Carrying the wooden sword in his hands, Alnea walked up to stand beside the stream, where the ground was a little wet, and unstable. It would help him in building a good base, his master had said. And would also help in further refining his control over his body. Things, which would help him when he would reach the True Rank. After all, True Wanderers and above generally fought in the air instead of ravaging the ground. Those were things to consider later though. At the moment, he had to just learn the basic moves of swords.

The scroll that his master had given him had divided sword moves into three categories; offensive moves, defensive moves, and supportive moves. Though there was not much different in the form of those moves, there was a clear difference in the intent behind them. And for Aspects, it was intent that mattered the most. Besides, though the form of those moves were same, the way those moves were executed were different.

Like how a horizontal slash, when used for attacking, had to made with the edges of his sword facing directly towards his enemies. The same horizontal slash though, when used for parrying, had to bent slightly, allowing it to redirect the blows of his enemies. In a similar fashion, a stab, aimed at piercing his enemies had to be sharp, quick, and focussed, yet a stab aimed at catching the attacks of his enemies had to be quick, but controlled.

There were so many nuances to the sword that if turned into a book, even a thousand pages would not have been enough to contain all of the tiny little details. Thankfully, he was just a beginner in the ways of the sword. As such, he did not have to go into the finer details, and movements of the sword. For the moment, he just had to learn how to hold the sword, and how to swing it. That was the task that his master had given him.

“I, Alnea Oathkeeper, take an Oath that I will…”

Swing the wooden sword vertically, a thousand times, both with, and against the pull of the earth below his feet. That had to be followed by stabs, and horizontal slashes, thousand times for both. However, each of his swings had to contain all of his force. Furthermore, he had to make sure that his hands, and feet were aligned perfectly, and that he had not broken the posture described in the scroll.

For him, who had mastered the Oathkeeper Style, and thousands of other Martial Styles of the Auxiliary type, such requirements should have been easy to fulfil. Especially since the sword was so light. Or so he had thought. He had even thought that he would probably be done with the practise swings long before his Spirit Power would have recovered. It was not until he had reached his hundredth swing that he began feeling the soreness in his hands, and shoulders.

Used to the pain though, he did not notice anything wrong, and continued swinging the sword. Once. Twice. Thrice. Down. Up. Down. Up. On, and on his swings kept going, until his two hundredth swing, when his arms, and shoulders began aching. By his three hundredth swing, the sword itself felt like it had grown double in weight, which only kept increasing the more he swung the sword.

Yet he could not stop. Neither could he be lax. His Oath did not require him to just swing his sword. It demanded him to swing it in proper form. Not just his arms, even his legs, and waist had to be firm, and steady. And he had to use all his strength in his swings. No, not just his own strength. Making use of the fact that he was on the ground, he also had to borrow strength from the ground below him. If he could not even do that, then how was he supposed to use all his strength in air? How was he supposed to borrow the strength from the world around him?

Thus, no matter how his arms cried, he kept swinging. Even when it felt like a fire was coursing through his veins, he kept swinging. Even when it felt like they were not even his own arms anymore, he kept swinging. And swinging. And swinging. Five hundred swings. Six hundred swings. Eight hundred swings. Nine Hundred Swings…

At some point, grunts, and muffled sounds of pain began escaping through his lips. From swinging twice, or even thrice in a moment, he was reduced to swinging once in three moments… once in ten moments… once in twenty moments. But he kept swinging. And swinging. And swinging. Only when the last swing, the thousandth swing was completed, did he lower the tip of the sword, and dared to open his mouth to exhale all his pent up pain, and breath. However, that was not the end.

“What are you doing?” his master said, looking at him from the side. “Do not stop. Or it will lower the effect of the training.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“…Yes, master,” Alnea grumbled, lifting the sword with his trembling hands. The sword… When did it become so heavy? Was it really just ten kilograms? A thousand more swings, and stabs… Maybe, he should have made a little lax Oath.

“Come on, do not dally.”

“…Yes, master.”

