Percy stood with a steady grip on the wooden sword, its weight balanced naturally in his hand. As he moved through the initial forms, he felt the flow of the technique begin to take shape, each motion whispering a story of its origins.
"The movements seem rooted in principles of freedom and power," he murmured, analyzing the way the strokes seamlessly transitioned into one another.
Beta, perched on his shoulder, observed keenly.
"Freedom… Power… Let's start with the first concept, Master. What words encapsulate freedom for you?"
Percy paused mid-swing, his brows furrowing in thought.
"Freedom… I'd say 'Fluidity of Movement,' 'Adaptability,' and 'Creative Expression.'"
As he spoke, he moved the sword in a slow arc, mimicking the illustrations he had studied in Echoes of a Forgotten Empire: Imperial Swordsmanship Legacy.
Beta, intrigued, pressed further.
"Explain them to me."
Percy set the sword down for a moment, turning to face her.
"Fluidity of Movement is about seamless transitions—each motion should flow naturally into the next, like water cascading down a river. A swordsman shouldn't need to pause or reset; their body should always be in motion, with no wasted energy."
He demonstrated by drawing the wooden blade into a slow but intricate sequence of slashes, the air whistling with each precise movement.
"Then there's Adaptability. You're never locked into a pattern. If an opponent counters one move, you flow into another. Swordsmanship isn't just about force—it's about reacting, redirecting, and controlling the battle's pace."
Percy then changed stance mid-step, reversing his grip and smoothly shifting into a defensive guard before transitioning back into an aggressive form. Beta noticed how effortlessly he adjusted, as if already internalizing the lesson.
"And finally, Creative Expression. A true master isn't bound by rigid forms. You take the foundation and make it your own. The best swordsmen don't just wield the blade—they imprint their identity into every strike."
Percy, in one fluid movement, twirled the sword behind his back before executing a rapid feint, striking an invisible opponent before smoothly withdrawing into a neutral stance.
Beta, thoroughly impressed, gave a light clap.
"You've captured the essence well, but there's still one more key principle of freedom."
Percy tilted his head, intrigued.
"Another aspect?"
Beta floated upward slightly, her digital form shimmering as she spoke.
"The 'Choice of Technique.' True freedom in swordsmanship means having a vast arsenal at your disposal. It's about selecting the right method for the right moment, adapting your techniques to your opponent, terrain, or even your own evolving strengths."
Percy, absorbing this insight, felt his grip tighten on the sword.
"That makes perfect sense. Freedom isn't just about movement—it's about the ability to decide how to fight."
Beta nodded in satisfaction, then smoothly transitioned the conversation.
"Now, what about power? How do you define it in swordsmanship?"
Without hesitation, Percy responded, the answer already forming in his mind.
"Power is built upon five pillars: 'Physical Strength,' 'Control and Precision,' 'Mental and Tactical Strength,' 'Endurance and Stamina,' and 'Impact of Strikes.'"
With renewed focus, he raised his wooden sword again.
"Let's break them down."
Beta nodded encouragingly, her digital presence flickering with an approving glow.
"Go on, explain each."
Percy adjusted his grip on the wooden sword, his mind sharpening as he delved into the heart of Imperial Swordsmanship's second pillar—Power.
"Physical Strength in swordsmanship isn't just about swinging the blade—it's the foundation of delivering effective strikes and absorbing the impact of incoming attacks. Strength gives weight to your cuts, force to your parries, and control in prolonged engagements."
He took a steady step forward, executing a downward slash, the wooden blade slicing through the air with tangible force.
"Then, there's Control and Precision. Power isn't just brute force—it's about making every movement deliberate and measured. A single, well-placed strike can end a fight faster than a hundred reckless swings."
Percy shifted his stance, transitioning smoothly into a thrust, the tip of the wooden blade stopping a hair's breadth from an invisible target. His precision was surgical, each movement flowing into the next.
"Mental and Tactical Strength are just as crucial. A swordsman who only relies on physical ability will lose to one who uses their mind. Reading an opponent, predicting their strikes, and forcing them into mistakes is what separates a good fighter from a great one."
Beta watched with keen interest as Percy demonstrated this concept by adjusting his angle of attack, anticipating an imagined opponent's reaction and countering accordingly.
"Endurance and Stamina keep a fighter sharp throughout the battle. A warrior with perfect technique but no stamina will crumble before someone who can maintain their strength and precision longer."
Percy transitioned into a sequence of continuous slashes, pushing his body through the motions with relentless energy. His muscles burned, but his execution remained clean, sharp, and controlled.
"And finally, the Impact of Strikes—where technique, speed, and strength come together to make every hit count. A strike that merely grazes an opponent does nothing. But a strike with impact? It can end a battle instantly."
Beta's digital eyes gleamed with approval as Percy executed a final, decisive slash. The wooden blade slammed into the ground, sending up a sharp gust of displaced air, showcasing the force behind his movement.
