“I, Alnea Oathkeeper, take an Oath that I will…”
Before beginning training with his sword, Alnea proceeded to take the same Oath that he had taken the night before, except, instead of a thousand repetitions, he decided to go with a thousand and a hundred repetitions. After all, he still had some strength left after the practising his sword the night before. Not much, but enough to swing his sword a few more times. And that was towards the end of the day, when he had already exhausted himself. He was exhausted at the moment as well, but mentally, rather than physically. And though swinging the sword required some mental strength, it was his physical strength which was going to be tested next.
Taking a deep breath, Alnea ensured that his footing on the ground was correct, before he began swinging his sword. With all his strength, of course. Even borrowing some strength from the unstable ground below him, which seemed to interfere with his balance a little. Thankfully, he had mastered quite a few Martial Styles of the Auxiliary type that focused on helping him gain better control of his body, the most effective of which, of course, was his Oathkeeper Style.
Once, he had thought that he had gained perfect control over his body. He had the help of Oathkeeper Style, after all. It was only when he had been flung around in the air by the Heterodox Wanderers that he had learned how wrong he was. Having control of his body on ground, with a stable base, was very different from having control of his body without any base. The former relied on the strength, and the support of the base to provide control, while the latter was true perfect control.
No, that could not be considered as true perfect control either. True perfect control would be being able to control your body in any conditions, even when there were forces trying to destroy his balance. But he could not even control his body on an unstable base, let alone control it in air, or when faced with hindrances. So, for the moment, he decided to take things step by step, and do what he could.
Putting all his strength behind his sword, he swung it down once, before using the same amount of force to swing it upwards, in the same arc. However, he could not just blindly swing his sword either. There was a certain trick to both, holding his sword, and swinging it. It was all written in the scroll. At the very least, he had to make sure that the blade of his sword was straight, and aligned with the angle he was swinging it from.
The greater problem though, came from making sure that he could control his strength, and stop in time. With how unstable his footing was, he often failed in that regard, and was led around by his own swings. But he never fell. And he never gave up. No matter how much he fumbled, how heavy the sword got, or how his shoulders trembled, he never gave up.
The fact that he was a bit more familiar with the action than he was the night before might have helped him, but even if it did, it only helped him to conserve his strength. It did not help him fight off the fire in his veins, and his arms, and legs. That, he had to fight off with his own determination, something that he had been getting quite good at, courtesy to the Spirit Forging Arts.
So, on, and on he went, swinging his sword up, and down, down, and up, until he finally completed his thousand and a hundred swings. Much earlier than he had expected to do so. And not feeling as much tired as he had felt the day before. Maybe it was because he was not as tired when he had begun in the first place. Or maybe he was starting to get a feeling wielding of a sword. In any case, he was done with only vertical swings, so he could not just keep standing.
Taking a few deep breaths, he got into the position of stabbing swords, and begun his practice once again. This time, since he had to move his feet along with the sword, he fumbled a little more than before. But his sword was always stable. And it always kept pointing forwards, towards his imaginary enemy. That was another thing the scroll had mentioned. To never swing a sword empty. To swing his sword as if he was swinging it at his enemies.
It was a way of gathering his focus, and strength, the scroll had said. Alnea himself though, had not been able to feel the said effect. It was not that he had no enemies. He had plenty of them. In fact, he had a whole Orthodoxy, and a Heterodoxy chasing after him. But he was never able to picture someone standing in the path of his sword. The most he could do, was picture some Oren Beasts. Maybe it was because he had never actually fought someone, a human, to death. And the one time he did injure someone fatally, it was his own friend…
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Hastily clearing away the image that came flashing in his mind, Alnea redoubled his efforts in stabbing his sword. Once. Twice. Thrice… By the time he reached the seven hundredth stab, he was finally beginning to feel tired, and light headed. But he did not stop. The whole purpose of swinging his sword beyond his limits was to ingrain that action within his body, within his Spirit. If he stopped because he felt tired, all of his efforts would be wasted.
Thus, despite his aching, and sore body, Alnea still kept stabbing his sword again, and again, until he finally completed all of his stabs. Exhaling a deep breath, he brought the sword down by his side. By this time, his body was already starting to scream, asking for him to stop. Even his Spirit Power had recovered to around seventy units. If he just rested a little, it would recover completely. If he just rested a little…
Gritting his teeth, Alnea closed his eyes, as he changed his position once again, this time, shifting his legs a little apart from each other, with his left leg positioned slight towards the front. Counting to three, he opened his eyes, and began slashing with his sword. Once, twice, thrice, on, and on he went, not daring to rest for even a moment. He was scared that if stopped for even a fraction of a moment, he would not be able to swing his sword again.
So, despite the increasing fire in his veins, he still went on, until he could not go on anymore. On hindsight, taking an Oath for a thousand, and a hundred swings was not such a good idea. In total, that meant three hundred extra swings. A one tenth increase in quantity. But it had become a sort of habit of his to always keep making his Oaths more, and more challenging. And it was a compulsion, not just from his Roots, but also from his Heart, to complete those Oaths no matter how challenging they were.
Thus, even when he felt that he could not go on, he gritted his teeth, and still swung his sword. And when that stopped working, he bit his lips to jolt his nerve into working. A time came though, when even biting his lips stopped working. Swinging his sword even once seemed an almost impossible task. His unceasing swings had finally come to a halt.
And just like that, all the ache, all the weight accumulated in his arms and legs came bearing down upon him, sealing their movement, and his fate. His Oath was to remain unfulfilled. Almost immediately, his Roots too, began shaking, as the chains of his Oath started trembling, ready to break through the barriers between the worlds, and drag him to the Origin Sea. Ready to devour him.
“Silly disciple,” his master said, patting his head. She had arrived by his side at some point, and was looking at him with a wry smile. “What have I told you about your Oaths?”
“I…”
“It is alright, I will handle it this time.”
“I…”
“But you have to be careful from next time, alright?”
“I… will…”
“Alright, no need to be so tensed.”
“I… will…”
“Just relax. Let your master show you—
“I… will… complete my Oath!”
So what if his body stopped listening to him? His Roots were coming for him? Let them come. He was Alnea Oathkeeper! He aways kept his Oaths. No. Matter. What.
“You are in no shape—
Before his master could complete her words, a golden glow began seeping out his body, travelling along his hands, to his sword. Soon, his sword was also glowing in a golden light. And following his will. A swing to the left. A swing to the right. A swing to break all his shackles. A swing to prove his might.
“…You are finally starting to grow up,” his master said, withdrawing her hand from his head, while looking at him with a complicated gaze. Seeing her like that, seeing her so torn, all Alnea wished to do was to drop the sword, and hug her. To tell her that it was alright. That he was still the same Alnea. That no matter how much he grew, he would still be her disciple, her son. But he could not stop. Not at the moment. Not before completing his Oath.
Thus, on, and on he went, swinging his sword with an immaculate accuracy, matching everything down to a tenth of an inch to the instructions given in the scroll. There were still some imperfections, but soon, he believed, he would overcome them all. Soon, he believed, he would master all the basic forms of a sword.
After all, he was not learning how to swing sword by himself. He had his master to guide him from the side. And his Aspect to help him from the inside. If he failed to master the basics of sword despite having such conditions, then there would be no need for the chains of his Oaths to drag him into the Origin Sea. He would have probably died from shame long before that could happen.