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Chapter 3: Beginner
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"Jino, again!"
"...Yes!"
I was already exhausted.
Beneath the midday sun, even though snow still laid on the ground in The Holy Land of the Sword, my body felt like it was overheating, with sweat falling down my small body.
There were definitely some misgivings I had about a three-year-old like myself being given such rigorous training, but it wasn't as if I disliked what was happening.
After all, I had been waiting a very long time for this.
And as I swung the small wooden sword in my hand up and down, my father standing to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, I noticed out of the corner of my eye there was a smile on his face.
Or at least, it was his version of a smile. My father was a bit harder to read than that, and definitely not the most expressive person, but he was clearly expressing approval. I could tell because instead of a full scowl, he was doing more of a flat-mouthed stare. It was his version of a smile, usually.
But I wasn't paying too much attention to him, instead, focusing entirely on my own movements.
It was the first time I had ever done something like this. My expectations of using a sword were certainly high, especially after all these years, but somehow, it didn't disappoint.
Just by thinking on the movements of my arms, and trying to keep my grip firm on the wooden pommel as the small blade in my hands swung up and down through the air, I felt an indescribable emotion flow into me.
There was something about the simplicity of those actions, the calming quality of my swings, that made me happy. Especially with my father standing nearby, clearly enjoying the moment as well. He seemed to not mind my inefficiencies, which made a certain kind of sense.
After all, in his eyes, I was just a small kid trying it out for the first time- and not just any kid, his own son was practicing at the activity he had dedicated his life to. There must have been a certain amount of pride he was feeling- although that only increased the slight pressure I felt to do well.
After watching the adults train, practice, and duel each other for those long, sleepy years, I had gotten at least a passing idea of when somebody's stance was correct and when they were off. Unsurprisingly, it was obvious I was doing so much wrong- that knowledge, and the knowledge that he was watching me, helped feed the small seed of embarrassment I felt towards my sloppy movements.
But I ignored it easily.
When doing something so fun, something so simple and enjoyable as swinging a sword, I was able to avoid any of those negative emotions that at a normal time would threaten to overturn my thoughts.
Simply by holding that small training sword for the first time, and honestly understanding just how much work went into this action, understanding how vast of a distance there was between me and even the low-ranking members of this community, I felt my respect for that man beside me grow enormously.
I felt my respect for all the people I had watched for so long increase, as well. My affection for my mother, who even after having me still practiced hard with the sword, but beyond her, my thoughts drifted towards the Sword God.
As I swung, my mind was occupied by the image of that man, the image of that day when I was four months old, still seared into my brain with the utmost kind of clarity, even after more than two and a half years.
I felt an admiration for that man unlike anything I had ever experienced begin to light up inside my chest.
My grip on the sword was tight, my fingers clenched, with my legs spread apart and set on the ground, slightly unsteady beneath the uneven weight of my young body. Everything felt sloppy, but I attempted the correct stance as best I could.
I swung again and again, those errant thoughts of those acquaintances fading away as the whole of my focus shifted to the tiny sword in my hand.
That simple repetition, holding it up above my head, swinging it down, breathing deeply, constantly paying attention to my feet and my hands, repeating the whole motion for a second and a third time…
I lost count of my swings almost immediately, the world surrounding me fading away unconsciously.
There was a state I entered, thinking deeply about each movement, and correcting any mistakes I could see after the motion. If I could make one small change every time I swung, and did one thing slightly better, eventually, something good would be formed- I would reach a movement I would be satisfied with.
Thinking back on that single moment, that time where I could let my thoughts and worries fade away to focus entirely on the image before me… it didn't feel like training at all, more like a form of meditation… simply a way to unwind and relax the stress in my chest.
So I continued, still once again, over and over, as I swung. That repetitive motion blanking out my mind as I felt the rights and wrongs of my body.
I lost track of the world around me, time passing at a rate impossible to know.
It was simple to do so- almost too simple. A dangerous thing, letting go of the whole world at once. But I continued without hesitation.
Everything could fade away, everything could disappear, my eyelids drooping and my fingers losing strength, and I could still sink deep into the fade that rose around the edges of my mind.
It was indescribable.
What I was doing at that time was a form of meditation, for sure, a form of training as well, but it was something far beyond any of that- any of those physical things. There was a quality to those actions that could only be nebulous, ethereal.
I felt like I was reaching high up above my head, just barely brushing against something far beyond my childish, simplistic understanding.
