“Orn’s hair,” Alnea cursed, sitting on his mattress, as he felt shivers running down his spine. “What was that?”
Alnea Oathkeeper. A man, who once lived in a world completely different than his own. A man, who lived and died for his Oaths. And the man, who had inspired Alnea for his Roots. Most importantly, he was the man who memories came to Alnea in his dreams. No matter if it was day or night, every time he slept, Alnea saw a glimpse of his namesake’s life.
It was roughly around the time he had turned six years old that Alnea had first started having these unique dreams. Yet, seven years, and many, many dreams and memories later, Alnea could still vividly recall the first memory of the other Alnea that he had seen as if he had seen it just last night. Each and every detail had been imprinted into his mind with such precision, that sometimes, it did not even feel like the other Alnea’s memories anymore, but his own memory. A memory long forgotten, buried deep inside his mind.
In the memory, a child younger than him of the time when he had first seen the memory, stood surrounded by a group of strange looking people. Those people were clad in all kinds of dresses. Robes, cloaks, shirts and trousers, and even some other strange clothes. But there was one thing common about them. All of their clothes were white in colour, with an image of a hand holding a dagger by its blade engraved around their chest.
Another thing that was common about all those people was that they all stood silently, staring at the young boy, scrutinising his every move, judging his every action. Such was the pressure on the boy, that had it been Alnea of the time when he had seen the memory who would have been going through such scrutiny, he would have long run away from the place in search for the safety of his mother’s embrace. Yet the boy, barely four years old, showed no signs of fear.
Under the watchful, and judging eyes of the spectators, the boy had moved with a confident gait, as if nothing in the world could scare him, and climbed the raised platform in front of him with firm and determined steps. Even the way he had carried the dress that he was wearing—white robe, similar to the ones that the people around him wore, with the strange image of a hand holding a dagger by its blade on his chest— spoke of his confidence, setting him apart from all the people that Alnea had ever seen. At least those from his, or around his age.
The grace with which the boy had carried his robe was something that Alnea himself had never been able to do even after growing up. No, not just him, but even many of the adults, and even Wanderers that he had seen had not been as graceful with their robes, as a child younger than six years old had been. That was also one of the reasons why Alnea did not like wearing robes. From watching the other Alnea wear robes, he knew how they should be actually worn, but he was never able to get it right. A thirteen year old bo–man, not able to do something that even a child was able to do felt so humiliating to him.
The child himself, however, had never been afraid of humiliation, or anything in the world. With his confident steps, he had walked to the centre of the raised platform, where rested a white blade, stuck halfway into the platform, with a white pommel at its other end declaring it as a sword. Walking up the sword, the boy had then raised, and swiped his palm across the edge of the blade, letting the pristine white blade soak in his blood. Yet even after that, the blade still remained white, absorbing all the blood into itself, while shining in a faint hue of a white, and a red light.
“I, Alnea Oathkeeper, take an Oath, that from this day forth, I will…”
The boy had then proceeded to recite a long Oath, one that had later bound him, and caused him many inconveniences, one of which even led to his death. And that was how Alnea had learned of Alnea Oathkeeper, a man who once lived in another world. A man, who had once lived, and died for his Oaths. And the man, who had inspired him for his Roots, and his new name.
Of course, back then Alnea himself had not known that the little boy, whom he had seen in his dreams, would influence him so much. At first, he had not even taken the memory seriously, treating it as just a dream. But as the days passed, with similar dreams—about the same boy and his life— coming to him without any intervals in between them, he could not deny those dreams for what they were. Memories of a boy named Alnea Oathkeeper.
For years, he had kept that secret to himself, watching the memories of the boy, just as they boy had kept him company in his dreams. Thus, it was only natural for the man whom the boy had grown up to be, to influence his life. Even the man’s obsession with Oaths, and promises had spilled over from his memories, silently pervading every part of Alnea’s life, making him just as obsessed with Oaths. So much so, that he had even taken them as his Roots.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
However, no matter how much those memories and the emotions of the man had spilled over to him, their nature had always been the same. They were just dreams. Or so Alnea had thought. But then, how could he explain the dreams he had experienced in the past two days? How could he explain living through those dreams, as if they were his own memories? Were they really just dreams? Or…
“Am I going mad by practising Martial Styles?” Alnea mumbled to himself, as he glanced outside the window. He could still see the last glow of Orn sinking towards the horizon, so he was not late. Yet. That status would not remain the same if he were to keep on sitting, thinking of his dreams. He did not have any time to waste. Especially considering that he had to master the third level of the Thousand Arms Style by the end of the day.
