The training ground was silent except for the crunch of gravel beneath boots. Morning mist still clung to the air, softening the rising sun's golden rays, but the ground itself radiated a tension that was anything but gentle. Jian stood in the center of the arena, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the wooden practice sword at his hip. Vladislav and Athelstan faced him, sweat already forming on their brows from the morning warm-up drills.
The tea cup was empty, Jian had finished drinking everything and they couldn't even make a drop spill.
"Fuck, we actually lost" Athelstan cursed under his breath.
"Of course we did, you idiot" Vladislav spoke with heavy breaths
The cup in Jian's hand disappeared as if it ever existed.
"You couldn't even make a drop spill, tsk. Anyways you lost so I'm going to increase the hours of training" Joan smiled
The boys just groaned.
Jian clapped his hands.
"Today," Jian said, his calm voice cutting through the silence like steel, "we leave behind simple swinging. From now on, each strike must have purpose. You will learn the foundation of sword techniques—the roots from which all mastery grows."
After hearing those throw swords techniques their eyes lit up.
Sword techniques? finally, let's go! They both thought.
The brothers straightened, their tiredness forgotten.
"It might not be so bad after all the bet if we're learning something important today" Vladislav said
––
Stage One – The Beginner Techniques
Jian drove his practice sword into the ground, marking the center of the arena.
"Balance before speed. Strength before flash. Stance before strike. Watch."
He stepped onto the line, lowering into a wide, grounded pose. His feet spread apart, his knees bent slightly, shoulders relaxed but firm. The air around him seemed to harden as he settled.
"This is the IronStance. Without it, you will be swept away like leaves in the wind."
He motioned for them to mimic. Vladislav tried to plant his feet, but his weight leaned forward; Athelstan spread too far, losing flexibility. Jian circled them like a hawk, correcting with the tip of his practice blade—pushing at their ankles, tapping at their shoulders.
"Root yourselves. The sword begins with the ground beneath your feet."
They held the stance until sweat dripped down their necks, their legs trembling, but neither complained.
Well Vladislav complained but in his head.
Damn, my legs trembling like chicken legs.
When he was satisfied, Jian lifted his sword.
"Now—the StraightEdgeSlash. Watch closely."
He raised the practice blade overhead, then cut down in a single smooth motion. No wasted flourish, no extra motion. The blade sang through the mist, simple yet sharp.
That's quite the perfect slah, no wasted movement, effective, controlled and direct. Vladislavthought.
"Again!" he barked, and the brothers imitated him. Vladislav swung too wide, his sword hissing but unsteady. Athelstan, too cautious, lacked strength in the cut. Jian stopped them immediately.
"Do not paint the air. Cut it."
He forced them to repeat the motion until their shoulders burned. Each swing echoed in the training ground, a rhythm of discipline. The sun climbed higher as sweat darkened their tunics, but slowly—very slowly—the strikes grew cleaner.
These kids are really monsters, it has been just a few hours and they're already improving at a fast rate.
Vladislav felt his slashes improving and smiled to himself continued swinging.
By midday, Jian introduced the PiercingFang. He demonstrated a straight thrust, precise and controlled, the point of the blade stopping an inch from the wooden dummy's chest.
"This teaches distance. Too far, and you miss. Too close, and you lose time. Measure the breath of your enemy."
The boys followed suit afer Jian.
Vladislav's thrusts were quick but reckless, overstepping. Athelstan's were cautious, his blade stopping short. Jian corrected both—again and again—until the wooden dummy bore the scars of countless near-stabs.
Finally came defense: the WhirlwindGuard. Jian spun his blade in a circular motion, deflecting an imagined strike. "The sword is not only for killing—it is for surviving. Catch the enemy's edge, guide it away, and let them stumble."
The brothers practiced together, trading strikes and blocks, the air filled with the clack of wood against wood. At first they hit too hard, the guard collapsing. But soon, the rhythm smoothed, their blades tracing arcs like flowing water.
By the time Jian called for rest, their bodies were aching, but their eyes gleamed with fire.
––
StageTwo – TheIntermediateTechniques
"Now," Jian said after their short break, "we test if you have truly learned balance."