"Exactly, Master. Imperial Swordsmanship is a delicate harmony—freedom and power must exist together. Freedom grants fluidity, adaptability, and control over movement. Power grants weight, precision, and unwavering presence in combat."
Beta's holographic form shimmered as she demonstrated, her own movements a perfect balance of fluidity and strength. Each strike resonated with a graceful deadliness, a clear display of the technique's elegance and lethality intertwined.
Percy, watching in awe, felt his understanding deepen.
"Now, let's refine your execution further. Adjust your stance and posture."
Percy obeyed, fine-tuning his positioning under Beta's guidance.
"Shift your left foot slightly back, right foot a bit forward."
"Your slashing posture is too relaxed—firm up your grip. Right arm above the abdomen for better control."
"Follow through with your strikes. Don't stop midway—commit to each movement."
For two grueling hours, Percy practiced, sweat soaking his shirt, muscles burning, yet he didn't stop.
"Your body is adapting well," Beta noted, seeing how his movements became sharper, more natural, more intuitive.
Percy wiped sweat from his brow, drinking water before resuming. This time, his stance flowed effortlessly, each strike carrying both control and strength.
Beta, witnessing the remarkable transformation, felt something akin to pride.
"This morning, you were still grasping the fundamentals. I thought it would take months before you could execute these techniques with confidence. But now… now you move like a natural."
She observed him carefully, realizing something deeper about his connection to the blade.
"The memorization skill helped you retain the movements, but that's not what makes the difference. It's your spirit—the reason behind why you wield the sword. Many pick up a weapon without truly understanding it. But you? Your intent is clear."
Percy didn't reply, but his grip on the sword tightened.
"I fight for my family. For my future. For the things I won't let be taken from me."
As he moved to the center of the gym, a sudden realization struck him.
Mana was flowing into his body differently—not just strengthening him, but reaching places it hadn't before.
His eyes narrowed, his breath steady.
"Something's changing," he muttered, gripping the sword as he felt a new surge of energy course through him.
Percy wiped the sweat from his brow, the lingering exhilaration of his training session buzzing through his veins. The 'Muscle Growth Elixir' and his relentless physical conditioning had pushed his body to its peak, yet it was swordsmanship that was now unlocking a hidden wellspring of potential.
"Strength Stat: +2," the system chimed, confirming his progress.
Percy grinned, turning to Beta with an expectant look.
"Well done, Master," Beta praised, though her tone remained carefully measured. "You've successfully executed the core sword techniques. But—" she paused, her expression unreadable.
Percy raised an eyebrow. "But?"
Beta tilted her head, her voice calm yet firm. "There is always room for improvement."
Percy chuckled at Beta's usual precision, but he couldn't deny his own hunger to refine his technique further. His body still buzzed with energy, and his instincts screamed that he was just scratching the surface of something far greater.
"Okay, what's next?" he asked, excitement laced in his voice.
Beta, ever the strategist, considered his current development. "It would be ideal to test your skills against a real opponent, but since that's not possible at the moment, let's shift our focus to elemental training."
Percy sighed dramatically, swinging the wooden sword onto his shoulder. "Can't we keep working on swordsmanship just a little longer?" he pleaded, eyes shining with determination.
Beta glanced at the time, then relented. "Alright, but only two moves. We also need to assess your progress in elemental training."
Percy pumped his fist, containing his excitement. "Deal."
"Let's begin with 'Emperor's Crescent,' followed by 'Royal Retribution,'" Beta instructed, shifting into her role as guide. "Both are signature Imperial Swordsmanship techniques. The first is a wide, arcing slash meant to control space and flow. The second is a decisive, overhead strike meant to crush an opponent's defenses."
Percy adjusted his stance, focusing on precision and balance.
⚔️ 'Emperor's Crescent' — He exhaled, his blade slicing through the air in a perfect arc, his footwork light yet grounded, mimicking the natural flow of water.
⚔️ 'Royal Retribution' — Transitioning seamlessly, he channeled his strength into a powerful, downward strike, his movements radiating controlled aggression. The force behind his swing cracked the wooden floor beneath him.
Beta observed sharply, her eyes analyzing every motion."Well done, Master. Your execution is precise, and your movements are fluid. You're progressing faster than I anticipated."
Yet, Percy felt a nagging dissatisfaction. He sheathed his sword and turned to Beta. "Something's missing."
Beta nodded knowingly."What's missing is the experience of fighting a real opponent. Swordsmanship isn't just about practicing forms—it's about adapting and reacting to the unpredictability of battle."
Percy exhaled, absorbing the truth in her words. "So, no matter how much I refine my technique, I won't truly master it without testing it against others."
"Precisely. Dueling refines instincts. It forces you to evolve. The best swordsmen aren't those who just memorize techniques, but those who forge their own styles through battle."
