Ciaran continued killing ghouls as he said through heavy breaths, “Swordsmanship?”
Envil may have disappeared at a young age, but he was still alive and grew up during their family’s golden age, when the blessing was still active. The blessing strengthened their sensitivity to mana, increased the chances for a child to be born with a large reserve of mana, made their bodies naturally athletic to make it easier to build muscle and get stronger, enhanced their senses, and more. While it didn’t grant any specific powers, it was a gift that let them build a strong foundation at an early age, from which they went down the path most suitable for them, more often than not making a name for themselves in their respective fields. Ciaran wasn’t sure how skilled Envil was with swordsmanship, but with the gift of the blessing, he was either hardworking or talented, or both.
Ciaran, on the other hand, didn’t think he had a great talent for swordsmanship. He was aware that his talent lay in inscription magic — apart from personal interest, this was one of the reasons he had studied it so much. “Swordsmanship, huh. I tried it out as a kid and,” Ciaran heaved, swinging the sword which was becoming a little heavier with every passing minute, “I remember thinking that it was something you’d have to put all of your focus and effort into. But at that time, I was way more interested in learning inscription magic, so although I learned the family’s swordsmanship technique, I never really practiced it. A bit of a useless skill, I guess.”
[Useless? It’s only useless if you don’t put any effort in. The swordsmanship style I use isn’t our family’s, either. I created it myself. Although, since I made it with myself in mind, it won’t suit you very well, but that’s okay! I’ll teach it to you and then adjust it to fit you better. Or maybe I’ll see how you do with the family’s technique… I’m sure I’ll come up with something! I’m a genius, after all ~]
Ciaran killed the last ghoul in this wave and slumped back against the wall. He wanted to check what time it was. Did hours pass, or was it just thirty minutes? He hated not being able to tell time. The oppressive darkness, illuminated only by the fire coating the sword, seemed like it would last forever. “How are you going to teach me, anyway? Can you see anything?”
[I can more or less see within a meter of the sword. If you kill more of these ghouls, I should be able to manifest myself as a ghost by absorbing the little bits and pieces of the dark element they possess. My vision would expand and I could better guide you.]
“And how many more ghouls do I need to kill to do that?”
[Um, I don’t know, maybe a few hundred? It’s okay. Even if I could manifest myself right now, it’d be useless. You need to work on your foundation first. Have you done any training? You’re not bad for the average person, but by the standards of a swordsman…]
Ciaran steadied his breathing and avoided closing his eyes. The exhaustion was beginning to set in. If he closed his eyes, he was worried he’d just pass out and fall asleep. He took the water canister resting on the ground and opened it before dumping the entire thing on his face, ignoring the sting of his wound. The cool water refreshed him, and he closed the lid and put it down as it began to refill itself. He shook his head and brushed back the wet strands of hair, then gripped the hilt of the sword with both of his hands and swung when a ghoul flew in.
“Well, I’ve done about two hours of exercise every morning since I was five. It’s as you said — its not on the level of a proper swordsman. The focus was training my agility and fitness to an above-average level. I am the future…” His stamina was enough to put him above the average person, but right now it was far from enough. Ciaran needed to increase his strength, so that he could have an easier time fighting ghouls throughout the night. “Current duke, after all.”
[That’s for sure. It’s settled! From now on, I’m going to train you personally.]
The rest of the night passed in a blur. Envil stopped talking when Ciaran stopped responding, too exhausted to continue fighting and have a conversation at the same time. When the moon sank below the horizon and the first rays of dawn peaked in through the back window, Ciaran sensed all the hostility from the ghouls disappearing and slumped on the ground, dropped the sword and passed out.
~|(+)|~
As the afternoon sun shone on Ciaran, beads of sweat dripped down from his forehead and down his back, his upper body exposed to the cool air of late summer.
A wooden pole spanned the width of his shoulders and arms, with either end tied with a rope that held a heavy jar full of mud. He was jogging around the lake, careful to avoid the jars slipping off the pole and breaking, or breaking free of the ropes that bound them. He had initially still had a shirt on, but before he began to run, Envil told him to take it off if he didn’t want it to get soaked with his sweat.
Ciaran was glad he did. Better not to get his clothes too dirty if he had a choice, since he had no soap to wash anything with. He ran past the pier, lungs heaving and legs burning.
[Okay, you can take a break now.]
Ciaran jogged to a stop and set down the jars and pole, putting his hands on his knees as he steadied his breathing. “Wow, you’re so generous. I’ve been running for an hour straight, but that’s all you have to say?”
[What am I supposed to say? Congrats? Your stamina is so terrible. Before I teach you how to circulate your mana, you need to be able to run for at least five hours straight. That’s the bare minimum.]
Ciaran straightened his bent posture and looked at the lake, wanting to jump in and soak himself in the cold water, but refrained from doing so. He had a feeling this break was the first of many.
Ciaran walked over to his bag which he set down on the pier’s wooden boards and found his water canister, taking a few sips before closing it and putting it back.
