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Chapter 5: Life
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I killed my first man when I was eight years old.
The winter in the holy land of the sword was always harsh. Our thin cloth garments, typical of eastern monasteries, did little to shield us from the weather. Kids my age gathered inside the larger dojos in training groups- but I had moved beyond them, by that point.
I had reached the Intermediate rank. Three years ago, by then, and I had been granted the privilege by my father to enter the central dojo. I was allowed to spend time in the building where I could spectate on the masters and other adults who gathered beneath Gal Farion.
All the swordsmen in this building, training directly under the Sword God himself, were at least the rank of Sword Saint. I couldn't train with them; I was far too small, too weak, even after growing for many years. But I could watch them from the wall.
Obviously, I spent most of my free time in that central dojo.
Every day I woke up just as the night sky began to show a hint of light, an hour before the sun rose over the northern coast. With snow on the ground all year I would run, honing my body on orders of my father. Later in my training, I would begin running with weights, but at that age my own body was enough.
Once the sun rose, I would go to practice drills in one of the side dojos, alongside other Intermediate and Advanced students. Nina was sometimes with me- but she was proving herself by then and had lots of private training. Sometimes, on those days by myself, I looked forward to the years ahead. Being able to train with peers, when my body's strength matched my mental abilities, would be… nice.
As it was, I only had that one twelve-year-old girl as a friend. -And although she was bright for her age, and a brilliant swordswoman already, it could be a little depressing to realize that.
But after exhausting myself in training, after those hours of hewing the blade to my palm and meditating with it in hand, it was time to watch the experts in the central dojo.
Many people came and went from that central dojo, but the masters who studied in this land year-round; in other words, the Sword Saints and the two Emperors, gathered every single day. My father and his peers.
I watched those people fight and train whenever I could. Sword Saints. Experts of the Sword God style that were able to use the divine technique of our style, the longsword of light. I got to watch them practice up close.
…Life had been good for those three years.
But on that winter day, inside the central dojo where I sat with my legs folded beneath me against the wall, things began to shift.
Two Saints bowed to each other in the center of the hall, others sitting next to and around me, against the walls. The room was large with a polished wooden floor, easy on bare feet to walk. A dais was engraved onto the far wall with a small cushion for the Sword God, and one more seat on either side for the Emperors.
All three of them, my father and his fellow Emperor, and Gal Farion himself rested there. They looked… bored.
The Sword God sat leisurely, leaning back with his head resting in his palm. Almost like he was about to fall asleep. -Even though he was the pinnacle of what I trained for, he could be childish in his manners. He was the kind of person able to take what he wanted when he wanted. He didn't respect anyone- he didn't need to respect anyone. I'd come to admire that about him.
Before the two saints could begin their duel, the doors to the central dojo opened, bringing a gust of cold winter wind into the hall.
A stranger walked through the doors; chin held high.
He was a weathered man in his mid-twenties, with mud staining his baggy traveling clothes. A patchwork beard reached around his jaw. A thin, crooked mouth, raised in a smirk. His eyes, I could see from my seat on the floor, were like the eyes of a pig. They were sunken into his skull, beady and black, filled with scorn.
Truly, though, he wasn't very memorable. Just a traveler- I would come to see many men like him in my life.
He called out to the silent room.
"Is this meant to be the place where the Sword God sits around on his ass, huh?"
There was no response.
But I did notice that Gal Farion's eyes narrowed, from where he lounged. He didn't move, besides that.
I had a feeling I was about to see someone die.
The man kept on speaking. I decided he was either very stupid, or he had a death wish. Maybe both.
"I'm here to become a sword saint, you hear me?" He yelled. "What's the process, old man?"
My father, I could see, leaned over to Farion, who was still silent. He whispered something, some kind of question, but the Sword God shook his head in response.
He had probably asked if he should kill the man standing there.
From where I was sitting, the other students around me were speaking to each other. 'Is the Master going to kill him?' or 'How is he not dead yet?' and I was wondering the same thing.
I didn't have anyone to whisper with, though, since Nina wasn't there that day...
And then that man turned his scornful eyes to the crowd watching him.
"All these kids here, is this meant to be a daycare? I didn't come visit a fucking fraud, did I?"
I hadn't seen one of these types in-person for a few years by then, but they would sometimes come by. Arrogant swordsmen who hadn't seen enough of the world to understand what they spoke of, so cocky that when they heard of some man called the 'Sword God' they had to come by and spit on his boots.
Sometimes, those swordsmen got into trouble. Attacking students living in the dojos, challenging people to duels on the street, and more. I had seen some of them be cut down in front of me, by experienced warriors with less patience.
Despite being a child, I had seen people die. The holy land of the sword, through its beauty, was a brutal kind of place. Life and death duels, fought with real blades, were not uncommon.
And my experiences with seeing bloodlust told me that this arrogant stranger was about to die.
Gal Farion sat up, his voice echoing in the silent hall.
"So, you think you're a strong one, huh?"
He wasn't even looking at the challenger. His eyes had latched onto him for a moment before dismissing him completely. Instead, he was looking around absently to the silent onlookers, the Sword Saints.
And then the Sword God looked through the crowd, to me.
The stranger replied.
"I do. And I'd like to see what you're made of, 'Sword-God'." The man chuckled, obviously amused by the title.
But Gal Farion wasn't interested in the taunts. He was still staring right at me, even as he spoke again.