Percy sighed, feeling a twinge of frustration but ultimately accepting the lesson."I get it now… but without a sparring partner, it's just theory."
Beta, sensing his disappointment, reassured him. "Your time will come, Master. A worthy opponent may appear sooner than you think."
As Percy collected his gear and exited the gym, he was unaware of the presence watching him.
Perched in the shadows of the training hall, a tall, broad-shouldered man observed with a knowing smile. His muscular build and sharp gaze exuded an aura of authority, his arms crossed as he analyzed Percy's every move.
"Solarskis University seems to have discovered a sword prodigy," he mused, amusement flickering in his voice.
His eyes lingered on the aftermath of Percy's training, the cracked floorboards and the sheer force behind each movement. This wasn't **mere talent—**this was natural affinity, refined through relentless practice.
"This could be the year we take the Championship Grail."
A second voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, one rich with age and wisdom.
"And who, pray tell, will be winning the Championship Grail?"
The tall man tensed, turning swiftly to find himself face to face with an elderly figure draped in celestial robes, a flowing white beard cascading over his chest.
"Professor Eadmund?" he blurted in surprise.
The 9th-circle Grandmaster of the Space Tower stood before him, his presence alone commanding reverence.
The muscular man composed himself, rubbing his chin in thought. "I'm surprised to see the esteemed Professor here. I thought you were occupied with the Arcadian Ruins of Nythos."
Eadmund's ancient eyes twinkled with hidden knowledge, as though he already knew the answer to the question before it was asked.
"Some things… are worth making time for."
His gaze drifted toward the gymnasium's exit—the very path Percy had just walked through. A faint smile touched his lips, but his eyes held secrets untold.
Professor Eadmund chuckled, the sound rich with amusement as he waved a dismissive hand. "Those vampires in the Arcadian Ruins are always drawn to the dark elements. Nuisances, really—lurking in shadows, meddling in forbidden arts. But enough about that." His piercing gaze sharpened, now entirely focused on the man before him. "My interest lies here, Yaroslav Volkov—esteemed sword master of the Golden Continent."
Yaroslav Volkov, broad-shouldered and formidable, met Eadmund's remark with a measured frown. He hadn't expected the Grandmaster of the Space Tower to personally seek him out. "I was personally invited by the Headmaster," he admitted, crossing his arms. "My purpose is to elevate the sword department—one that is, in my opinion, quite… underdeveloped."
Eadmund's chuckle deepened, amusement dancing in his gaze."Seems we're in the same boat, Yaroslav. I, too, was summoned to mend deficiencies—though mine concern the Elemental Department."
Their exchange, however, was abruptly joined by an unexpected voice.
"It appears we all share the same summons… yet surely, we weren't meant to converge in such a public venue."
Eadmund and Yaroslav turned towards the source. A striking woman stood before them, her blonde hair cascading in elegant waves, her sharp eyes exuding confidence and allure.
Helen Hippolytis.
Eadmund greeted her with a warm nod, while Yaroslav barely concealed his annoyance, emitting a low, discontented growl.
Helen, ever composed, offered a graceful bow."A pleasure to meet you both. Though I must say," she continued, her voice carrying its usual poised charm, "this meeting place is a bit… unorthodox, isn't it?"
Eadmund, eyes glimmering with mirth, inclined his head. "Ah, the renowned 'Zephyr Fist Shenlong' from the Emerald Continent. I hear your legend precedes you."
Helen's lips curled slightly."All is as well as it can be, given the circumstances." But she wasted no time redirecting the conversation. "I assume we all received invitations from our esteemed Headmaster? If I recall, he specified the usual subspace for our meeting—not a gymnasium of all places."
Eadmund's smirk widened."I was merely passing by when I noticed Yaroslav here. Out of curiosity, I approached."
The attention shifted to Yaroslav, who seemed reluctant, yet unable to ignore the scrutiny of his two peers. He exhaled sharply. "I was drawn here… by sword intent."
Helen's brows arched slightly, intrigued."Sword intent? That's not something that piques your interest lightly."
Eadmund leaned in."Now that is intriguing. What level of power are we discussing here? Any idea who the source might be?"
Helen, seizing the chance to tease Yaroslav, smirked. "Indeed, what could stir the interest of the 'Crimson Blade Aethelric' to such a degree?"
Yaroslav's expression darkened slightly at the nickname, his gaze shifting toward the training hall, where Percy had been only minutes ago. After a moment's pause, he spoke, his tone cautious yet weighted with certainty.
"An intent potent enough to nurture a Sword Domain. Something… exceedingly rare."
The revelation hung heavy in the air.
Eadmund and Helen reacted immediately, their composed facades momentarily slipping.
"A Sword Domain?" They spoke in unison, their voices laced with disbelief.