And so, he began once again. Spreading his legs apart, bringing his left foot forward, using the forward moment to add even more power to his stab. Then, using the same amount of power, or at least the amount he could muster, he withdrew his sword, and his leg, making sure to not let his backward momentum disturb his balance. After coming back into his initial position, he took a breath, and got ready, before performing the same stab once again. And again. And again. And again. Over, and over. And so, along with his arms, soon, his legs too began feeling heavy.

It felt as if fire was coursing through them. Or maybe a knife. In any case, if not for his experience of Forging his Spirit, he might not even have had the courage to move. Compared to the pain of having his Spirit sliced into tiny pieces, with fire burning through the entirety of his Spirit, the pain of his body was nothing. It did make his movements uncomfortable, but he could easily handle them. Maybe not easily, but he could handle them. He had made his Oath, after all. And he was Oathkeeper.

Thus, bearing the pain in his hands, and his legs, Alnea kept moving, performing one piercing stab after another. They were not fast, but they were strong, and steady. Not a perfect replication of what was described in the scroll, but it was the best he could perform. Maybe his control over his body was not as perfect as he had thought it was. Or maybe, he just was not used to performing all those complicated moves with an unstable footing, and uncooperative hands, and legs.

His hands, and legs… they had simply stopped listening to him. Just the fact that they were completing the movements of the stab was a miracle in itself. Or maybe a stubborn show of determination… Even if they broke down, they would not bend. Figuratively, of course. Literally, they were bending with his every movement. And every time they moved, they kept trying to bend his will, forcing it to accept defeat. To give up. To stop. His Oath…

His master would save him. She was Nyssa Thornbearer. Her Thorns would surely save him. All he had to do was to just give up. To just drop the sword—

Alnea tightened the grip on his sword, and reinvigorated his movements, tapping into a yet unknown reserve of strength. Even if he failed in keeping his Oath, he would not give up. Till the very last moment, he would keep trying, and trying, and trying…

At some point, Alnea did not know when, he had switched from stabs to slashes. Did he do that all on his own? Or did his master direct him into it? Did he even complete a thousand stabs? And... how many horizontal slashes had he done anyways? One? Ten? Hundred? He did not know… And he did not care. Since he was going to fail anyways, he might as well just keep on making the slashes until the very end. Until all his strength would run dry. Until he would run dry… No! He could not, would not, give up!

A Clear Heart, and conscience, that was the path that Alnea had chosen. His path to becoming strong. But just a Clear Heart, and conscience were not enough. Not in this cruel world. Other than those things, he also needed a Heart that would never give up. An unyielding Heart. A Heart of the strong.

If he had no strength, if he was running dry, then he just had to dig deeper within himself. If the sword felt too heavy… Then he would just have to keep swinging it until was not heavy anymore. If his arms, and legs felt dead, then he would just have to drag them back from their death. He would not stop until he had completed his Oath. He refused to stop until he had finished his task. After all, he could not disappoint his master, could he?

“That is enough.”

Alnea heard his master say something, but it was too vague, and distant. He could not figure out what she was saying. Was she asking him to increase his speed, and strength? If so… then he would just that. He would—

“It is alright, Alnea.”

Alnea felt the gentle touch of his master’s hand on his own, stopping the swinging of his sword. Following the hand, he inadvertently turned towards his master, and found her standing right beside him, looking at him with pride, guilt, and determination flashing in her eyes.

“It is enough,” his master said.

“But my Oath…”

“Is already completed.”

“…What? When?”

“Silly child,” his master said, using her other hand gently caress his cheeks. “How can you be so careless as to not even notice your Spirit during training?”

“…Huh?”

“This is the first time you have completed your Oath after reaching the False Rank. Do you not wish to see how your Roots have changed?”

“I…” Alnea was about to say something, when he felt all the strength drain away from his body, and found himself tumbling towards the ground, only to be immediately caught by his master.

“It is alright. Go ahead, and check your Spirit World. We will talk about everything else after that.”

“…Yes, master,” Alnea said, and closed his eyes.