Leo was sweating buckets, his muscles screaming in protest, as he tried to follow Roland's instructions. His two short swords flashed through the air, but his movents were stiff and hesitant, lacking the fluidity of a seasoned swordsman.
Roland stuck his greatsword in the ground and leaned on the poml, watching him closely, as firm and unshakeable as an old oak tree.
"Again," Roland said.
Leo had lost count of how many tis he'd done these drills over the past week. Roland was a tough teacher, as tough as they co. He was famous for a reason, and now Leo was finding out why.
He felt like a clumsy child, his movents awkward and unrefined compared to the effortless grace of his teacher.
"Focus, lad," Roland said, his voice resonating across the training grounds. "Swordsmanship is not simply brute strength. It needs to be as fluid and powerful as the mountain wind, unstoppable and focused."
Leo, panting heavily, attempted a strike, but Roland swiftly corrected him. His blades were fast, but Roland, with his years of experience, read his movents and consistently anticipated the young apprentice's mistakes.
"Your stance," Roland corrected, his voice firm. "You are planted like a fragile shrub, ready to be uprooted by the slightest breeze, let alone an experienced opponent."
He pointed the tip of his sword at Leo's feet. "Imagine yourself with strong roots anchoring you to the earth. Maintain focus on your legs; they are your foundation. Strive to be a mighty oak, unyielding and powerful, not a delicate balsam fir."
With the fluid grace of a predator, Roland swung, his greatsword whistling through the air like the wind, as the nearby leaves and branches danced in response.
Even though it was a massive weapon, it flowed effortlessly in his hands, an extension of his own body.
He moved back and forth, his greatsword a silver flash in the morning sun, the air humming with each swing.
Leo tried to mirror him, but his movents were clumsy, his short swords trembling in his grip. He struggled to emulate Roland's effortless flow, his own motions stiff and uncertain.
"Better," Roland said, "but you still have a lot to learn. You need to be flexible like water, lad. Adapt. Flow with the movents; don't fight against them. Water can be calm and still like a lake or raging like a waterfall. Find your rhythm, your own flow, but never stop moving."
Roland stopped, his gaze dropping to the ground, where Leo's shadow stretched long and distorted in the morning light.
"Look, even your shadow moves with the sun," Roland said, his voice softer now. "Nothing in nature remains static. Swordsmanship is about movent, about embracing the flow of life itself."
"But how can that be the sa?" Leo asked, incredulous. "I use two shortswords, and you wield a greatsword. They're completely different."
"The fundantals of swordsmanship are the sa," Roland explained. "What differs is what you aspire to achieve through your swordsmanship. Even if your style is based on speed and agility, your stance must be firm, a solid anchor for your movents."
Leonard nodded.
Roland continued, "Even if your attacks seem light, they must flow together, seeking the opening, the lethal point. The answer, lad, lies not just in how you move but in the fluidity, the control, and the stability of your movents."
Leo agreed, trying to absorb each word, his mind struggling to grasp the deeper aning.
He looked down at his short swords, trying to see them not as re weapons but as extensions of his own body—light as air, fluid as water, ready to move as he willed them.
Leo took a deep breath, feeling the sun's warmth on his skin, the solid earth beneath his feet, and the cool breeze against his face. He resolved to use all of it to his advantage. He would beco one with his surroundings, like Roland said.
Roland placed a hand on Leo's shoulder, a surprisingly gentle touch for such a hardened warrior.
"You have potential, lad. But potential is like a seed; it needs to be cultivated and nurtured with dedication and patience if it's to grow into sothing strong. Continue practicing, keep pushing yourself, and one day you will flourish. I have no doubt."
"First you put through hell, and now you say sothing so kind?" Leo smiled—a genuine smile, the first one to truly reach his eyes in what felt like an eternity.
In that instant, a spark of hope ignited within him, and he felt a profound connection with Roland, a sense of trust he hadn't felt for anyone else since Besen.
"HAHAHAHA!" Roland roared with laughter, sheathing his greatsword with a decisive clang. Before turning away, he clapped Leo on the back, a gesture of camaraderie that conveyed a powerful ssage.