Eadmund's keen mind whirred, his analytical instincts flaring to life. He studied Yaroslav's stone-like expression but found no indication of deception. And yet, such a phenomenon was beyond rare—it was mythical.
Eadmund's eyes narrowed."You're certain?"
Yaroslav did not answer immediately. His silence was telling.
Helen, arms crossed, assessed him with a thoughtful gaze. "If that's true… then Solarskis University is about to become a battleground."
Unspoken words drifted between them, each of these renowned masters realizing the magnitude of what had just been uncovered.
A Sword Domain.
A talent so rare it could alter the very power balance of the world.
And it was emerging right here, at Solarskis University.
Helen, arms crossed, regarded Yaroslav with certainty."Eadmund, he must be serious. We're talking about Yaroslav—the 'Crimson Blade.' His indifference is legendary. If anything short of a Sword Domain could catch his interest, I'd be shocked."
Eadmund considered Helen's words carefully. He knew better than anyone—Yaroslav was never moved by trivial matters. If he had sensed something this significant, then it warranted attention. The man was often aloof, dismissing all but the most dire of circumstances. And yet, here he was, thoroughly intrigued.
As the weight of the revelation settled between them, their discussion was abruptly interrupted.
A pale, ghostly figure materialized nearby, sending a distinct chill down their spines.
Joffrey, the Headmaster's butler.
His presence alone was an omen of something far more pressing.
"My master awaits your presence in the subspace," Joffrey announced, his voice laced with an eerie undertone. "Make haste. The Headmaster's schedule is… particularly tight today."
With those words, he dissolved into a swirl of crimson mist, vanishing into the shadows.
Helen, arms still crossed, exhaled with mild disbelief. "That creature is still in service? It's been ages, hasn't it?"
Yaroslav's response was curt, tinged with something resembling weariness."Indeed. Around 500 years, if memory serves."
His eyes darkened as he pondered the implications. Why keep a vampire as a butler?
His disdain surfaced. "Keeping an undead in one's household is unfathomable."
Eadmund, ever the voice of caution, shot him a wary glance."Tread carefully with your words. The Headmaster holds Joffrey in high regard. Disparaging him might not be wise."
Yaroslav, however, wasn't one to hold his tongue. His expression remained firm, his voice laced with open contempt.
"Vampires are abhorrent creatures. They bring nothing but destruction."
The air shifted.
Helen and Eadmund instinctively stepped back as the atmosphere thickened, volatile mana crackling in the air like an impending storm.
A presence—an overwhelming, suffocating force—descended upon them.
Yaroslav barely had time to react. A colossal, blood-red hand materialized out of thin air, looming above him like a specter of death.
With a flash of steel, Yaroslav unsheathed his sword in a single fluid motion—his blade cleaving cleanly through the spectral limb.
For a moment, he believed it was over.
But then—
The severed hand did not dissipate. Instead, it split, forming two new appendages, each now hurtling toward him with terrifying speed.
Yaroslav's expression darkened. He had two options: resist and escalate the situation further, or endure the punishment and minimize the consequences.
He knew better.
With a clenched jaw, he let his hands drop to his sides. He stood firm as the two crimson hands struck with crushing force.
The impact sent Yaroslav careening into the nearest wall. The stone cracked beneath the force, debris scattering around him as he fell to one knee, blood dripping from his mouth.
The mana that restrained him dispersed, but the damage had already been dealt.
Eadmund shook his head, sighing. "I did try to warn you."
Helen, a smirk tugging at her lips, placed a hand on her hip. "Did you forget where you are, Yaroslav? This is Valerius Bloodrose's domain. You should know better than to provoke the Lord of Crimson Twilight."
Yaroslav's fingers curled into fists. Not only had he been humiliated, but he had been powerless against the retaliation. That alone stung more than any physical wound.
Still, he forced himself to his feet. His pride would allow no less.
Eadmund, not wanting to risk further conflict, spoke swiftly. "We should head to the meeting before we end up in a similar state."
With a casual flick of his hand, he sliced open the fabric of space, revealing an exit.
Helen followed suit. With a graceful wave, she shattered the air before her, conjuring a golden tunnel lined with shimmering runes."See you at the meeting," she called over her shoulder before stepping into the void.
Yaroslav took a breath, steadying himself. He lifted his blade, tracing a clean, controlled arc through the air.
A portal of silver energy, jagged like lightning, tore open before him.
But before stepping through, he cast a lingering glance at the training hall.
At the place where a young swordsman had unknowingly revealed a glimpse of his potential.
Yaroslav's fingers tightened on his sword's hilt.
"A Sword Domain, huh?"
He didn't speak the thought aloud. But he knew.
This year's Championship Grail... would be unlike any other.
And Solarskis University had just become a battlefield of prodigies.
With that final thought, he stepped through the portal, vanishing into the void.