章節 13: Let's Play, Sev

[Date: 48th Day of the Seventh Season, Year 775.]

In the middle of the training ground surrounded by pillars and banners of the household, a figure stood alone.

Seven Hart.

Firmly, he gripped his wooden sword as the crisp morning air nipped at his skin. But he barely noticed. His focus was elsewhere.

"The first strike becomes the foundation…"

Shifting his focus back to the wooden sword he gripped, he smiled.

"Everything builds on it.'

He knew the importance of the first step. In fantasy-action stories, the masters would always preach the same lesson:

[The foundation of all techniques lies in the first move. If it was flawed, then everything else would crumble.]

That applies in this novel too. After all, there were no distinct differences when it comes to training.

But that wasn't the only thing in his mind. One move, one gate. Revising the seven strike technique. Instead of making each swing random to guide and support the seventh swing, he decided to give them a purpose.

As the first gate comes from both soles, it enhances movement techniques. And as a swordsman, he decided the first step, the foundation, to be designed to guide his movements.

Slowly, he straightened his posture as he gripped his wooden sword. But it was…

'Too stiff…'

…Is what Eden would say. He recalled his memory when he and Eden sparred.

'Your arms are doing all the work. Use your hips to guide the strike.'

And so, without any hesitation, he shifted his stance. He planted his feet shoulder-width apart. His front foot pointed forward, with his back foot angled slightly. He turned his hips sideways, keeping his knees bent and his sword steady in his grip.

"Hah… Hah…"

He steadied his breath. The faint aura around his soles stirred to life, following the first gate's pathway.

It wasn't smooth; the flow wavered as it surged in fits and starts like a flickering flame. Yet, it no longer spiraled into the chaotic turbulence it did days ago.

The energy, though faint, crept upward, winding its way through his legs, past his core, and toward the wooden blade resting in his grip.

This time, the wooden sword didn't shatter.

He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the flow of energy. His mind visualized a graceful sword dance; a single slash fast enough to vanish from sight and precise enough to cut only what he intended.

He opened his eyes and gripped the wooden blade tighter. The image was clear in his head. But could his body match it?

Slowly, he inhaled deeply.

Slash

It was clumsy. His footing slipped slightly, his balance wavered, and the flow of aura sputtered halfway through the motion. The wooden blade sliced the air unevenly.

Faint traces of light trailed behind the blade and flickered erratically before fading. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't the graceful dance he imagined.

But then, his gaze caught something—a thin, faint line of glowing aura suspended momentarily in the air. It wasn't bold or brilliant, but it was there.

Proof of progress.

His lips curved into a smirk.

"Not what I imagined… but not bad."

He was far from mastering the technique, but this small step was enough for now.

The foundation was laid.

"Again…"

[Date: 49th Day of the Seventh Season, Year 775.]

Just as yesterday, Seven stood in the middle of the training ground, gripping his wooden sword.

"Focus…"

Slowly, he shifted his feet and tried to balance himself. He visualized the move again. He guided the aura from his soles up to the wooden sword.

"Flow…"

It wasn't as chaotic as yesterday. Even if only a little, it stabilized.

Slash.

The sword cut through the air, and this time, the faint trace of aura lingered a moment longer.

He paused, watching the fading light dissolve into nothing. His grip tightened on the wooden blade, and he took another step forward. The flow wasn't perfect—hiccups and uneven pulses still coursed through his body—but it obeyed him more than before.

Inhaling deeply, he adjusted his stance and swung again.

Slash.

This time, the aura's trail was smoother, its light more consistent. The blade moved with a touch more grace, though his balance still faltered slightly at the end.

It wasn't the perfect execution he sought, but it was closer.

His chest heaved as he steadied himself, sweat trickling down his temple. He glanced at the blade, then to the empty space where the aura just lingered.

"Better…"

He took another step, his body beginning to understand the rhythm and the flow. The energy within him stirred, nor a chaotic storm but a current waiting to be shaped. He could feel it faintly, but it's there.

The foundation wasn't just laid. It was building.

[Date: 50th Day of the Seventh Season, Year 775.]

This day was also the same as yesterday, except that his sword cut through the air with increased precision.

His feet moved with purpose as he glided effortlessly across the ground. He halted briefly, catching his breath, then gripped the sword tighter. He could feel it now—the flow, the foundation, the building, the progress he imagined.

"Almost there…"

They were becoming his instinct.

[Date: 51st Day of the Seventh Season, Year 775.]

"Seven Strikes, First Form…"

Seven pivoted on his heel and rotated his hips just enough to align his stance. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself, before he burst forward with his feet barely touching the ground.

"Eclipsing Blade."

With a sharp, fluid motion, his sword sliced through the air. The faint trace of aura burned its mark on the ground, leaving a glowing trail that quickly faded.

He halted at the far end of the training yard.

"I did it…"

His fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword as he stared at the fading traces of aura.

"At least... for now. I need an opponent."

His gaze shifted towards the mansion in the distance. He could see his room, the familiar windows, the slight rustling of curtains behind them.

"I guess I should wrap—"

"Kyaaa!!"

The scream sliced through the air, and it was unmistakably Iria's.

Panic surged in his chest as he spun around and sprinted towards the mansion. But before he could make it more than a few steps, two figures stepped into his path.

The twins.

"Sup, Sev?"

Zachary's voice rang out as his grin stretched too wide across his face. He scratched his neck boldly, his fingers digging into the skin as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"Damn it. It wasn't you who saw our little present."

Zachi removed his arms from his pocket and rubbed his tired eyes. He seemed like he hadn't had any sleep for days.

"Present?"

You look curious. Why don'tcha check it out?"

"Yeah. It was damn tiring to prepare it."

The twins stepped aside, revealing a path leading back toward the mansion. Seven's instincts screamed at him to run, but he hesitated.

The twins stepped aside, making way for him to move toward the mansion. Seven hesitated, his eyes flicking to the path before him, then to them. Something wasn't right. But he still took a step forward.

Tap.

Cold steel.

The feeling was unmistakable as a blade pressed against his neck, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"That is… if you can get past us."

Seven's eyes snapped to the side, catching Zachary's grin widened

"Hey, what do you—"

Slash.

The sting of the blade made his muscles tense, and blood trickled down his neck as it dripped onto his collar. He managed to leap backward, barely avoiding a deeper wound.

"What do you think you're doing?"

His hand instinctively went to his sword.

"Just a little game."

Zachary chuckled darkly as he lifted the blade to his lips and licked the blood from the tip. His eyes never left Seven.

Seven grit his teeth as he tightened his grip on the wooden sword. Two against one. Wood against metal. The odds were stacked against him.

"Kyaaa!!"

Another scream. Iria. The urgency in her voice was unmistakable. Panic surged again, but before he could react, Zachary and Zachi stepped forward and raised their sword.

"Let's play, Sev."