If he drank too much water now, he’d get a cramp when he had to run again a few minutes later.
[Hey, I never really asked you for your opinion on learning swordsmanship. I’m sure you know… people that take the path of swordsmanship can’t become mages because of the difference in how the two use their mana. Are you okay with that?]
Ciaran was surprised with what Envil said. He seemed like the sort of person that would forge ahead regardless of someone else’s opinion. “I don’t really have much of a choice right now. I need to learn what I can. I don’t know any magic anyway, not the kind mages learn. I have to kill never-ending waves of ghouls every single night. As I see it, I have one of two options right now. The first is to learn swordsmanship. If I do, staying up all night fighting will become a lot easier, and I will be able to defend myself in the future as well. The other option is to continue to struggle on the off chance I decide to become a mage. The right decision is pretty obvious to me.”
Ciaran had thought about it while he was running. If he truly learned swordsmanship, there would be no going back. Throughout the history of the Silios empire, the number of people capable of becoming a swordsmaster as well as a mage didn’t even reach ten. Every single one was a legendary figure heralded as someone with monstrous talent that left even the greatest of geniuses in the dust. Swordsmen circulated their mana throughout their body, directing it inwards, while mages directed their mana outwards to manipulate and imitate nature and natural phenomenon. Trying to do both was like going left and right at the same time.
Inscription magic was unique to this dilemma, seeing as inscriptionists channeled their mana through their pen, which was designed to transform the mana into a thread they could “write” with.
[Right, that’s the spirit! You’re lucky you have me as a teacher. I’m a swordsmaster, after all—]
Ciaran’s eyes widened. “You’re a swordsmaster? Aren’t you only 25?”
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
[I know swordsmasters are usually at least 30 and have been studying the sword for decades, but I’m a genius! I just have a knack for it. I didn’t get do much after I became one, though. The last thing I remember is going to a city with a big branch of the Mage’s Guild to get something for my sister and then… nothing.]
“Do you think maybe your memory could return after you manifest a corporeal form? Or if I keep killing ghouls?”
[I’m not sure, but I think so. When I absorb the dust of those ghouls, I can feel my existence and consciousness becoming more stable. What even is this place, anyway?]
Ciaran was about to reply before pausing. He remembered now — Envil had disappeared the same year the Lost Empire’s real name and location was wiped from memory and historical records. Envil would have heard of this place, but he wouldn’t have known anything about its disappearance and destruction. “This… back when you were alive, did you hear about a place with a ruler called the ‘Holy Emperor?’”
[The holy emperor? That does ring a bell… Wait, are you talking about — ? That’s weird, what was its name again? Why can’t I remember? Can a ghost develop dementia?]
Ciaran explained the situation to Envil.
[Those ghouls, then..]
“They’re the people that used to live here.”
[How tragic… they must have all died in a terrible way. It’s still strange, though… no matter how horrible a person’s death may be, they wouldn’t turn into a ghoul. This only happens if dark magic is involved. What could have happened?]
“I don’t know. I’m also curious, but I’m more interested in finding a way to survive here.”
[Well, what better way to survive than to get stronger? Okay, break time’s over. Start running again!]
Ciaran moved his aching body and hung the pole across his shoulders again and began to run. As he ran, Envil explained the different stages of swordsmanship proficiency. Low level, middle level, high level, and finally, the swordsmaster.
[Swordsmanship is not just technique. The techniques swordsmen learn are secondary — on their own, they aren’t very special or powerful. How powerful and skillful a swordsman is depends on their mana control. We circulate mana throughout our bodies. Down our arms and torsos, through our legs. A low level swordsman can circulate mana through only these parts of the body, and very slowly at that. At the lowest level, some swordsman can only circulate mana through one limb at a time. At the highest level, just before crossing over into the middle level, they can circulate mana through every limb with a decent, consistent speed.]
“What’s the difference between a swordsman in the lower level, and a swordsman in the middle or higher level? Is it just the degree of mana control?”
[More or less. To reach the middle level, you have to be able to use your mana control on your senses. If you can circulate your mana through the palms of your hands, rather than just your arms, you can consider yourself a middle level swordsman. In general, the middle level is all about learning how to use your mana to control your senses. By the time you cross over to the high level, you should fully control how good or bad your senses are. Peak middle swordsmen can make their vision and hearing very good or very bad, or they can make ti slightly worse or slightly better. A swordsman crosses over to the high level when they reach this stage of impeccable control over their senses, but also when they can circulate their mana through their fingertips.]
“Is it hard to circulate it through fingers?”
[It doesn’t seem like it should be, but it is. Think about — how small and narrow are your fingers? If the mana you’re circulating is thick and wild, there’s no way for it to fit in such a small, fragile space. You have to learn to control and narrow the mana circulating through your body. The mana circulation of a swordsmaster is like multiple strands of hair moving throughout the body — thin and bunched together, but all are completely within the swordmaster’s control. They can split one strand off to go to just a single one of their fingers. Then, that finger will be strengthened by the swordsmaster’s powerful mana, while the rest of the fingers on that hand are normal. This sort of control over the body and mana is what swordsman work toward.]
