"Despite death, there is value in living..."
---
The essence of combat is simple.
Style, weapons, reason, intention—all of that is secondary. Every movement, every action, serves a single purpose: to kill or to avoid one's own death.
In the end, one dies, and the other becomes the killer.
Life offers us no other choice. The fight, the violence, the pain—all of it is inevitable, a constant that imposes its own rules.
And what worth does that hold? None. For, in the end, Death is the culmination of all we do.
Empty... futile...
Thus, combat is stupidity. And, by consequence, stupidity is murder.
This is the truth.
When you comprehend this, you attain the clarity needed to master the mind.
Thus spoke the Peregrine.
The words dissolved into the veil of twilight.
...
The Peregrine comforted the distraught young woman.
A sharp scream cut through the pre-dawn mist.
"There is no enemy," he said. "She had a nightmare." His voice echoed among his companions, who awoke suddenly, swords in hand.
The Peregrine gently wrapped the young woman in his arms.
"There is no enemy.
It was only a nightmare. All will be well. Calm yourself."
His companions heard his words dissolve into the darkness of the early morning.
"The—the head... I saw it... oh, gods!" the girl whispered, terror still in her voice.
The Peregrine soothed her with tenderness.
"It's all right.
It was only a nightmare. All will be well."
...
At first, I saw through the mist a darkness without bounds, sealed behind seven locks. Something vast stirred within that darkness, and I felt, deep in my soul, that if I looked directly, my mind would shatter.
Terror consumed me...
And as I watched, the seals began to break one by one, until only one remained. Then that last seal too was shattered.
And after that... I do not know. It was as if my mind splintered into a thousand shards, each reflecting its own image. Most were dark, terrifying, or shrouded by the mist. Some fragments I have already forgotten, as if they never existed.
But in one...
I saw the human castle once more. Only this time it was night. A solitary star burned in the black sky, and under its light the castle rose, cloaked in mist and drifting snow.
Red roses, of an almost black hue, flowed through the fog-filled halls.
I saw a corpse in golden armor, fallen to the ground, a sublime crystal sword driven beside it. A woman with a bronze spear was drowning in a tide of monsters, her strength ebbing away. An archer tried to pierce the falling sky with his arrows, desperate to achieve the impossible.
The mist and snowflakes swirled thicker... making the vision... ever... more fragile.
At last, I beheld a colossal, nightmarish tower, red as blood. At its base, seven severed heads guarded seven locks. And at its summit... a dying angel, consumed by ravenous shadows. The roses flew toward those shadows, borne by wind, mist, and snow.
Then the vision, unable to withstand the chill of the roses and the fog that poured from them, split in two.
In one half... I saw the angel... bleed.
A profound pain descended upon me, as if something ineffable, precious, had been torn from my being—as if I had lost something I did not even know I possessed.
One of the roses disintegrated... into frozen petals... melting in the mist.
A vast sorrow, a piercing agony, and a devastating rage seized me. What remained of my sanity seemed to vanish, dissolving into the roses and the icy fog they exhaled.
It was then that I awoke... or, at least, I believe I awoke.
...
Ariandel reached out to Nephis, asking to borrow her sword. She remained still for a moment, her expression unreadable before, without a word, she handed him the weapon.
With the sword in hand, he turned to Sunless, the silver blade gleaming in the morning light.
"Take your sword," Ariandel said simply. Sunless complied, invoking the Azure Blade.
Ariandel placed both swords side by side, indicating differences and similarities with a firm, direct gesture.
"Observe. Your blade, Sunny, is designed primarily for cuts. This is reflected in its higher center of gravity, which enables swift, powerful strikes. Yet its shorter length and compact design still allow for moderately efficient thrusts."
He lifted Nephis's sword.
"Now this one. It is longer and more balanced, built to offer versatility. It combines good cutting and thrusting performance with superior reach. The difference between them lies in their specializations."
With a more direct tone, he continued:
"But in the end, the principle behind wielding them is the same."
Ariandel assumed a combat stance, holding Nephis's sword with both hands—one near the guard and the other by the pommel. He executed a downward strike with methodical precision, explaining as he moved.
"Swords are tools of leverage. To generate force, you must understand how to channel energy through the body into the blade. Here"—he gestured to his upper hand—"you push. And here"—he pointed to his lower hand—"you pull. This combined action maximizes the speed and impact of the blow."
He repeated the motion, adjusting his footwork for demonstration.
"But the power doesn't come only from the hands. It starts at the feet. The movement must transfer from the feet, through the hips, then up the torso and finally through the shoulders. The hands merely guide that accumulated energy into the blade."
He paused and looked at Sunless.
"Now you."
Sunless raised the Azure Blade, attempting to mimic the movement. The strike was firm but awkward. Ariandel shook his head gently, repositioning the boy's feet with a brief touch.
"Too much weight on your heel. Distribute better. And adjust the blade's angle—you're losing cutting efficiency."
Sunless tried again, this time following the instructions more closely.
"Better. But you're still locking your hips. Relax that area, or you'll waste energy. Let the motion flow."
Ariandel took position beside Sunless and resumed the combat stance.
"Let us practice together. Don't worry about numbers now. Just keep going until the movement feels natural."
They began repeating the downward strike, side by side. Ariandel not only practiced but watched each of Sunless's movements, correcting mistakes as they arose.
"Your lower arm is too rigid. Pull with softness. Think of the motion as a continuous arc."
"Don't watch the blade. Trust your body's alignment."
"Your shoulders—don't let them rise; keep them relaxed."
Practice continued, and over time Sunless felt the motions flow more organically. Ariandel's presence at his side, repeating strikes with technical precision, served as both guide and inspiration.
After a long period of training, Sunless finally broke the silence.
"How do you know so much about swordsmanship?"
He paused, drawing a deep breath.
"You teach as if it were second nature to you. Whence comes all this knowledge?"
Ariandel did not answer at once. He lifted Nephis's sword once more, executing a final strike with impeccable precision. Only then did he turn to Sunless, a faint smile playing on his lips and a hint of amusement in his serene expression.
"Sunny," said the Peregrine with a pleasant, easy laugh, "just follow the script, okay? If I were teaching it wrongly, Nephis would have interrupted us already."
Sunless cast a quick glance at Nephis, who watched from a distance, seated beside Cassia, betraying no visible reaction.
"Now, back to practice. The more you do, the sooner it will make sense."
"Okay," Sunless replied, though doubts still lingered in his mind.
He raised the Azure Blade once more, repeating the movement Ariandel had taught him, feeling gradual improvement with each attempt.
Repetition, practice, and discipline...
With Ariandel at his side, even the simple act of striking carried an intricate science and a philosophy Sunless was only beginning to explore.
---
"… and, by love, even eternity becomes bearable."