Aldric raised his stick and moved into a striking position. His posture was flawless—his body balanced, his movements efficient.
"There are five fundamental strikes in swordsmanship," he explained. "Master these, and you will have the foundation to build upon."
He demonstrated the first strike, a diagonal slash from the right shoulder down to the left hip. The movement was smooth, controlled—not just a wild swing, but a calculated motion.
"This is the first strike. An attack that follows the natural movement of your body. Power comes not just from your arms, but from your whole body working together."
Darian nodded, lifting his stick and attempting to mimic the movement. He slashed downward, but it lacked the grace of Aldric's demonstration. His swing felt forced, unnatural.
Aldric immediately stepped behind him and adjusted his posture.
"Loosen your shoulders. You're forcing the swing. Let it flow naturally," he instructed. "Your feet—keep them grounded, but don't root yourself in place. Movement is key."
Darian took a breath and tried again. This time, he focused not just on strength, but on form. The strike was still rough, but it felt… better.
Aldric nodded. "Again."
Darian repeated the motion. Again. And again. Each time, Aldric corrected his form, refining his stance, his grip, his follow-through.
By the time they moved on to the second strike—a diagonal slash from the left shoulder to the right hip—Darian's muscles were beginning to burn. But he pushed through, determination burning in his eyes.
Aldric observed in silence for a moment, then smirked.
"Good. He has the will to endure."
The lesson continued, each strike adding another layer to Darian's growing skill. The road ahead was long, but for the first time, Darian felt it—he was truly walking the path of the sword.
A few days of training
The rhythmic clang of steel against steel echoed through the training grounds as Darian struggled to keep up with Aldric's relentless strikes. Sweat trickled down his brow, his grip tightening around the hilt of his training sword as he blocked another powerful swing. Though he had improved over the past few days, Aldric remained leagues ahead, his movements fluid and precise, almost effortless.
"Good," Aldric grunted as Darian managed to parry a thrust. "You're learning." He took a step back, lowering his blade. "But remember, I can only help you build your foundation. The true path of the sword… that, you must find on your own."
Darian blinked, breathing heavily. "Find my own path?"
Aldric nodded, sheathing his sword. "Every swordsman has a way that suits them best. Some rely on sheer strength, others on speed, and some on technique. But the greatest warriors understand themselves—their strengths, their weaknesses—and shape their swordsmanship around that."
Darian frowned, gripping his blade. "Then… how did you find yours?"
Aldric smirked slightly, his eyes carrying the weight of experience. "I learned that my strength lies not in speed or finesse but in unwavering resilience. I do not strike hoping to hit—I strike knowing I will and avoid waste movements. I do not hesitate. Every strike, every block, every step—I make them count." His expression grew serious. "You, Darian… you must discover what defines you. No one else can do that for you."
The training ended shortly after, but Aldric's words lingered in Darian's mind. As he sat on a wooden bench, gazing at the twilight sky, he found himself lost in thought. Find my own path… but how?
He clenched his fists. What defines me? What kind of swordsman am I meant to be?
Despite the exhaustion in his body, his mind refused to rest. The path before him was still unclear, but one thing was certain—he had to find the answer himself.