that felt more like a dance than a fight. Zatria was holding back, matching my pace, her movements smooth and effortless. I could tell she was trying to teach me something, not defeat me outright.
Suddenly, she broke the silence between our strikes. "I think I know why Hans called your aura fake," she said, her voice calm but thoughtful.
I parried another blow, breathing hard. "What do you mean?"
She stepped back, lowering her sword slightly. "Your aura… it has no personality. It's lacking something that defines it as you. That's why he called it fake. It feels like you're mimicking techniques, like someone else is guiding your hand instead of you being the one in control."
I hesitated, lowering my sword as her words sank in. "What are you talking about?"
Zatria took a breath, her gaze sharp and focused. "Martial arts—combat—it has a soul. Every strike, every movement should reflect who you are as a fighter, as a person. But yours… it's like you're following instructions from someone else, like there's no real intent behind your actions. That's why your aura feels fake. It's just raw power with no identity. If you keep going like this, you'll never move beyond just augmenting your strength and speed."
Her words stung, not because they were harsh, but because they felt true. Deep down, I knew she was right. I had been relying too much on Delilah's guidance, letting her instructions dictate my movements, my choices. I was fighting like a puppet, not like someone in control of their own power.
I swung again, but my body felt heavy, weighed down by the realization. Zatria easily blocked my strike, pushing me back. The pressure was mounting, and I could feel my strength waning. My knees buckled, and I dropped to one knee, gasping for breath.
The weight of her words hit me harder than the sparring match itself. All this time, I thought I was getting stronger, but now it felt like I was just going through the motions, relying on something outside of myself. I wanted to deny it, to push back against what she was saying, but I couldn't. She was right.
I had no soul in my fighting.
I stayed on one knee, staring at the ground, feeling the weight of Zatria's words settling deeper inside me. Even my desire for revenge, something that had fueled me for so long, now felt hollow. Fake.
I asked, still catching my breath, "Why are you even here?"
She sheathed her sword and gave a casual shrug, as if the answer were simple. "I told you, I'm a wandering knight. I just happened to be there, saw an opportunity to help. I graduated from the Free Knights' Academy recently, and now I'm traveling, exploring the world, seeing what's out there."
She paused, studying me with that sharp, piercing gaze of hers. "Take my offer, kid. You said you adored knights, didn't you? This path you're on... it's a dead end. Revenge won't fill that emptiness you're feeling. You'll find nothing at the end but more pain. Forget about your revenge and pursue your dreams."
Her words hit like a hammer. I had admired knights ever since I was a child. Their honor, their strength—it was something I'd always wanted to embody. But here I was, lost in a quest for vengeance that felt increasingly meaningless. She was offering me a way out, a chance to do something real, to follow that dream. It made sense. Everything she said was logical.
But then Red's face flashed in my mind. I couldn't let go, not yet. There was still unfinished business.
"I can't," I said, my voice low but steady. "Not yet."
"Think again, kid," she said, her voice carrying a hint of finality. "To get into the academy, you'll need a recommendation from an alumni—someone like me. And if you truly want to understand aura without being beholden to anyone's rules or agendas, the Free Knights' Academy is your best bet."
She mounted her horse again, staring down at me with a mix of impatience and understanding. "You're wasting your potential chasing after ghosts. Red might still be out there, but the person you'll become if you follow this path… you won't even recognize yourself when you finally face him. Is that really what you want?"
How did she know I was looking for Red?
I clenched my fists, feeling the strange energy—no, aura—pulsing weakly inside me. I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. Revenge was the only thing that had kept me going for so long, and now it felt like the floor beneath my feet was crumbling.
"Even if I do go," I said, "it won't change the fact that I need to find Red. I won't let him get away."
Zatria tilted her head, her expression softening. "I'm not telling you to forget. Just… learn to fight for more than vengeance. Trust me, you'll need it."
I hesitated, my mind racing. The academy. A chance to understand aura, to finally wield it with purpose instead of blindly following Delilah's instructions. I had seen what real aura could do, how the old man's yellow energy had almost killed me, and how fake mine must have seemed in comparison. Maybe Zatria was right. Maybe the academy was the only way to grow strong enough to face Red, to truly understand what I was capable of.
But could I leave my hunt behind, even for a while?
Zatria extended her hand again, her eyes steady. "One last time, kid. What's it going to be?"
I looked at her hand, at the path she was offering me. It wasn't an easy choice. But then again, nothing about this life had been easy. I took a deep breath and made my decision.
"Alright," I said, gripping her hand. "I'll go to the academy."
Her smile was brief but approving. "Good choice. Let's see if you've got what it takes."
As she pulled me onto her horse, I couldn't help but glance back at the ruins of the place where my revenge had begun, where my anger had felt so righteous and pure. It felt distant now, like a shadow fading with the setting sun. Maybe I'd find my way back to that rage one day, but for now, I'd walk a different road.
One that might finally lead me to the truth about aura—and myself.
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