Chapter 17: The Essence of Battle

Chapter 17: The Essence of Battle

Ray sat cross-legged in the dim glow of the labyrinth, his breathing steady, his body still. The cold, damp stone beneath him pressed against his legs as he tried to sink into a meditative state. His focus wavered, shifting between the stillness within and the unseen flow of essence in the air around him.

For days now, he had been trying to sense it—to grasp that elusive energy Alkan had told him about. But no matter how much he concentrated, all he ever felt was the dull ache in his muscles or the distant sounds of the cavern's eerie silence.

The only time he had truly felt anything was when he shattered the soul fragment, that brief flicker of something foreign seeping into him. Since then, nothing. Just frustration.

A deep sigh escaped his lips as his body grew restless. His legs twitched, his shoulders tensed. Another hour of this and he would probably lose his mind.

With a groan, he gave up and flopped onto his back, staring at the uneven ceiling above. The glow of bioluminescent fungi painted the rocks in a dull greenish hue, their faint pulses mirroring his own slow heartbeat.

Alkan, crouched near a small fire, glanced at him while turning the meat over. The scent of roasted flesh filled the air, a welcome distraction from Ray's irritation.

"How was it?" Alkan asked without looking up. "Felt anything this time?"

Ray exhaled sharply. "No. Except for that time when I shattered the soul fragment and felt something faint enter me, I haven't sensed anything since."

Alkan hummed, neither approving nor disappointed. "That's alright. Sensing essence isn't something you force. It's something you allow yourself to recognize. If you keep overthinking it, you'll never grasp it."

Ray frowned, running a hand through his hair. "Then how the hell am I supposed to—"

"Patience." Alkan cut him off. "You've made progress elsewhere. Now that you can stand against a dormant outer creature, we'll continue training by hunting more of them. More battles mean more soul fragments, and more soul fragments will help you grow."

Ray sat up at that. "You think that's the key?"

Alkan smirked. "It's one of them. Fighting forces your body to learn what your mind struggles to grasp."

He lifted the cooked meat, handing a portion to Ray before extinguishing the fire, conserving their limited fuel. The two ate in silence, the soft sounds of chewing and the distant echoes of the labyrinth their only companions.

After a while, Alkan set his food down and turned to Ray, his expression serious. "Now, I have one final lesson to teach you about swordsmanship. You haven't mastered what you already know, but this place is unpredictable. Holding back on this knowledge won't do us any good."

Ray wiped his hands on his pants and straightened. Something about Alkan's tone made his stomach tense.

Alkan's gaze locked onto his. "Ray, this is something we only teach after a warrior has learned to feel the sword as an extension of themselves. Because after that, there is only one true way to improve. The answer to this question..."

A pause. The fire's dying embers flickered, casting fleeting shadows across Alkan's face.

"What do you think is the essence of swordsmanship? Of wielding any weapon?"

Ray narrowed his eyes, sensing the weight behind the question. He thought for a moment before responding. "Isn't it to fight?"

Alkan shook his head. "Think deeper. What is the essence of any fight? Whether with a weapon or bare-handed. Why do we fight? What is at the core of every battle?"

Ray's brows furrowed. He turned the question over in his mind, dissecting it. He recalled every battle he'd fought in the past few weeks—every moment where life and death danced at the edge of his blade. The desperate struggle against the outer creatures. The way his body had moved, driven not by thought but by raw survival instinct.

Then, the realization struck him like a blade to the gut.

"Murder," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "It's to murder the one I'm fighting... or get murdered by the one I'm fighting. Every confrontation, every encounter with danger, every fight... it's either I kill, or I get killed."

Silence settled between them. The air felt heavier now, as if the labyrinth itself acknowledged his words.

Then, Alkan smiled—just slightly. "Good."

Ray swallowed. He hadn't expected praise for an answer so brutal.

Alkan leaned forward. "That understanding is what separates warriors from those who merely swing a sword. The moment you pick up a weapon, you're choosing to walk the path of life and death. You must always remember that. Because that is what will truly take you toward mastery."

Ray clenched his fists, his mind replaying the words over and over.

To fight was to kill. To kill was to survive.

It was something he had known instinctively, but hearing it laid bare like this made it feel different. More real. More final.

He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. The callouses, the scars—each one was proof of the battles he had survived. But survival alone wasn't enough. If he wanted to walk the path of mastery, he needed to embrace this truth completely.

Alkan stood, brushing the dust from his clothes. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we continue the hunt. And soon, you'll need to prove that you understand what you just said."

Ray watched as his mentor walked toward the cavern's edge, his silhouette merging with the shadows.

He lay back down, staring at the ceiling once more. But this time, sleep didn't come easily.

For now, he had something else to think about.