Training

The clearing on the edge of Pompom Village was quiet that morning, save for the rustle of dew-kissed leaves and the occasional chirp of birds greeting the day. A soft mist clung to the underbrush, veiling the forest in an otherworldly stillness. Solis stood in the center of the glade, the thick, well-trodden grass beneath his boots damp but firm. He had always favored this spot—tucked away from the village, far enough from noise and distractions, yet close enough to feel like part of the world.

He exhaled slowly, calming the bubbling anticipation in his chest. In his hands, the strange book purchased from the merchant the day before. Its cover was plain, the pages thick and edged in the gold of time. He opened it, and again, his eyes scanned the first entries.

---

Foundational Techniques

Iron Fang Slash – A heavy diagonal slash meant to break through armor or parry.

Bastion Guard – A sword-held high defensive stance that redirects attacks with minimal movement.

Piercing Hawk – A precision thrust aimed at gaps in armor, like under the armpit or neck.

Solis blinked. The illustrations were crude but clear—marked in faded ink, each motion broken into stages with small arrows. He flipped further.

Advanced Strikes

Wolf's Pursuit – A double step-in thrust followed by a spinning side slash, for relentless offense.

Serpent Coil – A coiling feint followed by a reverse grip slash, confusing the opponent.

Twin Storm Cut – A dual-weapon technique: simultaneous forward and backward strikes in close quarters.

Counter and Deflection

Mirror Reversal – Uses an opponent's momentum against them, parrying and stepping in for a riposte.

Echo Slice – A deceptive delayed slash: the blade stays mid-air for a moment before accelerating into a sudden draw-cut.

Shield Splitter – A downward cleave timed to strike after the opponent blocks, cracking their guard.

Finishing Techniques

Lion's Crest – A two-handed overhead cleave meant to end a duel in a single blow.

Whirlwind Sever – A swift, spinning technique meant to disarm and disable multiple enemies.

Last Testament – A final, committed thrust where the user sacrifices defense for power and speed—used only in desperate moments.

Named Styles (Martial Doctrines)

Way of the Iron Reign – Focuses on overwhelming strength, with wide, crushing strikes.

Whispering Reed Style – Emphasizes flexibility and evasion, using quick thrusts and parries.

Falcon's Talon School – Precision-based, often striking from high stances and exploiting openings.

Oathsteel Discipline – A knightly form focused on duty, timing, and sword-body synchronization.

---

Each page was adorned not only with detailed descriptions but also elegant, ink-drawn figures— frozen mid-motion, demonstrating the stances and slashes. Solis ran a finger across the sketch of the Iron Fang Slash. There was weight in the line work, a heaviness that mimicked the movement itself. The book wasn't a hoax— not at first glance.

He took a stance, feet shoulder-width apart, left foot forward, blade angled behind. Then, mimicking the image, he executed a heavy diagonal slash. It felt… clumsy. The momentum wasn't flowing. He adjusted, repositioned his arms, tightened his grip, and swung again. The blade hissed through the mist.

Solis paused, panting slightly.

"It's like learning to walk again," he muttered. But his eyes lit up.

He practiced Iron Fang Slash again. And again. Each repetition brought a new understanding of leverage, balance, the twist of the hips. After nearly an hour, sweat beaded on his brow, and his shirt clung to him, soaked through.

"Alright," he whispered, flipping to the next page. "Let's try Bastion Guard."

The stance seemed simple— sword held upright before the face, angled slightly outward. It was designed to allow for a redirection of blows, not brute blocks. Solis assumed the position, maintaining posture, testing his center of gravity.

He imagined Ada coming at him, wooden blade in hand, grinning.

He shifted, lowered his knees slightly, adjusted his sword's angle. Again. And again.

Time melted. Morning fog burned off in the rising sun. Insects buzzed lazily by. Solis transitioned from Bastion Guard into Iron Fang, experimenting with fluidity between the two.

A stumble. Then recovery.

A misstep. Then clarity.

By mid-morning, his muscles burned. His arms trembled slightly. But his form improved.

He opened the book once more and turned to Piercing Hawk.

A thrust meant not for brute strength, but precision. It required finesse. He mimicked the stance and lunged forward, stabbing toward an invisible enemy's throat. Again. And again.

He paused, recalling the lines: "Piercing Hawk is the hunter's strike. Do not rush it. Let it wait in the reeds, then strike when the wind stops."

He slowed. Focused. His thrust became cleaner. Less of a jab, more a dart of iron.

Another hour passed.

Then he heard a soft clapping from behind.

"Not bad," Vaidya said, stepping into the clearing, his satchel bouncing lightly at his side. "You didn't get conned after all."

Solis grinned and lowered his sword. "You really think so?"

Vaidya nodded, kneeling beside the book. "The language is old but methodical. Whoever wrote this knew how to teach without being there." He tapped one of the figures. "These illustrations? They remind me of martial inscriptions found in the archives of Sagacia's western wing."

Solis blinked. "Really? Then it might be a relic?"

"Possibly." Vaidya glanced up. "Still, no idea who wrote it?"

Solis shook his head. "The merchant didn't say. Just claimed it'd help a swordsman like me."

"You'll have to be careful, though. Some techniques may be dangerous to learn alone."

"I'm sticking with foundational for now. Want to watch?"

Vaidya shrugged, sitting under a tree. "Why not? This beats reading today."

Solis resumed his stances, this time slower and more deliberate, with Vaidya occasionally offering corrections or observations.

After another round of Iron Fang and Bastion transitions, Ada's voice called out from the path.

"You two are insane!" she said, hands on her hips. "Solis, are you seriously training from that scam-book?"

"It's not a scam!" he protested. "Come here and see for yourself!"

She approached, snatched the book off the stump, and began flipping through.

"'Echo Slice'? 'Last Testament'? This sounds like drama for sword-obsessed romantics." She narrowed her eyes. "What's next? Flying blade secret art?"

Solis flushed. "It's real. The basics already helped me tighten my form."

Ada groaned and dropped the book on the grass. "You boys and your sword obsession. I'm going to get something to eat."

She turned, muttering, "Next thing you know, Solis will start naming his sword."

Vaidya laughed. "She's got a point, you know."

Solis grinned, wiping his brow. "I'll name it once I master all the techniques."

---

That afternoon, Solis continued to practice until the sun tilted past its peak. His body ached, but the satisfaction of small improvement carried him. He flipped once more through the book, stopping at the section titles:

Advanced Strikes, Counter and Deflection, Finishing Techniques and Named Styles (Martial Doctrines)

---

Each beckoned with mystery, each promised more. But for now, he respected the foundation.

He packed his things and walked back toward the village, sore but elated.

When he arrived at the inn, laughter was spilling out the windows. Decorations were already going up across the square. Bright ribbons, paper lanterns, and banners bearing the silver crest of the Postknights.