Training for Idiots

With a month until the competition, I knew I had to get serious. Well, semi-serious. Let's not set unrealistic expectations here.

I stood in the sect's training grounds, surrounded by disciples practicing their magical arts. Fire spirals, crackling lightning strikes, and shimmering blades of wind, it was like a battlefield of elements. Meanwhile, I was holding my new black katana, trying to figure out how magic and swords were supposed to mix.

"Alright, Amon," I said to myself, "step one: swing the sword. Step two: make it glow with magic. Step three: win the competition. Easy, right?"

I took a stance that I thought looked heroic, but judging by the muffled laughter of the nearby disciples, I must've looked like I was fencing a ghost.

"First move: The Arcane Floor Sweeper!" I declared, sweeping the katana in an exaggerated motion, trying to imbue it with even a speck of magical energy.

A passing disciple stopped mid-practice, blinked at me, and burst out laughing. "What are you even doing?"

"Training," I said with as much dignity as I could muster.

"Training for what? A janitorial duel?"

"Ha-ha," I deadpanned, twirling the katana like a broom. "Mock me all you want, but this is going to revolutionize magic and swordsmanship."

I ignored his amused snorts and focused on my next move. This time, I tried channeling magic into the blade like I'd seen others do. I closed my eyes, concentrated, and imagined energy flowing from my core into the katana.

Crack!

The sword slipped out of my hands and embedded itself in a tree.

The same disciple howled with laughter. "Yeah, you're definitely winning that competition!"

"Hey, That's my special move 'Sword throw'!!" I shouted back, retrieving the katana with what little dignity I had left.

For the rest of the day, I practiced relentlessly or as relentlessly as someone with no natural affinity for magic could manage. My attempts to fuse spells with swordplay were… disastrous. A spark here, a flicker of light there, but nothing even remotely impressive.

As the sun set, I slumped onto a rock, staring at the katana like it was mocking me. "This is harder than it looks," I muttered.

Out of nowhere, Astel appeared, balancing a stack of dusty old books. "What are you doing?" he asked, eyeing me like I'd just declared myself a magical prodigy.

"Training," I said, holding up the katana with a sheepish grin.

Astel raised an eyebrow. "You're swinging that thing around like you're chasing chickens."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I replied dryly.

He sighed and tossed a book at me. "'Arcane Swordplay for complete idiots.' It's the only thing you're probably capable of handling right now."

Flipping through the pages, I found basic diagrams and step-by-step instructions. Simple enough.

"Thanks, Astel," I said. "You might just saved me from total humiliation."

"Don't get your hopes up," he muttered, walking away.

Armed with Astel's book, I returned to the training grounds the next morning, determined to turn my disaster into something… slightly less disastrous. The first step was learning to channel magic into the blade.

"Step one," I muttered, gripping the hilt, "let the magic flow naturally."

The katana glowed faintly, and for a moment, I felt a surge of hope. Then it fizzled out like a dying sparkler.

"Okay, round two," I said, trying again. This time, I visualized the sword bursting with energy, its edge crackling with power.

Boom!

The katana discharged a weak shockwave that barely ruffled a nearby training dummy. Still, it was progress.

Elder Hurky materialized behind me, sipping tea like he had all the time in the world. "You're worse than I thought," he remarked, utterly unimpressed.

"Thanks for the pep talk," I grumbled.

"You're welcome." He took the katana from me and, with a single graceful motion, infused it with magic so potent it hummed audibly. A shimmering arc of energy sliced cleanly through a practice dummy, leaving me speechless.

"How did you do that?" I asked, awestruck.

"Years of practice," he replied smugly. "Something you lack."

"Wow, thanks for the motivational speech, Sensei."

"You're welcome," he said, tossing the katana back to me. "Now try again, and stop overthinking. You're trying too hard."

I loosened my grip, letting the magic flow more naturally. My next strike was… not bad. The blade flickered with light, and while it wasn't a glowing masterpiece, it was better than nothing.

"Not terrible," Hurky admitted. "For someone who was just sweeping floors last week."

"I'll take the compliment," I said.

Over the next few weeks, I practiced relentlessly, following Astel's book and Hurky's advice. My strikes became sharper, my magic less unstable, and I even managed to slice through a training dummy once. Sure, it was already falling apart, but a win's a win.

By the end of the month, I stood in the training grounds, sweaty and exhausted but feeling… accomplished. I held the katana up, its blade faintly shimmering with magic.

"Watch out, competition," I said, grinning. "The arcane floor-sweeper is coming for you."

Leeon, leaning against a nearby pillar, rolled his eyes. "You're still an idiot."

"An idiot with a magical katana," I corrected him.

He sighed. "Let's hope that's enough."