Chapter 19 – The Fool’s Sword

The Demon King, despite her detailed explanations, maintained her stance. –I’ve told you, I don’t know much about swords.–

The words were a blatant lie, of course. If she didn’t know swords, then who did? But I held my tongue. Her arrogance wasn’t born of ignorance; it was a matter of… perspective. Her standards were simply… beyond human comprehension.

–You’re fortunate I memorized the manual he created.–

“Manual?”

–A record, of sorts. A… zettel, perhaps.–

“…Did you intend for me to learn this… from the beginning?”

–Not specifically. But if you chose the sword… your options were limited. There was the dragon’s style, of course. But that creature cares nothing for the mortal realm, so long as its territory remains untouched. A formidable opponent, but… irrelevant. And then there was the ancient swordmaster’s technique. Effective, but… obsolete. No one has mastered it in centuries.–

Silence.

–There may have been others, of course. But they’re… irrelevant, now.–

–And the other two styles… I know nothing about them. Nor do I care to.–

Silence. I must have been staring at her, my disbelief evident.

–What? Do you think I’m omniscient? I only know what I know, little bird. Don’t be absurd.– Even she had limits, it seemed. Though I suspected her definition of “knowing” was far beyond human comprehension.

–Enough with the distractions. What’s your decision?–

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

–Then how about revisiting the Imperial Swordsmanship?– The thought was… absurd.

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The swordsmanship had no name, but if it needed one…

–The Fool’s Sword, perhaps.–

“The… Fool’s Sword?”

–You’ll understand, in time. But first, the mindset. When you stand, be like stone and wood. When you move, be like water and wind. Attack like a consuming fire, and cut like the freezing chill of winter.–

Silence.

–Remember those words, little bird. They’re… important.–

She showed me the stances, the movements, conjuring illusions of a black knight, moving with a fluid grace I had never witnessed before.

Para. The preparatory stance. Sword held before the chest, both hands gripping the hilt.

Grate. The receiving stance. Sword raised to the shoulder, ready to deflect or counter.

Fortes. The attacking stance. Sword drawn back, poised to strike.

Betita. The defensive stance. Sword raised high, tip angled towards the ground, ready to absorb an incoming blow.

–Those four stances… they are your foundation.–

“That’s… not a lot.”

–More isn’t always better, little bird. The one who created this style… he deemed them… sufficient.– Whether I agreed… that was another matter. –If you’re dissatisfied, choose another style.–

“The… Para stance… it looks… ceremonial. Not practical for combat.” Holding the sword upright before my chest… how could I possibly attack, or defend, from that position?

–Complain to him, not me.– The illusion, of course, remained silent. And yet, as I watched the black knight move, flowing effortlessly from Para to the other stances, dismantling Luelde’s attacks with ease… I began to understand.

I had a feeling this wouldn’t be easy.

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–Master these stances, little bird. Practice them until you can perform them with your eyes closed, until they’re ingrained in your very being, until you can move from one to the other without conscious thought, even when exhausted, even when your mind is… elsewhere.–

This was universal, regardless of the style. But…

She hasn’t shown me a single attack. Not even a basic strike. Normally, you started with the downward cut, the most fundamental movement. But the Fool’s Sword… it was all about the stances. The transitions. It felt less like swordsmanship and more like… a dance. Or perhaps… a ritual.

–Be like stone and wood, little bird. Remember?–

“Even if—”

–Practice until you understand.–

–You have the luxury of time, after all. Though mastering it here won’t necessarily translate to the real world. Focus on the… essence. The underlying principles.– Time wasn’t infinite, not really. But compared to others… I had been given a… unique opportunity.

–These stances apply in all situations, little bird. Unarmored, in full plate, even on horseback. Remember that.–

“Is that… really necessary?”

–What? Do you think you can cut through armor as easily as cloth? Do you possess some… divine blade capable of such feats?–

Silence.

–Such weapons are beyond your reach, little bird. And even if you did possess one… it would be far more effective in the hands of… someone else. Unless you can prove me wrong.–

It wasn’t a matter of belief anymore. It was a matter of… choice.

“Let’s do it.”

Time stretched, distorted, in this dream world. Days blurred into months, months into years.

“Am I… allowed to stay here… this long?” Even with the distorted flow of time, this seemed… excessive.

The training was monotonous, but I didn’t mind. The goal was clear, and if this was the path… then I would endure. But it felt less like wielding a sword and more like… becoming the sword. Stone and wood, unyielding, immobile.

–But stone can be broken. Wood can be cut. Burned.– Her voice startled me. I had been lost in the practice, the endless repetition of the stances.

–Which means… you must be unbreakable. In every other way.–

“Is that… part of the technique?”

–A… helpful suggestion. An annotation. Or perhaps… a mantra. Depending on your interpretation.–

I don’t know how long I practiced. Days, weeks, months… time had lost all meaning. Just me, the sword, and the empty white void. Even the Demon King’s presence became less frequent. I was often alone, lost in the endless repetition of the stances, until…

–You’re starting to get it, little bird.– Her voice, a sudden intrusion, would often startle me.

–Now… for the next step.–

Para. Grate. Fortes. Betita.

–Stone and wood… they don’t attack. Now… you must learn to be like… water. And wind. Remember?–

“Move like water, flow like wind…”

–Precisely.–

Pabiam. The downward strike.

Nekata. The thrust.

Punita. The upward slash.

–From these four stances, you will flow into these three attacks. Seamlessly. Like water. Like wind.–

Silence.

–Don’t think, little bird. Feel. You don’t swing a sword with your mind. You swing it with your… being.– Just three attacks, and yet… the combinations, the variations… they were endless. The grip, the angle, the height of the stance… each subtle shift changed everything.

–I’ll return when you’ve… made some progress.– And she was gone.

I was alone again, in the empty white void. But this time… the solitude didn’t bother me. There were moments of boredom, of loneliness, of frustration, of overwhelming despair…

–Thoughts are a burden, little bird. Silence them. Focus on the task at hand. Remember the battlefield. Did you have time for… idle thoughts… then?–

I focused on the stances, the movements, the words she had spoken, the lessons she had imparted. I didn’t need reminders. I remembered.

I poured my heart and soul into the practice, giving everything I had, holding nothing back. True sincerity. That was the key. I had learned that, on the battlefield, facing death again and again.

To live each day… is to kill the person you were yesterday. Whether I wanted to or not, today’s self would die. And tomorrow… I would be… different. Stronger. The mistakes of today, the failures, the regrets… they would become the foundation for tomorrow’s growth.

I knew the path now. And I would follow it, relentlessly, unwavering. The peak, once so distant, now seemed… within reach. I would climb, I would strive, and I would… win.

This was my rebellion. My defiance. My way of shattering the false reality they had forced upon me.