Shaking off the feeling of disorientation that he was feeling from his dreams, he pushed himself up, and rolled up the mattress, before pushing it to its place. And while he was doing that, he did not forget to practise the third level of the Thousand Arms Style, trying to control the different muscle strands of his arms. As a result, he ended up pushing the mattress with too much force, it against the wall.
Fortunately, the mattress was quite soft, and did not make a noise, or it might have woken up his mother. Still, the fact that the mattress slammed into the wall surprised him a little. He did not think that he had used too much power. Did his strength suddenly increase by sleeping? So, sleeping could increase his strength?
Alnea shook that absurd thought away as soon as it had come. If sleeping could increase strength, why would Wanderers risk their life by Wandering the Origin Sea? He really should control his thoughts a little, Alnea thought. But then, how did his strength suddenly increase? He was just pushing the mattress, and practising the Thousand Arms Style…
Suppressing the excitement in his heart, Alnea hurriedly opened the scroll of the Martial Style, and tried out all the postures of the third level Thousand Arms Style. With that, he confirmed what he had been guessing, but dared not to believe it himself.
“Am I dreaming?” Alnea mumbled to himself, pinching his hand, but that did not wake him up, and only gave him a slight pain. Confirming that he was not dreaming, he then moved on to confirming the rest of his guesses, by trying out all the postures of the fourth level of the Thousand Arms Style, and by the time he was done with them, he could no longer suppress the excitement in his heart.
Slapping his cheeks to focus himself, Alnea then moved on to the fifth level of the Thousand Arms Style, and then the sixth level, completing them all one by one, until he finally confirmed his guess. Somehow, while he was sleeping, he had gained a basic mastery of the Thousand Arms Style. He could perfectly control all the strength in his arms.
“No, it’s not just the arms.”
Nearly a tenth of an hour had passes since he had woken up. Usually, that was enough time for him to get over the feelings spilling over from his dreams, from the memories of Alnea Oathkeeper. But what he had experienced last night was not his usual dream. Even after waking up, he could still perfectly recall everything that had happened. It was as if… it was him, who had been practising the Oathkeeper Arts in his dreams. It was him, who was letting himself flow into the nature of the Art, and letting himself become one with its concept. He was Alnea Oathkeeper.
And Alnea Oathkeeper had each and every single one of the movements of the Oathkeeper Art, each of its Stances, its concepts, and all its nuances, all burned into his mind. Because he had been practising the same moves for more than fifteen years of his life. Even if he had given it up for three years, after he had picked it up, it did not take him too much time to get reacquainted with it. After all, those were the moves of his Art, and when he was practising them, he himself was a part of those moves. He…
Alnea shuddered with excitement, as he went through the new memories in his mind. Not the kind of memories that he had gained from watching the other Alnea practise the Oathkeeper Arts from a distance. But the kind of memories he had gained after practising the Arts for fifteen years. And with those memories came the understanding of why he had never really been able to practise the Art. And with that understanding came an intrinsic belief, that the next time he would try the Oathkeeper Arts, he would be able to execute all its moves perfectly. Or at least, what his body could handle.
For the more advanced movements and Stances of the Oathkeeper Art, he would have to keep practising them himself to increase his body’s capabilities before being able to perform them. But clearly, the Thousand Arms Style did not reach such an advanced level. The Thousand Arms Style only required him to make full use of his Arms’ potential, while even the most basic of the Stances of the Oathkeeper Arts demanded him to have a complete command over his entire body’s potential.
And at the moment, Alnea had fifteen years of experience of handling such movements, and Stances etched into his head. Of course, he would still need to practise to burn that experience into his body as well, but controlling the strength of just his arms was not a problem for him anymore. Rather, he was confident that he could do much more than that.