You could almost call it holy.
But when I felt a hand slowly clap down on my shoulder, I was immediately brought out of that state- the state of flow I had somehow fallen into, separated from the entirety of the world.
My father was suddenly there, standing above me, the fading light of the sky falling onto the snow around us.
His face held some kind of strange, indecipherable emotion.
"...Good job, Jino. That's enough for today."
At that moment, I realized I had dropped the sword to the ground.
During some point in that process, my hands had given out. I was too exhausted to keep a grip on the blade, even while continuing to mindlessly repeat the motions.
"..."
I tried to speak, but before I could form anything resembling a proper word, my knees hit the ground, and my eyes darkened further. Before reaching unconscious, I felt a soft grip hold my falling body.
My mind rose from troubled, foggy depths, eventually breaking through the upper surface of my consciousness and reaching the light again.
The first thing I heard were two quiet voices, argumentative in their tones.
"...His first day…! Are you crazy? He's only three!"
"-You should have seen him. It would have been a sin to break such incredible concentration, and exactly! He's only three, imagine how he'll turn out in ten years!"
"That's not the point of this- you stood by and let him train himself to unconsciousness. He's your son, you fool! We don't have anybody who can use healing magic, you know!"
"Ela, do not call me a fool again. You of all people should understand this is a good thing. To have such incredible focus at his age is nothing short of a blessing. He will surely grow up to become something special-"
I sat up in the small bed I had been laid into during my sleep, and faced my parents, who had been standing in the room.
Though hearing their arguments, I didn't mind much at all. In fact, there was only one thing occupying my mind at that single moment- one thing I couldn't help but think about.
I spoke first, my voice still weak and tremulous from exhaustion.
"-I'm up…"
They walked over to me, mother rushing to the side of my bed while my father lagged behind, but while they were about to speak, I cut in first.
Though I'd like to blame my next statement on the unhesitating nature of a child's body, it was honestly caused by the fact that it was all I could think about.
"When can we do it again?"
. . . . . . . . . .
Sadly, I was too tired after that session to get up and immediately start again the morning afterwards, and my mother would have raised a fuss about it anyways. However, after another few days I was able to go out and continue the training under the supervision of my father, with some actual guidelines put in place now, such as how much time I was allowed to train for.
It was easily the most enjoyable thing I had ever done, in either of my two lives.
Every single time I swung that small training sword, feeling the whip of it through the chilly air, I felt myself improving. It was a small thing- perhaps a small correction in my stance, or a modification on my grip, or maybe even a change in the rhythm of my breathing.
My father made occasional corrections from time to time, but for the most part, after telling me what kind of form to use for my swing, he would stand by the side and watch until he was satisfied. After a few minutes of me simply repeating the motions, we would move onto a new kind of attack.
After a week or so of this, the training simply introducing me to the basics of the sword god style and starting the physical training, things involving basic jogging and stretches, limber movements with my arms and legs, my father began to remove himself from the routine. Although he seemed happy to train me, he was still a Sword Emperor himself, after all. He couldn't neglect his own work in the central dojo, beneath the Sword God.
From that point my mother took over watching me, correcting any mistakes that grew in my form, though not teaching anything new. It seemed like my father was my main instructor for the moment, and my mother was a stand-in while he was gone.
However, after another two months of this basic introduction to training and a few spars with my father, the both of us using training swords and me simply attacking again and again, my parents told me I was good enough to go off with the rest of the children my age, in the starter's dojo near the edge of the community to train towards reaching the Intermediate rank of the sword style.
While it would mean having to be with loud kids all day, I readily accepted. After all, that decision proved I was at least improving slightly- I had reached the Beginner rank. I was good enough to be moved into real training.
It was… less fun than I expected.
The kids in that beginner dojo were not as young as I had expected- each one at least three or four years older than me, and each one with more physical power than I could quite match. We trained beneath older instructors, a handful of them all roughly advanced in the sword style, and all of them seemingly looking down on me for being the youngest.
In that dojo, there were around fifteen kids ranging from six to twelve years, so of course, a three year old would stand out.
It made some sense when looking at the situation from that sort of perspective- after all, what kind of child, no matter how smart they are, belongs in a sword dojo at that young of an age? Yet there I was, training with and working alongside other students double my age or even much older.
But it still grated terribly.
The instructors occasionally looked at me with worry, and the other children always pointed out my age while taking breaks. I didn't have many friends there, and it always seemed as if I got the short straw.
