Chapter 36: Weight of a Blade
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Theron’s office looked the sa as before, simple and functional with a desk covered in papers and bookshelves filled with reports. The window overlooked the training yard where soldiers were still going through their drills, their movents sharp and precise even from this distance. Nothing fancy, nothing decorative.
Just a workspace that reflected the man who used it.
Theron sat behind the desk, reading sothing. He looked up when I entered, and for a mont neither of us spoke. His pale blue eyes studied
carefully, taking in how I moved, how I held myself, probably noticing every little tension I tried to hide.
Then he gestured to the chair across from him.
"...Sit."
I sat. The movent still sent a dull ache through my side, but I kept my expression neutral. Didn’t want him thinking I was still weak or not ready.
He leaned back in his chair and looked at
for a long mont.
"You look better," he said finally.
I nodded. "Yeah. I’m finally better than before."
"The healer said you’re recovering well. Should be fine in a few more days." He paused. "How do you feel?"
I considered lying, considered saying I was fine with no problems at all. But sothing in his eyes made
think he’d see through it anyway.
"Sore," I admitted. "But I can move. That’s what matters."
Theron nodded slowly. "You pushed yourself too hard. Your body needed to crash."
"I didn’t co here to rest."
"No. You ca here to learn." He folded his hands on the desk. "But learning and rushing are two different things. You understand that, right?"
I nodded.
He was quiet for a mont, just watching
with those pale eyes. Then—
"That was a good fight. With Kael."
I blinked. "Thank you, but I... lost."
"Yes. You did." His voice was calm and matter-of-fact, with no judgnt in it. "But you lasted longer than anyone expected. You landed hits. You didn’t quit when you could have." He looked at . "That matters more than winning or losing right now."
"..."
"But it also showed
sothing." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You have instincts. Raw, unrefined, ssy instincts. But they’re there. The problem is you don’t know how to use them. You don’t have a foundation to build on."
I listened without saying anything.
"Your footwork is sloppy. Your stance is inconsistent. Your attacks have no intent behind them—you’re just swinging and hoping sothing lands." He ticked each point off on his fingers. "You rely on your skill too much. You forget the basics the mont things get intense. And you have no idea what kind of fighter you want to be."
That last one stung because it was true.
"...I know," I muttered.
"Oh? Do you?" Theron’s voice wasn’t harsh, just honest. "Because knowing and understanding are different things. You can know you have a problem, but until you understand why it’s a problem, you’ll never fix it."
I looked at him properly then. There was no mockery in his eyes, no disappointnt. Just patience, like he’d been where I was once, a long ti ago.
"You ca here to learn," he continued, "and I’m not going to waste your ti or mine by pretending you’re ready for sothing you’re not."
He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the training yard where soldiers ran drills and swung swords. The snow was falling again, light and endless.
"Your trial is coming soon. How many days left?"
I thought about it, counting in my head. "Eleven. Maybe ten? I’m not entirely sure after being unconscious for three days."
He nodded slowly. "Eleven days or ten, huh. That’s not a lot of ti."
"I know."
He turned to face . "Honestly? We both know you won’t be able to learn everything in just a few days. Especially not with how little ti we have."
The words hit
harder than I expected because he was right. Eleven days was nothing, not nearly enough to learn what I needed or build the kind of foundation that would keep
alive in that trial.
He’s... right. I won’t be able to master anything in eleven days.
I won’t even be able to fix my foundation properly. I ca here thinking I could learn enough to survive, but what if I can’t?
What if eleven days isn’t enough?
What if I go into that trial and die because I wasn’t ready?
My jaw clenched and my hands gripped the arms of the chair.
Theron must have seen sothing in my expression because his voice softened just a little.
"But don’t let that discourage you."
I looked up.
"This is just how it is." He walked back to his desk and leaned against it. "If you think you’ll be able to correct or master your foundation in a few days, you’re wrong. It takes everyone ti to build their foundation—months, years, sotis longer."
I let his words sink in.
"It doesn’t matter which weapon you use or how talented you are. Building a foundation takes effort and ti. And even when you reach what you think is your peak, you still have to work on it every single day."
He paused, letting that settle.
"I still practice my foundation every day. Stances, footwork, basic cuts—things I’ve done thousands of tis." He looked at . "Because if you neglect the basics, you fall apart when it matters. I don’t care how strong you get or how many techniques you learn. If your foundation is weak, you’ll break."
I stared at him.
"So yes." He t my eyes. "You can learn. If you practice every day, if you give it ti and effort, you can correct your foundation and beco strong. But it won’t happen overnight, and it won’t happen just because you want it badly enough."
I didn’t respond right away. His words were too heavy, too real.
He’s right. I’ve been thinking like this was so ga where I could just grind and level up, but it’s not. It’s real, and real takes ti and work and patience.
I took a breath and let it out slow.
"...Okay," I said. "I understand."
Theron studied
for another mont, then nodded.
"Good. Then let’s get started."
He led
out of the office and through a series of corridors I hadn’t seen before, deeper into the fortress past areas where soldiers trained and areas that looked private and restricted. The further we went, the quieter it got with fewer soldiers and fewer sounds, just the echo of our footsteps on stone.
We stopped in front of a door that was different from the others. This one was tal, sleek and modern, with a panel beside it that glowed blue. No markings, no insignia, just a door that looked like it belonged sowhere else entirely.
Theron pressed his palm to the panel. It scanned and beeped, and the door slid open with a soft hiss.
"This is my personal training hall," he said. "No one else uses it."
I stepped inside.
The room was massive, way bigger than I expected from the outside. High ceilings with mana-lamps that glowed bright and steady, casting light into every corner. The floor was so kind of reinforced material, dark and smooth but with enough grip to move without slipping.