He stepped forward, his aura shifting. Though he moved slowly, every step carried weight, his presence filling the training ground like a storm about to break. "Intermediate techniques demand speed, intent, and flow. Watch."
He demonstrated the CorkscrewTwist Slash. In a blur, he sidestepped, spun, and brought his blade down in a slashing arc, the movement so fluid it looked like the wind itself carried him. The strike cut clean through a wooden dummy, splinters scattering.
"I like that Vladislav tried to imitate me before, it wasn't perfect but it's still good"
"This is defense becoming offense. To master it, you must first embrace rhythm."
Vladislav was eager, spinning too fast and stumbling. Athelstan was cautious, too slow to counter. Jian struck them both down with the flat of his sword.
"Too much or too little. Find the flow!"
For hours, they practiced—step, twist, slash. Their tunics clung to their skin, their muscles screamed, but slowly their bodies learned.
Next was FlashStepSlash. Jian blurred forward, his feet barely touching the ground, and his blade cut in a flash of speed.
"You will be tempted to run. Do not. It is not sprinting—it is controlled speed. The ground gives you strength, the breath gives you timing."
The brothers attempted. Vladislav, naturally faster, shot forward but lost balance. Athelstan, slower but grounded, made fewer mistakes but lacked sharpness. Together, they pushed one another, their strikes sharpening with every failure.
By evening, Jian demonstrated the MoonlightArc. His blade glowed faintly as he swung in a crescent, the strike carrying not just physical power but something deeper—an echo of will.
"This is energy, boys. A sword is more than steel. It is your spirit made sharp. Pour yourself into the edge."
When Vladislav tried, the air trembled faintly. Athelstan's arc was dimmer, but steady. Jian's eyes narrowed with approval. "Not bad. With time, the blade will carry your intent."
Finally, he had them attempt a dual technique: TwinFang. He placed them side by side, ordering them to thrust together against two wooden dummies.
"You guys work well together that's why I'm teaching you this technique, even though you're not in perfect sync with each other, you'll get there"
"At the same breath. Brothers are more dangerous than any army, that's why it's called twin fang, you strike together"
The first attempts were disasters—off-timing, mismatched strength, clumsy coordination. But after endless repetition, they struck in unison. Two sharp thrusts pierced the wooden chests together, a crack echoing through the ground.
This will really work against a slightly stronger opponent. Vladislavthought
The brothers grinned despite their exhaustion. Jian only smirked.
––
Stage Three – Glimpse of Mastery
Night had fallen, but Jian was not finished. Torches lit the training ground, shadows dancing on the walls.
"Today, you have learned the roots and touched the branches. Now, I will show you the fruit of the tree."
His eyes sharpened. The air itself grew heavy. The temperature seemed to drop as his presence changed, suffocating, pressing against their lungs. The brothers froze—their instincts screamed danger.
"This," Jian said softly, "is Phantom Edge. Killing intent woven into the strike."
He moved, and though his blade barely passed near them, both felt the edge brush their throats, cold and real. Their knees nearly buckled.
"This is not strength of body. It is strength of will. One day, you will grasp it."
He dismissed the aura, and the crushing weight lifted. The brothers gasped for air, their hearts hammering.
Before they could recover, Jian raised his sword overhead. The air trembled, the torches flickering wildly. When he swung down, the earth cracked, dust billowing upward.
"TheHeaven-Splitting Strike. A technique of resolve. Use it only when nothing else remains. You can consider it as your ultimate technique for now, it consumes too much mana so you better be wise when to use it you will be at the mercy of your enemy powerless"
Vladislav's eyes shone with awe, Athelstan's with determination. They knew—they were only at the beginning of their path.
Jian sheathed his blade, his voice once again calm and steady.
"Tomorrow, we repeat from the first stance. Remember—mastery is not found in a day, but in every cut you carve into the air."
The brothers bowed, aching, trembling, yet burning with resolve. The training ground had become their crucible. And within its dust and sweat, the seeds of warriors were being forged.
"Oh and Vladislav, don't worry about skipping grandma's katana training, I have already spoken to her"
Vladislav nodded in relief.
Just like that, another day has ended.
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I will upload two more chapters later and thank you for the 12k views :)