I would get practically ignored during training- occasionally, certain kids would get picked out of the group of around a dozen and stand in front while we drilled, acting as a sort of leader for the exercise. However, even though we had gone through the cycle of all the kids multiple times, I was the only one left completely unchosen.
Nobody wanted to spar with me during the one-on-one training, and the instructors seemed to avoid my line of sight whenever possible. It was almost as if all of them were uncomfortable in my presence.
It made no sense to me at that time, even though I understood I was young.
Of course, it wouldn't be until many years later that I learned I was the youngest child to ever begin training in the dojo- the main reason for much of that discontent.
Even beyond the instructors, the other children never liked me much as well. There was probably jealousy in their minds- "why would such a young kid get to join in when I couldn't at that age?" and the like. That jealousy molded itself in different ways, though. Anyone who didn't seem to mind my age certainly minded the fact that I seemed to have a better observational eye, and a better theoretical understanding of the sword style, than any of them, even if I was physically weaker.
But that isolation didn't matter a whole lot to me, anyways. During break-time, instead of socializing like all the others did, I would watch the older swordsmen. That single action would drain all my time almost immediately as I lost track of the minutes (and hours) I would waste. It was simply too fascinating, too educational to let myself stop.
For the most part, I was a sole entity in regards to the rest of my peers and instructors in the dojo. It was common for me to not speak a single word between the times I was left at the dojo in the mornings and returned home in the afternoon.
However, there was one exception to that rule.
Nina Farion, the daughter of the Sword God.
The one person of any age, besides my parents, I would interact with regularly who didn't seem to mind anything about me- probably due to the fact that she was still much better than me, even after a full six months of my training at the dojo.
She was seven years old and already an intermediate rank. One above me, and basically all the other kids her age, with the youngest intermediate ranks at least ten or eleven. However, it seemed like my parents, and presumably hers, had arranged for some… play-dates, or at the very least, chances for us to interact.
Neither of us were very impressed by each other to begin with, but when she realized I was actually somewhat able to keep up a conversation, unlike normal three-year-olds, and I came to understand she was genuinely good with a sword, we began to speak.
As the months passed by and my skill increased, leading to me slowly surpassing all the other children one by one, that isolation I was exposed to slowly morphed towards a more direct form of resentment.
It seemed like my quiet, focused disposition automatically put me at odds with those other children, and the fact that I seemed to surpass them, never showing any true, child-like emotion… that only made their dislike grow.
I felt uncomfortable, walking into the dojo, and being forced to confront all of those accusatory stares from the others. Those silent eyes quietly asking why, exactly, I was better than them.
I could never quite get rid of that itching feeling on the back of my neck, exposed to those negative feelings, until we began training.
Of course, after picking up my sword and starting to swing, starting to once again cement my growth towards reaching the nebulous feeling I sought after, the discomfort faded away. I could escape from the glares and negativity, forgetting it existed at all.
Surprisingly, in response to the feelings directed toward me, Nina became more protective, eventually growing into something I could even call a friend, in this life.
We spent free time together, even beyond the short break sessions we had during training, and sparred with the wooden practice swords afforded to us.
Though she was still just a kid, as the months passed us by and she seemed to almost take a mentor-like role for me, I couldn't help but think of her as something approaching a little sister, perhaps.
Having that connection with another person, even besides my parents, who although always supportive continued to seem slightly distant from me… it felt surprisingly nice.
There was a warmth, and an almost protective kind of upwelling that rose in my chest while we practiced, trading tips on swordsmanship and comparing our thoughts on the older swordsmen, our opinions on their individualities, and our progress in the sword style.
That feeling was something completely alien to me- even while thinking back on any of the colorless experiences of my old world.
And soon enough, as those months turned into years, that warmth grew into something very precious to me.
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*Author's Note*
First of all, I just wanted to thank all of the support this has been getting so far! I love getting people's thoughts on my writing and seeing their opinions of it, and reading reviews is always a great part of the whole process for me. -Besides that, the main reason I wanted to put a note here is as a disclaimer: this fic is not a romance in any way shape or form. I have some directions I want to take this story and that is just not something I am considering. No harem, no central pairing, nothing like that. Overall, you can think of the main character as basically asexual. What is happening with Nina is a lovely, happy, totally platonic and cool friendship.
…Besides, you definitely do not want to read a romance written by me. That would not end well.
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