"Come on, strike already!"

  A shout pierced the calm of an early morning in a quiet neighborhood, breaking the stillness. The voice belonged to an elderly man with white hair neatly tied back. He stood around 175 cm tall, his broad chest and chiseled abs visible beneath his HEMA outfit. His biceps were muscular and thick, and in his right hand, he held a sword nearly 85 cm long, its blade gleaming sharply. Were it not for the wrinkles on his face and his white hair, his physique would make it hard to believe he was an old man.

  In front of him stood a young man, gripping a sword in a matching stance, facing the elder.

  "Old man, if I hit you with a real sword instead of this blunt one, you could die! I wouldn't mind if you kicked the bucket, but dealing with the cops would be such a hassle."

  The young man's tone was mocking. He towered over 180 cm, maybe even close to 190 cm. With his height and muscular build, easily weighing over 85 kg, his presence was imposing. If he had a face as fierce as his build, most would likely avoid him. But his upbringing seemed to have blessed him with a warm, kind face that put others at ease.

  "Ha! You think you can kill me?" the old man scoffed. His words were filled with disdain, but his eyes betrayed a deep affection for the young man. It was clear he believed in the young man's strength.

  "Who knows? I've been training hard. It's possible that one day you won't be able to fend off my strike, and you'll end up dead."

  "Oh? So, you think your swordsmanship has surpassed mine? Fine! If that day ever comes, I'll let you skip our daily training, and I'll even leave you my inheritance." The old man chuckled and shifted into a one hand stance with his sword.

  "If you die, old man, I won't need an exemption from training!" The young man grinned, mirroring the one hand stance with his long sword. "But I wouldn't mind getting my hands on that inheritance!"

  Their eyes focused on a point in the space between them. Though they kept each other in sight, their gazes seemed unfocused, never locking onto a specific spot.

  In a real sword fight, parrying isn't an option. in actual combat, the key is to strike faster and more accurately at your opponent's vital points. The essence of swordsmanship is a deadly preemptive strike. Thus, keeping one's eyes unfocused is essential to prevent the opponent from sensing where you intend to strike.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  "Huh!"

  "Ha!"

  Both let out controlled breaths.

  Clang!

  The clash of metal echoed as red sparks flew, and in the blink of an eye, their positions reversed. They returned to their stances as if nothing had happened.

  "You little punk! You really went for my throat with full force from a middle stance!" The old man moved closer to the young man, seemingly forgetting his earlier promise to hand over his inheritance if killed. The elder's eyes had caught the murderous intent in the young man's strike.

  "I had a teacher who said, 'When you cross swords, be prepared to kill even your own parent...' Besides, the fact that our blades clashed means you were aiming for my throat too, weren't you?" Annoyed by the old man's sudden outburst, the young man's tone grew sharper.

  Every technique the young man knew had been drilled into him by the old man since childhood. The notion that drawing your sword meant intending to kill your opponent had been instilled by the old man himself. Yet, to scold the young man for following those teachings to the letter seemed unfair, and his irritation was justified.

  But the old man, whose blood was boiling, saw it differently.

  "Of course! My techniques are designed to kill in a single strike! When swords cross, it's only when you're ready to kill!"

  "Which is why it's impractical! Where in England would I ever need such lethal techniques? And why use them on your apprentice during training?" Whether he heard the young man's reasonable argument or not, the old man's brow furrowed, a vein bulging on his forehead.

  "Enough talk! Just focus on training!" With a roar, the old man's sword came crashing down toward the young man. If the young man failed to deflect it even for a moment, the blow would likely split his head open.

  "This is exactly why I keep saying! Why are we risking our lives in training?!"

  Thunk!

  The dull sound of their swords clashing echoed through the quiet residential area. The training took place in a privet little forest, spanning over 1,650 square meters. Though they didn't disturb the neighboring houses, their energetic exchange was clear from early in the morning.

  Grinding...

  The noise of metal grinding against metal filled the little forest. The old man and the young man continued their bout, but the balance was slowly tipping in favor of the younger fighter.

  Despite his rigorous training, the old man had no chance of winning in a pure contest of strength. The fact he had held his ground this long was impressive. Gradually, the young man's strength began to overwhelm him, and his blade edged closer to the old man's neck.

  Whoosh!

  Realizing his disadvantage in a strength test, the old man released his left hand from the sword hilt and aimed a finger at the young man's eye. Caught off guard, the young man instinctively stepped back.

  "You dirty old man! Resorting to cheap tricks in training? At your age?" The young man's patience was wearing thin, and his tone grew harsher.

  "Hmph. If you don't train with real combat in mind, what's the point? There's no such thing as dirty or cheap in a real fight!" To the old man, "real combat" meant something far more brutal.

  Even using a bare-handed move in sword training didn't bother him at all. And the young man's ability to dodge such a surprise attack suggested he wasn't ordinary either.