Song of the Sword Saint (3)

It was a different sensation. I could feel it inside me. A tranquil river that flowed alongside the hot stream of my blood.

I thought I could bring out this flow if I could focus a little.

I tried. And slowly, like a thread weaving to become yarn, a blue translucent lump of illumination was hovering over my palm.

"...beautiful."

The only word that could describe it.

"As I thought."

My Master's voice rang out.

"You really have the blood of the Yulens. To adapt to mana in just an hour when it usually takes weeks. Truly a magnificent talent."

The blood that was flowing in me, that was of the Yulens. The magicians that dominated the Tower were my family. And there was my father— Lenin Yulen— the only magician among the ten high rankers. Undoubtedly, he reached that position using his overwhelming talent for magic. And I, as his child, was naturally gifted by mana.

"So, what do you think?"

"It's… wonderful."

It was a new world for me to spread my wings, a new world to explore.

It was wonderful.

"Right."

There was a melancholy smile on Master's face. His eyes were sad as he stared at the yarn of mana hovering over my hand.

"I hope you don't fall to that 'side'."

He muttered something indescribable but I decided not to pay much heed to it. It was probably a thoughtless mutter.

"Anyway, you are now ready."

I tilted my head at his words.

"I am ready?"

"Come with me."

I dispersed the ball of mana and followed him outside.

A full moon greeted us. The rejuvenating effect of Plum Locus started to show its effects. An unfounded calmness streamed inside me. The mind that was taxed with fatigue became quiet and serene.

I walked side by side with Master. His strides were long and dignified, befitting someone who lived by the sword and for the sword.

I glanced at his face. A smile was hanging on his lips, a calm and thin smile. Three years ago, those lips were biting each other in anger and sorrow but it seemed like Master had seen hope again.

He stopped and so did I.

I stared at his face and he looked down at me.

"From today onwards, you will be my official disciple."

Whoosh—

The breeze flew. The pink plum blossoms spiralled around us. Our clothes fluttered under the soft kiss of the moonlight.

"Yes, Master."

I got on both of my knees and my head touched the hard ground.

I became his disciple.

"..."

I stared at the sword in Master's hand. It was an ordinary sword. Its edge glistened in the brilliant moonlight.

He was going to show me.

'The complete Song of the Sword Saint."

He turned around. His back was wide and the sword in his hand seemed to be smiling.

What I saw next could only be described as… unsullied.

***

He left.

I was alone, holding a sword.

It was silent.

I remembered what I saw.

I was possessed by something. That something made me move.

The thunder should be fluid, like a flowing river.

It should not waver. It should be steady and soft.

"First Formation."

It should be graceful.

A violent helix dyed in red. An unseen grace that seemed too familiar.

"Soft Falling Thunder."

A dance that captivated the essence of destruction. A silent dance that walked the path of destruction, bathed in elegance and fury.

"Second Formation."

The steps should be soft. But not too soft! You are going to fall, or else. They should be firm but soft as if you are walking on a thin line.

A never wavering and kind body, that's how it should be.

"Gentle Lightning Steps."

Connect them. Don't let go of the flow. Keep flowing like your life depends on it.

"Third Formation."

Rise like a Dragon. Don't falter at the sight of the fierce winds. Break through them and reign over the skies. Fly high.

"Ascending Thunder."

Let your body move as it wishes. Lift all the restrictions. You are in the heavens and there's someone with you.

"Fourth Formation."

Dance with your partner in the skies. Let the thunder spew out its melodies. Let the lightning light up the stage. Dance!

"Dance of the Roaring Thunder."

Now, sing the song.

"Fifth Formation."

Sing of the Song of the Sword Saint.

"Song of the Thunder."

A white vision.

A blurring screech.

An evanescence consciousness.

I was floating

I saw something.

An eye. It was staring at me. It was choking me.

Fear overcame my mind.

It was gigantic. I seemed like a flea in front of it. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't see the end of the pupil no matter how much I tried.

I died there.

Or so I thought.

I was again in front of it.

The longer I looked at it, the more I died.

I tried to look away but it was everywhere.

It had its eyes locked on me.

I tried to scream.

Nothing escaped my throat.

Its presence reminded me of…

'A god.'

I died again.

***