Aziel, motivated by his success with the fingers and wrist, shifted his focus to the forearm and upper arm.
He attempted to work the arm, picturing it becoming straight and then bent a few times.
The arm reacted to Aziel's mental instruction, but the movement was awkward, uncontrolled.
It flailed wildly, lacking the stability of a connected body to anchor it.
The severed limb twisted and turned, its motions erratic and imprecise. It resembled a marionette with tangled strings, its movements jerky and disconnected.
"It's floppy," Aziel observed, frowning.
"Yes," Blackie responded. "It doesn't have the support of a body, so its movements are unsteady. Just hold it close to the shoulder, where it's cut off."
Aziel reached out with his right hand and grasped the summoned arm near the severed point.
The flesh felt strangely cold and firm, yet yielded slightly to his grip.
He examined the severed end.
The bone, muscle, and sinew were visible, yet no blood flowed. The wound seemed sealed, the blood within congealed.
"Now, try to move it," Blackie instructed.
With the added support of Aziel's hand, the summoned arm moved with newfound stability.
Aziel flexed the elbow, rotated the forearm, and swung the arm back and forth.
The movements were fluid and controlled, mirroring his intentions perfectly.
It felt as if his own arm had simply grown longer, an extension of his will.
"This," Blackie announced, "is the practical application of your power. Imagine the possibilities."
Aziel grinned, the implications of this newfound ability racing through his mind.
"But that's not all," Blackie continued, a hint of something more in its tone. "There's another aspect to this power, something even more amazing."
Aziel raised an eyebrow, curious.
"Each arm you collect inherits the skills of its original owner," Blackie explained.
Aziel's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
Blackie then elaborated further, its tone becoming even more instructive. "The arm you're holding right now, it used to belong to a really skilled samurai. And the cool thing is, all that samurai stuff, like muscle memory and reflexes, it's still there in the arm. So basically, by using it, you kind of become a master swordsman yourself."
Aziel stared at the arm in his hand, a newfound respect for the limb blossoming within him.
That explained why the arm looked so well-built.
"Let's give it a shot. You'll learn more by doing than by listening to me talk. Find a straight stick. Something you can grip with the summoned hand," Blackie said.
Aziel looked around the cave and spotted a slender, relatively straight stick lying near the entrance.
He picked it up and, after a moment of fumbling, managed to position it within the grasp of the summoned hand.
The fingers curled around the stick, holding it with surprising firmness.
"Now," Blackie continued, "take a handful of leaves with your left hand and toss them into the air."
Aziel wondered what Blackie wanted him to do, but he stayed quiet and did as told.
To the left of the cave mouth was a thick tree. Lots of dropped leaves lay all around it.
He gathered a small cluster of leaves from a nearby vine and, with a flick of his wrist, sent them fluttering upwards.
They danced in the air, swirling gently around him in the dim light of the cave.
"Now, focus," Blackie directed. "Command the arm to cut the leaves with the stick. Visualize it. Will it to happen."
Aziel closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the leaves falling, the stick slicing through them with impossible speed and precision.
He opened his eyes, focused on the floating leaves, and sent the mental command to the summoned arm.
A blur of motion.
The summoned arm moved with a speed that defied comprehension.
The stick became a flashing blade, slicing through the air with preternatural accuracy.
Each leaf, as it drifted downwards, was bisected cleanly, two halves fluttering to the ground.
Aziel stood, stunned, watching the remnants of the leaves settle around him. The summoned arm remained poised, the stick still clutched firmly in its grasp.
He stared at the arm, then back at the scattered leaf halves, a mixture of awe and disbelief swirling within him.
The precision was breathtaking; each leaf, caught in its trajectory, was cleanly severed with impossible speed.
It wasn't just cutting; it was dancing, a lethal ballet of blade and air.
"Excellent," Blackie's voice cut through Aziel's awe. "Now, add your own motion. Make it like a fight. Don't just stand there; become the blade."
Aziel understood. He needed a connection, a flow between his movements and the arm's abilities.
He shouldn't just observe, he had to participate.
Aziel picked and tossed another handful of leaves, higher this time, creating a swirling cloud.
As the leaves danced, an electric thrill shot through him.
The arm, responding instantly to his unspoken intent, became an extension of his will.
It wasn't just a limb; it was part of him.
The leaves rained down, each one neatly bisected.
Aziel felt a surge of exhilaration, a profound sense of accomplishment.
He wasn't just wielding the arm; he was becoming it.
"Amazing," Aziel breathed, a grin splitting his face. "I felt like I was a different person for a moment."
"Good," Blackie acknowledged, his voice steady and measured. "But remember, the skill is in the arm, not in you. You can't just magically pick up swordsmanship overnight. You're just using the arm's natural abilities and the skills it has. Pay attention to the little differences and try to predict what it's going to do next. Get in sync with its rhythm and smooth out your movements to make them flow better."
Aziel nodded, the concept clear.
He wasn't a samurai; he was a conductor, harmonizing his will with the arm's pre-existing mastery.
He gathered another handful of leaves and tossed them high into the air, a wider, more challenging arc this time.
He moved with the arm, his body mirroring its elegant, lethal grace.
The leaves became a flurry of motion, a test of synchronization.
The arm sliced through them with effortless precision.
Blackie urged, "Harder! Better! Faster! Stronger!"
Aziel summoned even greater power and movement, a whirlwind of chaotic energy blossoming around him.
The arm in his right hand becoming a phantom blur of fluid motion.
In that instant, he was no longer just Aziel; he transformed into a tempest of coordinated action, a warrior sculpted by instinct and refined skill.
As the last leaf fell, it was bisected with flawless precision.
Silence enveloped the space, the echoes of his earlier flurry gradually fading into the background.
Aziel stood still, his chest heaving as he savored the exhilarating feeling coursing through him.
The precision, the speed, the flawless coordination... it was nothing short of amazing.
A triumphant smile danced on his lips; in that moment, he had truly mastered, at least temporarily, the intricate sword art of the samurai.