"Alright, then. I'll let you prove yourself, see if you're all that. Beat one swordsman, and I'll let you challenge me to be a Sword Saint."
A bloody smile rose over the Sword God's face.
"Jino, get up here. You'll be his opponent."
The students around me turned, wide-eyed stares on all their faces. I'm sure I looked the same- I blinked a few times before the words registered.
I rose to my feet. The stranger turned to look at me as rage crossed his face.
"You want me to fight some kid? You think I'm a joke, huh?"
"I do." Said the Sword God, "-Think you're a joke, I mean." He turned to my father, who was sitting right next to him. My father's face was blank, but he was staring at me with intent.
The people in front of me on the floor shifted until I could walk forward, a path clear through the crowd. I moved to the center of the hall, the smooth wooden floor below me, gleaming under the light of lanterns overhead.
A sword was handed to me. I don't remember who gave it over, but I do remember the weight. It was simple steel, unadorned. A sword without a name or identity- it might have been freshly forged.
My hand closed around it.
"Live steel, to the death." I still heard the Sword God's voice echoing. "Let's see it, stupid bastard, if you can manage to survive this little boy."
It was just me and the swordsman, then.
He had already drawn his own blade. A simple longsword, it was more worn than the one given to me, thin scratches crisscrossing over the hilt. It looked sharp, used, and in the hands of an experienced wielder.
His face was clouded over, bulging red in anger. I heard a couple of laughs reach my ears- the Sword Saints around us, they were laughing to each other.
I don't think I had a single thought in my mind. Not a single feeling in my chest.
The sounds all around me blurred into nothing. I blocked out the light, overhead, the feeling of the wooden floor on my bare feet. I blocked it all out. It was just me and the swordsman.
It was just me, the steel blade in my hand, and my target.
The world dimmed. All I saw was him and the worn longsword he held.
Something echoed in my head, and I realized it was blood, rushing through my ears. A dull roar. My heart pounded; I heard it so clearly. I blocked it all out. I blocked all the noise.
Everything was dark, then.
But the hilt of the sword was very cool in my hands, I remember.
The feeling of that hilt, clasped under my fingers, heavy and cold, was just about the only thing I let in.
I saw the man's mouth move; I saw him speaking- though he might have been yelling. His face was red, his form was sloppy, his legs bent too far away from each other, his sword raised too high. I think he yelled one more thing at the Sword God, sitting behind me. Then I saw him move.
He was not a weak swordsman. I could recognize that from his first action.
His form corrected itself automatically, right before his strike. It happened in an instant, almost too fast for me to catch. But his knees dropped low to the ground, his blade came forward, and he shot himself towards me in one lunge.
It wasn't quite a Longsword of Silence, as an advanced practitioner could do, but I was sure it was close. That was how fast the blade came towards me.
I watched it in slow-motion, almost. The wind parting in two, the white blade falling straight towards my neck.
But for some reason, I didn't feel a hint of fear.
Death was staring me down, I know that, but my mind was cold. It felt like the hilt of the sword in my hands was cooling everything down. My whole body, my whole mind, entrenched in icy steel.
In nine out of ten battles between two students of the Sword God style, the one who strikes first wins. I had good eyes, though. I could dodge well.
I took a step forward and let my weight fall away.
His blade flew over my head as I moved into his space, directly below his arms. I heard a whistling of the wind, sliced right above me.
I barely even moved my sword. All it took in that moment was a single step, one foot placed forward, and I walked through him.
I pierced his chest.
It didn't take any force at all for the tip of the blade in my hands to cut through his skin and slide between his ribs. The world was still dark around me, the hilt of the sword still cold in my hands. I exhaled.
The air left my lungs in one great wave. As my shoulders heaved downwards, all my strength fell into the hand clutching the bottom of my sword.
One movement, one moment. A single, sublime moment, where all the training I had done and all the swords I had held, snapped into place. The last piece of a puzzle pushed into the gap. My sword came down in a single cut, straight downwards from where I had stabbed into his body.
It was, looking back on it, a very simple attack. One slash, up and then down, immediately executed after he had compromised his guard.
But to me, it was like my whole life had just been released. My entire body and soul, all of me, expressed in one action.
I was not looking at him, after completing the movement, my eyes were firmly planted on the floor. Standing there, all the tension of my body still wound up, the tip of the blade unwavering, I did not move. I did not see it or hear it; I felt it as life left the man's body completely.
A fountain of blood cascaded onto the polished wood beneath us.
I took a step to the side and let the body of the man fall to the ground.
My sword was soaked in the blood.
I took a deep breath in.
My eyes ran over his body.
I'll remember the expression on his face for a while yet, I think. Those piggish eyes, sunken and small, full of arrogance. The scraps of that beard along his jaw. His thin, crooked mouth. His face was pale, laying there on the floor of the central dojo. He looked surprised.
I let a deep breath out.
The crowd of sword saints still sat all around us, I noticed. They were clapping.
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*Author's Note*
…Oh, that's strange- I could've sworn I turned my alarm on when I took that nap… but maybe my phone ran out of battery? Huh… wait a second, what day is it? What do you mean it's 2024? What do you mean it's been two and a half years since the last chapter?
Well, I hope you enjoyed chapter 5. Let me know in the reviews if any dramatic change in my prose is noticeable- I'm sure my writing voice has changed since last update, but I tried to match the tone of the previous chapters' narration.
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