The Essence of War

With casual strides, Chase walked over to the weapon racks before leaving the training classroom.

'Thieves, huh?'

Chase grabbed the same sword that he had used in the duel, a simple dull-steel bastard sword, that was poorly balanced. 

He doubted that Barren would even care, much less notice if the crappy sword went missing.

As he left the room carrying the sword over his shoulder, he gained several strange looks from students that passed him in the halls. 

He didn't really care, not after the embarrassing outcome of his first duel at the academy. 

While his classes were more or less over for the day. Many other students were still in class- which meant that he most likely would have the courtyard to himself. 

And sure enough, he did...

As he stepped out of the grand, marble doors of the academy- he was greeted with a heavy breeze that smelled of flowers, and newly cut grass.

Spanned out in front of him was a vast stretch of land, filled with trees and gardens. It was surrounded by the academy's tall and graceful walls. 

A stone pathway led him in-between patches of poppies, and several other vibrant flowers that he couldn't even name. 

Eventually, he found a small opening surrounded by trees, with a small wooden bench that sat next to a pleasant area, that he could use to train. 

Sitting on the bench, he set the dull blade on the ground, leaning against the bench's arm rail. 

He leaned his back against the wooden surface, and set the torn-leather book that professor Barren had given him earlier- on the top of his lap. 

On the cover of the book, scratched out writing marked the title of the book.

After several minutes of studying the ripped up title, Chase was finally able to decipher the words, as well as the author's name...

'The Essence of War, by Vigil, of House Insignia...'

House Insignia was obviously, both of Vivian's, and Barren's origins, but the name Vigil- he was completely unfamiliar with.

Upon opening the first page, a cloud of dust flew from the crevices of the book, as if several pages hadn't been touched in hundreds of years. 

There was a single note that lay on the first page.

It read, 'To whoever has lifted the leather seal of this sacred literature... You have either been giving birthright to these pages, or have been bestowed the honor of reading the words within this ancient family heirloom.'

He looked around, as if expecting to find someone watching him from afar.

Looking back down at the book, after figuring that it was safe to read for now, he took a deep breath.

'Inside of these pages, you will find the true meaning of these so called combat styles, but you will also find the art of murder, deception, and war... Brace yourself reader, for only you alone, can bare witness to the hidden truths of our religions, and government.'

He turned the page. 

'Chapter one, Creating the base of form. - All combat styles are forged from scratch, whether nobility wants to admit it or not. Each "Style" is unique, and is crafted over time; however, the one thing that all of them have in common- is the base, or stance.'

Chase sighed, and continued on. 

'Footwork is the most important part of combat, but your stance is the most essential. Some prefer to feel free and flexible, while other's might like to keep it rigid, and strong.'

His eyes slowly moved to the right-hand page. 

'In all honesty, it doesn't really matter what stance you choose, as long as your comfortable with it. However, I will list the best stances for each preference.'

Chase began to read the listed off bases, until finally setting the book down. He stood up, grasping the hilt of the dull sword. 

He walked a few meters away from the bench, and began to experiment. 

First, he tried the easiest of the stances. Holding his sword in one hand at his side, the tip just inches above the grass. 

His feet stood at a casual distance from each other, and his body was relaxed. 

He shut his eyes, and began to count down from ten.

The moment that he reached the end of his mental timer, he took a powerful diagonal swing-upwards. 

Nearly losing all of his balance, he fell to a knee. 

'Okay, not that one.'

Standing up again, he repeated the process with multiple different stances, all of them seeming quite uncomfortable. 

Every single one felt wrong, completely unnatural to him. 

He tried at least ten or so before he started to get frustrated. 

'Not a single one of these stances works... Damnit!'

He picked the dull sword up off of the ground, and set his feet again.

This time they were a decent meter and a half apart.

His knees were slightly bent, and his upper body was leaned forward.

He remembered the way his father held the beautiful topaz battle axe, that he had used to decapitate the giant monster that almost killed him in his own bedroom.

Chase lifted the sword up, and held it at a diagonal angle in front of his torso, while leaning forward.

Full of anticipation, he began to count down from ten, one last time.

With his body sore, and his mind tired, before he even reached the end of the count down, his eyes snapped open, and he flung his wrist down in a swift, yet powerful motion.

This time, his body did not lose balance, his arms were shaky yet the blade stood still, as he held the hilt at around the height of his waist.

Taking another breath, he quickly snapped his wrists around, and let the weight of the sword carry itself upward.

"Hah... Haha! I found it..."

By stealing the very foundation of his father's stance, Chase had finally formed a base to his combat style.

His quiet laughter filled the courtyard, as he tried different swings, and defensive motions.

If someone were to see him like this, they would have assumed he had officially gone completely insane.

Sure enough, a tired voice could be heard from behind him.

"And I'm the psychopath..."

Equan said sarcastically, with a slight chuckle.

Chase ignored the boy covered in bandages, and continued to experiment with his new form.

The book was right, now that he had a comfortable way to stand and had a basic idea of how to swing the blade without causing too much strain on his body, it nearly felt weightless in his hands.

Chase had noticed that Equan had sat down on the small wooden bench, next to the ancient leather book.

He set the blade's tip on the ground, and leaned against it watching the younger boy pick up the book out of curiosity. 

Chase's eyes narrowed as he waited before saying anything, a strange theory had taken place in his mind.

Equan slowly started to lift the cover- and opening the book; however, just as he theorized, the boy could not pry the pages open.

"Why the hell can't I open it?"

The book had officially been bound to Chase, by some strange and mysterious magic....