“Hiyaaa!” A loud shout was released as the blonde boy swung his wooden sword. He had unintentionally yelled causing him to lose his focus, dropping his wooden sword, as he felt embarrassed.

“Young master, do not feel embarrassed,” said a burly man no greater than the age of thirty. He was wearing white clothes that just about fit him, revealing all the muscles on his body. “Even professionals make some sounds while fighting. It just shows the effort exerted.”

The boy believed him yet he was still ashamed of the girly noise he produced. At least give me a manlier voice, he complained in his mind. Slowly, he scooped down to pick up his wooden sword. He started slicing and stabbing with it in different ways. A slice downwards, a stab from the middle, a slice from the left then from the right, a stab aimed upwards, a slice from the bottom going up, a stab going towards the ground, and a slice in a diagonal angle. He kept on trying different combinations, occasionally trying to chain them, evidently failing.

The instructor, seeing this, was quite impressed. Normally, the newbies practiced only one stroke so as to practice their proficiency in them, training their muscles to become used to it. Yet, this type of training only forged some muscles, not all of them. As such, he normally had to inform them of their mistake but at the moment he had no need to do so, giving him a breath of fresh air. However, even with the kid’s performance, the instructor deemed that the boy had much more work to do. So, the instructor got to work, yelling out some ‘words of advice’.

Slash.     Stronger!     Slice.     Faster!     Swipe.     Let it flow!     Stab.     More control!

So the lesson went on like this and finally, after the boy had dropped his sword in exhaustion, the instructor decided to showcase how it was supposed to be done. The instructor held a wooden sword bigger than the boy himself. He went into the middle of the training field and from there he posed a stance. His legs were about three feet away from each other, with the left in front and they looked as if they were pillars, unmoving while supporting the main frame. His arms held on to the handle of the wooden sword, the sword in front of his face with around four feet of distance between them.

The boy looked at the instructor with interest. During his training, he had thought that the instructor was just a sham as he was just yelling at him telling him how to do stuff without actually explaining. Now though, it seemed that his suspicions were wrong. So he sat there with his eyes glued on the figure in front of him.

The burly instructor felt the boy’s gaze and took a sharp breath. Then he started. He brought his wooden sword up and swiftly sliced downwards with enough force to make the wind screech. This was not the end though. He used the sword’s downward momentum and twisted his body so that the sword strike flowed on. Instead of the original downwards motion, he had somehow managed to change the direction it was going to a diagonal upwards strike to the right without breaking the momentum of the strike itself. Upwards, downwards, sidewards. He had managed to do it all in one go while letting it flow.

The boy was fascinated at this display. All the doubts he had about the burly dude was dashed. With its removal, respect was born.

Soon, the burly instructor’s strokes sped up even faster, leaving only blurs to see. The instructor, the boy noticed, was not sweating. This confounded him further as he was already tired after a few sword strokes.

Bang!

The burly instructor finished the display with a simple stab. Yet this simple stab was so fast, so ferocious that the air made a sound that was similar to a gun in the boy’s old life. The boy, once more, looked up upon the powerful figure in front of him with reverence. He was a truly frightening man.

“Master Gil,” the boy said. The burly instructor named Gil stared at the boy in surprise. In reply, Gil said, “Pupil Edward.”

The boy, Edward, stood up and bowed. “Please teach me the way of the sword!”

Master Gil said told him to stop bowing with one reason to assert it. “After all, why else would I be here if not to teach you the way of the sword.”

Edward stopped bowing and noticed something peculiar. The wooden sword that his master used was still in perfect condition. Wide-eyed he asked why it was so after all his powerful moves.

“A swordsman must know how the sword feels. If he does, he would know how to keep it pristine.” Master Gil ordered him to pick up his sword and Edward dutifully followed. Whatever trials he had to face, he was determined to reach his master’s level and maybe even surpass it.

*** *** ***

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Edward’s muscles ached and he was, at the moment, in bed. His master’s instructions had been merciless and now he was suffering the consequence. He had to get up though. His magic tutor was going to be there by noon and he did not want to miss the chance to learn the arcane.

Grunting, he tried to get off the bed. Wuh? His body refused to listen and he was still lying on his bed. He continued to try to get off but his body did not budge. Cold sweat ran through Edward’s back.

Nonononononononononono. This can’t be happening, right? Right! It’s just a dream. Yup definitely just a dream. I should just close my eyes and once I open them, I would wake up all fine and dandy.

Reassuring his self, he nervously closed his eyes. A minute passed until he opened his eyes. Once more, Edward attempted to get off the bed, only to be assaulted by the fact that he could not move.

Inwardly, he cried and cursed his master. What was he going to do now? He could wait for someone to check up on him but he doubted that they were going to be of much help. Sighing, he resigned to his fate and closed his eyes once more but this time he was going to sleep. Edward already felt tired and he knew that nothing could be done. He might as well rest his sore body.

Buzz…

Edward’s eye twitched. In fear, he opened his eyes, searching for what may have caused the buzzing sound. The cupboard? No. The study? No. He kept his eyes peered at the surroundings, hoping yet dreading to see what the source of the noise was.

Wind blew over his face. Wind? Alarmed, Edward looked to the window and, as expected, it was opened. Pale-faced, he could already guess what had happened.

Buzz…

A bee had appeared. It was by the distant window yet Edward was trembling. He was never good around bees or wasps in his old life and he still wasn’t in this life. Don’t come near me you foul beast! The bee flew closer as if it was retaliating. Oh, did I say foul? I meant beautiful creature. Please pardon this little one as he did not mean what he said. The bee continued to fly closer. Um… pretty please? The bee ignored his pleas. Oh screw this!

“HELP!” A blaring shout echoed throughout the halls of the manor. In an instant the door was flung open and from it came armoured guards. They were prepared to fight an enemy but saw none. They saw none. The guards looked around in confusion and wondered where the enemy was. The young master was there and he was safe so why had he called?

Edward, seeing this scene, was dumbfounded. Could they not see the bee? One of the guards approached him and asked what was the problem. He, in a hurried manner, replied, “The bee! The bee! There’s a bee in the room!”

The guard had a stupefied look and so did the rest. Their young master was scared of a bee. This thought almost brought laughter but they stifled it. They surmised that if they humiliated the young master, he would order their heads on a silver platter. Quickly, they found the bee that distressed their young master and killed it soon afterwards.

Edward sighed with relief. The enemy was gone. He had the window closed and sincerely thanked the guards for helping him. What a rough start for the day, he thought. Let the rest of it be better.

*** *** ***

A figure in grey robes stood before a massive manor enclosed by walls and a gate. His cowl covered his face and the guards eyed him warily. He walked towards the manor and the guards readied themselves. The robed figure reached inside his sleeve, alerting the guards.

One of the guards, one who looked to be the leader, asked who he was. The robed figure gave no reply and continued to search for something in his robes. The lead guard gave him one final warning which the robed figure ignored. The guards drew their swords from their scabbards. They took their stances and were ready to pounce.

The robed figure made a slight noise and finally produced a parchment from his robes. The lead guard told his men to stand down, walking towards the robed figure. The lead guard asked to identify the parchment and the robed figure complied. The guard scrutinized the parchment and after doing so, returned it. He ordered his men to open the gates and the gates were duly opened. The lead guard apologized for the inconvenience and said,

“Welcome to the Arin Manor, dear guest.”