“What about swordsmasters, then? Can’t they shoot mana out of their blades? One of our ancestors was a swordsmaster that could use their sword mana to destroy mountains,” Ciaran spoke through heavy breaths, “So is mana control the only difference between a swordsmaster and a high level swordsman the degree of mana control?”
[Of course not. Otherwise, swordsmasters would be much more common than they are. There are probably tens of thousands of high level swordsmen at minimum, but how many of them can become a swordsmaster? Becoming a swordsmaster is not something that just happens if you practice enough. The mind, the body, and the sword have to consider themselves to be one and the same. The sword has to become an extension of your body. This is usually only possible for swordsmen that have many years of experience wielding a sword. Year after year of swinging a blade, over and over, they get very familiar with the weapon they’re using and how they use it. At some point, it becomes second nature to them, until one day, it becomes a part of their nature. That’s the moment when they ascend to swordsmanship, and their mana can enter the body of the blade.]
“Is that why so many are in their 30s, 40s, and 50s when they become swordsmasters?”
[Yup. Its the reward for a little bit of talent and many years of hard work and practice. Once they can circulate mana through their sword as well, it can make the blade’s edge very sharp or very dull, similar to how your mana can control your senses. It’s not changing the properties of the metal, rather, there is a very thin layer of mana on the outside of the blade that is invisible to the naked eye. Swordsmen can see it if they’re at the peak of the middle level or above and enhance their eyesight, and mages of a certain stage can sense the mana rather than see it.]
“When did you become a swordsmaster? And how? You’re pretty young, after all. You could only have so much experience.”
[You’re right, but my talent for swordsmanship is much higher than the average person. There was also our family’s blessing that helped me, too. Attaining the enlightenment of a swordsmaster just came naturally. I don’t really know how to explain it. You’ll just know. Going from my most recent memory, at that point, I had only been a swordsmaster for maybe a month or so. When I was your age, I left Neix Keep and started to wander around the continent, searching for other swordsmen to fight or going to remote places with many monsters. Sometimes I took up the bounties for dangerous criminals instead. After I became a swordsmaster, I came back to Neix Keep because I wanted to brag to my sister and see my family again. My sister was pretty mad, though. She turned me into her errand boy from that point on as punishment for not contacting them for so long.]
“Did you really never contact them or go home?”
[Yeah. Because I knew that if I did, I wouldn’t leave again.]
Ciaran heard Envil chuckling. As he finished another lap around the lake and continued running, he couldn’t help but think of his own family, who were likely cremated by now. A wave of grief and sadness washed over him, weighing on his chest and making his steps much heavier than they were a second ago. Every heavy, overwhelming emotion from that night was still being suppressed somewhere inside his heart, yet he couldn’t escape some of the sadness, anger, and grief that came over him sometimes. The daytime here was too peaceful. Instead of letting himself continue to grieve, he pushed those emotions down and ran a little faster than before, determined to exhaust himself enough that he couldn’t feel them anymore.
He wondered why Envil wasn’t asking him what happened that night, or why he was the only Duvane left alive. It was strange, after all. He dyed his hair, had a wound on his face that would probably scar, and was hiding out in the dead ruins of some ancient nation no one remembered anymore. Instead of bombarding him with questions, though, he just decided to help him and teach him something he’d been practicing and studying his whole life. The swordsmanship lessons of a swordsmaster, in any part of the continent, was difficult to acquire for even the highest of nobility. Swordsmasters were a powerful existence that didn’t have to bow down to anyone, after all. If they didn’t want to teach someone, they wouldn’t, yet Envil, having only met Ciaran a few hours ago, was helping him so openly.
“Why are you helping me? You’re a swordsmaster, after all. You don’t even know me that well. I know our family emphasizes blood ties and how important they are, but… you just met me.”
[Well, you’re right. Honestly, I find it hard to believe that you’re the only one still alive in our family. I want to ask what happened, but… I’m dead anyway. I have all the time in the world to wait, and knowing the answer to my curiosity isn’t really going to change anything for me. You, on the other hand, are alive. You can talk to me, you can help me strengthen my existence, and you can keep me company. If I help you, I’ll also be making sure our bloodline doesn’t die out completely. That’s enough for me.]
Ciaran didn’t say anything for a few seconds. As he ran, the sun moving across the sky reflected off the blue water, making for a stunning visual. As he looked at the glimmering lake, he said, “Maybe its enough for you, but I still want to thank you in a more tangible way.”
[Kid, you’re too weak. If you want to help me, get stronger first. Then we can talk. As you are, you can barely keep yourself alive, much less help out a dead man.]
Ciaran hummed an agreement. He was right. The more powerful you are, the more choices you have. Ciaran thought to himself that if he became very powerful, maybe he could even track down and destroy whoever plotted against his family. He would have a say in more things, and people would be more wary of him. He wouldn’t have to hide himself away in this collapsed, ruined place.
If he became stronger, maybe he could break the curse tied to his family as well.