Along one wall, racks of weapons held swords of all shapes and sizes—wooden practice swords, tal ones, so with curved blades and others with straight edges or strange angles I didn’t recognize.
Training dummies that looked advanced, probably with sensors and feedback systems built in. Weight machines that humd with mana. Obstacle elents that folded into the walls. Holographic projectors in the ceiling, dark now but ready to activate.
This wasn’t like the training hall I’d used with Vex. That one was for soldiers, for group drills, for building endurance and teamwork. This was personal and private, built for one person to perfect their craft alone.
"Wow," I muttered, looking around.
Theron ignored
and walked to the center of the room, turning to face .
"Since you’re here to learn from
and I’m a swordsman, I assu you want to use a sword as your weapon."
I nodded. "...Yes."
"Good." He gestured to the weapon rack. "What type?"
I blinked. "What?"
"What type of sword?" He looked at
like it was obvious. "There are dozens—different shapes, different sizes, different purposes. Which one do you want to use?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
What type? I hadn’t even thought about that.
Silence stretched between us.
Theron’s eyes narrowed. "Wait. So you ca here to learn from , to beco a swordsman, and you haven’t decided what type of sword you want to use?"
I looked away, rubbing the back of my neck. "Well... I haven’t really thought about it. I just thought a sword was a sword."
He stared at
for a long mont.
Then he sighed, a deep and heavy sound that said more than words could.
"Don’t tell ." His voice was flat. "You decided on a katana because of that stupid tattoo on your neck."
I touched my neck, feeling the black katana wrapped in lightning that stood stark against my pale skin.
Oh yeah. I have that.
I an... yes, I’d thought about using a katana. They were cool, and every gar dreams of using a katana at least once. The curved blade, the quick draws, the way they looked in every ga and ani I’d ever seen—there was sothing about them that just felt right.
But honestly? I didn’t really know what weapon to use.
I an, co on—I was just so ordinary guy a few weeks ago who died and transmigrated here, ending up in this body that barely knew how to hold a sword properly.
I’d never used a real sword in my life on Earth, and the original Leo had learned barely anything. A few basics when he was younger, maybe, but nothing substantial that mattered.
So here I was, standing in front of one of the best swordsn in the Human Domain, and I didn’t even know what kind of sword I wanted to use.
Pathetic. Really pathetic.
Theron pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed again and walked to the weapon rack.
"Look, Leo." He pulled out a long, straight sword and held it up. "Every weapon is different. You know that, right?"
I nodded.
"And every sword is different from every other sword." He set that one aside and picked up another, thicker and heavier with a broader blade. "They co in different shapes and sizes. Each one has its own properties and its own purpose. You can’t just pick one because it looks cool."
He held up the first sword again.
"This is a longsword. Balanced and versatile, used for both cutting and thrusting. Good for reach and good for control. You can adapt to most situations with a longsword, but it doesn’t excel at any one thing."
He set it aside and picked up the heavier one.
"This is a greatsword. Heavy and powerful, used for overwhelming force. You don’t move fast with this—you move like a wall and hit like one too. But it takes strength to wield, and you’ll tire faster."
He set that aside and picked up another, curved and elegant with a single edge.
"This is a katana." He held it up. "Light and fast, designed for precision cuts. The curve helps with drawing and striking in one motion. It’s not about power—it’s about speed and accuracy. A katana rewards skill over strength."
He looked at .
"Each of these swords has a purpose. A longsword can do many things well. A greatsword is for power. A katana is for speed and precision. You can’t use a greatsword the way you use a katana, and you can’t use a katana the way you use a longsword. They’re different tools for different jobs."
I understood, sort of.
"So katana is for speed?"
"Yes. Fast strikes and precise cuts. It’s a weapon that demands control." He set it back on the rack. "But it’s also harder to master. One mistake with a katana and you’re dead—there’s no room for error, no heavy blade to block with, no reach to keep enemies at a distance. Just speed and precision."
I thought about what he was saying.
Fast. Precise. Rewards skill over strength.
That sounded like , or at least what I wanted to be. I wasn’t strong and probably never would be compared to people like Kael or Arthur. But speed and precision? Those I could work on. Those I could learn.
"I want to use a katana," I said.
Theron looked at . "Because of the tattoo?"
"No." I shook my head. "Because of what you said. Fast, precise, rewards skill." I t his eyes. "I’m not strong and I know that. But I can learn to be fast and precise. That’s what I want."
He studied
for a long mont, then nodded slowly.
"...Alright. Katana it is."
He picked up a wooden practice sword, curved and shaped like a katana, balanced for training, and tossed it to . I caught it barely, the weight different than I expected—lighter than a longsword but still substantial, still real.
I held it in my hands and looked at it. Curved blade, simple hilt, nothing fancy, but it felt right sohow.
This is what I’ll be learning. This is what I’ll be using.
Theron watched
for a mont, then walked back to the center of the room and turned to face .
"Before I teach you anything," he said, his voice shifting to beco serious.
I looked up.
His expression had changed, his eyes hard and focused. And suddenly I felt it—pressure. His aura pressing down on , heavy and inescapable. Not painful but impossible to ignore, like the weight of the world settling on my shoulders.
I froze, unable to move, barely able to breathe.
He stepped closer and looked
straight in the eyes.
"Tell , Leo." His voice was low, quiet, dangerous. "What is your purpose for wielding a sword?"
I stared at him, my mind going blank.
...Purpose?
The pressure increased, my knees wanting to buckle.
"Why do you want to hold a sword? What’s your purpose?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
I don’t know.
The question hung in the air between us, heavy and waiting.
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