He stopped a short distance away and locked his gaze on Leo, his eyes piercing, searching.
Leo, emboldened by Roland's words and by the strange, exhilarating feeling that had blood within him during their spar, t his instructor's intense gaze. His own eyes shone with newfound determination, a silent promise passing between them.
He felt the weight of the analogy, the profound wisdom in Roland's words, and a surge of resolve filled him.
He was ready—ready to embrace the arduous journey ahead.
One day, no matter how distant it seed, he would beco a warrior worthy of Roland's faith. He would honor his teachings; he would seize the opportunities given to him; he would avenge those he had lost.
A sudden understanding dawned on Leo. Swordsmanship wasn't just fighting. It was like a dance, a fluid conversation between two bodies, two wills.
He was starting to get it, starting to feel the rhythm.
"I should stop overthinking and just let the movents flow." Leo decided to let the countless hours of practice take over, trusting his instincts.
Roland sensed sothing coming and raised his greatsword, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. "Now this is the real deal," Roland said, his voice low and serious.
"Don't hold back. Attack and rember everything I taught you. Blow like the wind, flow like water, and be firm like a tree," Roland shouted.
"Be the dance itself," Leo whispered, more to himself than to Roland.
A smile flickered across Roland's lips, impressed.
He observed a change in Leo, a new understanding in his eyes. "A dance, huh... Interesting. Has the kid finally found his path?" He thought to himself.
Roland took his battle stance, his greatsword held ready. "Co!" he commanded, his voice ringing with challenge.
Taking a deep breath, Leo drew his short swords. He closed his eyes for a mont, feeling the weight of the blades in his hands, the cool air on his skin, and the solid ground beneath his feet.
Then, opening his eyes, he took his first step, not as a clumsy novice but as a dancer stepping onto the stage.
Following his epiphany, he moved with a newfound focus, his entire being committed fully to the action. It was as if a switch had been flipped within him.
A tunnel of focus narrowed his vision. To Leo, ti slowed, each movent, each breath, occurring with remarkable clarity and precision.
He sprinted toward Roland, feeling a surge of energy, a latent power, coursing through his legs.
He propelled forward, his short swords crossing in an X, aid at Roland's neck, targeting the jugular and aorta—acting purely on instinct, born from a desperate need to prove himself.
Roland's eyes widened, raising his greatsword at the last possible second and deflecting the attack with practiced ease.
A tallic clang echoed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone present.
Leo was thrown aside and rolled across the ground from the force of the impact. He was left breathless and bewildered. "Why did Roland wait until the last mont to block my attack?" He wondered, his mind racing.
Roland stood motionless for a mont, processing what had just happened.
He had seen sothing in that attack, sothing beyond re skill or technique. It was as if the boy had montarily transcended his limitations.
He rembered Leo showing him his stats card—he'd never seen such weak stats in his life. So, what the heck just happened? He looked at Leo, his gaze intense, searching. His eyes burned with intensity.
"Sorry, Mr. Roland, I got a little too into it," Leo said, trying to get up, but his legs wouldn't work. He felt drained and exhausted, as if he had run a marathon.
"What the heck was that?" Roland muttered, more to himself than to Leo.
Leo just couldn't understand it. To him, it felt like what he always did, just a little more focused this ti.
However, Roland was completely unaware of Leo's ability to cover such a vast expanse and launch an attack in such a short amount of ti.
"What's the secret behind that, lad?" Roland asked him, his voice low and serious.
"I didn't do anything more than what you already taught , Mr. Roland," Leo said, rubbing his legs, trying to get the feeling back into them.
"You got nothing else to tell ? You sure?" Roland held a stern gaze.
Leo thought if he should trust Roland and tell him about his growth potential. Roland had been like a guardian angel to him so far, so he figured it was okay to tell him.
Leo then took a small crumpled piece of Guild House magic paper out of his pocket and gave it to Roland, who opened the paper and read…
"Growth Potential: ⛤."
Roland's gaze was burning, and his throat was a lump of anxiety.
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