“What’s with that expression? Do you not trust my words?”
Alistar considered the series of logs that Tramon had set up outside of his home at the collegia. The grizzled man had felled a modestly tall tree and then cut its length into several sections, all of which he had lined up in the shade beneath the young oak where Alistar had spent many hours meditating over the past two years.
“I do, it’s just…”
He stared down at the small stick that he held in his right hand, which was about the length of his arm with the width of his thumb. Did his master really expect him to be able to cut these logs in half with nothing but this brittle, ordinary stick?
“Lucian’s sake, give me that.”
Tramon snatched the stick from his hands so quickly that Alistar couldn’t have held onto it even if he’d wanted to. After standing in front of the nearest log, his master narrowed his eyes and then swiped out with the stick, which almost seemed to pass through the hefty object like a ghost through a wall. When the barky surface remained unchanged, Alistar felt the need to comfort his master so as to save the impatient man from feeling any sense of embarrassment.
“Don’t worry, Master. I’m sure you would have cut through it if you were sober.”
Tramon had been holding his cane in his other hand and didn’t hesitate to smack Alistar’s left knee with it.
Buckling to the ground as he grit his teeth, Alistar felt indignant. “What did I do?” The man smelled strongly of alcohol, his flushed face betraying that he had already begun to enjoy some booze despite the earliness of the day.
“What am I even teaching you for?” he grumbled, nudging the top of the log with his foot.
To Alistar’s amazement, a disk of wood fell to the ground that was no more than a fingernail’s span in height. Crawling over, he picked it up and ran a hand along its smooth underside, marvelling at how cleanly it had been cut. It was important to note that the wood had been severed so neatly that he hadn’t been able to sense it with his magical awareness, which had developed to the extent that he could now detect physical objects within a few paces of himself despite the fact that they were inanimate, lifeless things. So long as he honed his sixth sense even further, he would be able to find his way around even if he was blinded.
“Alright, boy. Repeat what I told you earlier."
“A true swordsman can make a sword out of anything.”
Tramon threw the stick back at him, which he instinctively caught. Surprisingly, it was completely intact.
“And how do you think I did that?”
“You used swordsman’s aura to cut the wood?”
“Of course I used swordsman’s aura. The important thing is how I used it. Now, how do you think I managed that?”
Alistar reviewed everything that he knew about the special type of energy that they were discussing. The stronger and more disciplined one’s body was, the more of this unique energy they were able to harness and control. Swordsman’s aura wasn’t infinite, and was instead directly related to how much stamina the user possessed. If he was exhausted, for instance, then he wouldn’t be able to use it. If he tried under such circumstances, he’d be risking terrible repercussions, namely internal injuries or even death.
Looking at how cleanly the log had been cut, he deduced that such a thing could only have been made possible due to two factors. Firstly, a cut like this could only have been accomplished with an incredibly sharp tool, which the stick was anything but. Second, the strike had contained a decent amount of strength, but more importantly, an impressive amount of speed. These two factors led Alistar to a single conclusion, which he voiced while bracing himself for another potential strike from his master’s cane.
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“You gathered your swordsman’s aura at the end of the stick, and arranged it so that it mimicked the tip of a blade. Then you struck the log quickly and precisely.”
Alistar had long since learned not to expect any compliments from Tramon, so he wasn’t surprised when his other knee felt the bite of his master’s cane.
“If I did as you said, then the stick would have broken.” The old sword master pulled a dirty cloth out of his back pocket and used it to dab away the large amounts of sweat that had gathered on the crown of his balding head. “I covered the entire stick with my aura, which reinforced it both inside and out. Then, as you said, I flattened the energy at the end and condensed it to mimic the tip of a blade. The key here is the reinforcement part.”
If I was so close, then why did you have to hit me? Alistar kept such thoughts under covers, of course, lest he earn himself another strike.
“I know that look. You’re mad about getting smacked, huh? Well let me tell you. Coddling you like a baby won’t get you anywhere in life, so don’t expect any of that wishy-washy, pat-on-the-back nonsense from me, you hear?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Master.”
Another hit, this time to his right forearm.
“Good. You get enough of that from your other teachers, so somebody has to be realistic with you.” Tramon nodded at the tree stumps. “Now, I’m off to get some shut-eye. Don’t even think about leaving before you’ve managed to cut one of these in half, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tramon disappeared inside of his house, where Alistar sensed him take a seat at the table beside his liquor cabinet.
Sighing, he retrieved the stick and then took a seat atop one of the logs, closing his eyes and clearing his mind as he tried to arrange his swordsman’s aura into the form of a sword. This was easier said than done, however, since condensing the energy to such an extent required unbroken focus and immaculate control over his swordsman’s aura. As things were, he was only able to move said energy in large volumes, usually to cover specific parts of his body, or to loosely envelop his practice sword.
Well, here goes nothing.
Over the next two hours, Alistar hardly made any progress. Every time he attempted to condense the energy that he’d draped over the stick, it began to fluctuate wildly and then quickly dispersed back into his body. This aggravated him deeply and made him wish that his master had given him more direction before going off to continue drinking.
Would it kill him to pay me a single compliment? Alistar was currently a second-tier apprentice that had already gotten the hang of the skillsets of the third tier. Even so, Tramon refused to promote him to a third-tier apprentice, constantly stressing the importance of building a solid foundation by gaining subconscious, instinctual knowledge of the basics. What was more, he didn’t even give Alistar one of the badges that described a swordsman’s rank, meaning that outside of their lessons, nobody would acknowledge his attainments in the art.
Alistar’s gaze drifted across the gardens of the inner collegia, staring in the direction where the other young swordsmen were practicing their daily swings. He was barely twelve years old, and yet he had long since surpassed the other kids of his age. What normally took an apprentice four years to accomplish had taken him two, yet he still hadn’t heard the words ‘good job’ from his teacher, unlike the other apprentice swordsmen that received special gifts and unique rewards at each milestone in their training.
Take Mr. Albeck, for instance. He had only been instructing him and Anice for almost thirteen months, and yet he sang nothing but praise whenever Alistar managed to materialize a new spell. This didn’t happen often, of course, since mastering even the simplest of magics was incredibly difficult, but in the three instances that this had occurred, the man had made it a point to tell anyone that would listen about how talented his pupil was. He had even treated Alistar to delicious dinners at some of the finer restaurants in town. He had also—
The door to Tramon’s home suddenly flung open. “Boy, I told you not to think unnecessary things! Get back to your training or you won’t be going home today.”
“Yes, sir!”
The door slammed shut, quickly followed by the sound of several falling books along with a short string of guttural curses. Even after being apprenticed to the man for so long, Alistar still marvelled at his teacher’s ability to notice whenever he started to brood over his lessons.
Since feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t see him out of here any sooner, he decided to close off his mind and do his best to complete the task at hand.