Chapter 38 — The Way of the Sword
Ron's eyes flicked between the two blades in Arthur's box: the smooth wooden stick and the polished leather-wrapped sword. A thought clicked, sharp as the edge of the heavier blade. He could train. Not just his mind, not just with potions or books, but his body. His reflexes, his balance, his precision. He could become… ready.
He thought of all the stories he'd seen, all the duels and battles in wizarding history. He imagined wielding a sword with both skill and speed, magic infusing each movement, every strike a combination of technique, power, and subtle control. This was different from chasing Ginny around the orchard, or learning spells in class. This was discipline.
Ron's mind wandered through everything he had read or watched. In Naruto, there were the ANBU, silent and precise, moving faster than eyes could follow, striking with deadly accuracy. Bleach wielders relied on sheer power, cutting through enemies with strength but little finesse. Demon Slayer fighters channeled their life force into every strike, every swing a rhythm, a flow of energy that cut both spirit and flesh. And Rurouni Kenshin… pure skill, pure technique, the blade an extension of one's very self.
He wanted it all. Speed. Flexibility. Precision. Magic. Every strike honed, every motion deliberate. He pictured the coming storm — Voldemort's return — and knew that preparation was not optional.
He leapt from the chair, mind whirling. He needed a proper place to train. Not the study, not the garden. A space with room to move, targets to strike, poles to maneuver around, practice constructs that could withstand a strike without collapsing. He envisioned a training area lined with mirrors to watch posture, wooden dummies that could be set to different heights, and poles with markers to guide footwork. Every detail came from his imagination, drawn in sketches on parchment.
But ideas alone were useless. He needed help.
He approached Molly first, who was bustling in the kitchen. "Mum," he said carefully, "I want to… make a training area. A proper space for sword work."
Molly paused, flour on her hands. "Sword… work? What are you talking about, Ron?"
"I mean," he said slowly, "a place where I can practice. Safe, organized. Like… like how wizards train dueling. Wooden constructs, poles, things to help me move and strike correctly."
Molly's eyebrows rose. "Constructs? Poles? You want us to build… what exactly?"
"Not a Muggle thing!" Ron said quickly, seeing the confusion in her eyes. "Just… magical-style training. I'll draw it. Show you what I need. Wooden targets, poles for movement, space to swing safely."
Arthur, passing by the kitchen, perked up. "Ooh! Build something! Fantastic! I love building! I can help—wood, ropes, poles… we can make anything!"
Molly scowled lightly. "And you'll make it safe for a nine-year-old, yes?"
Ron nodded earnestly. "Yes! I'll be careful. But I need both of you. You can help shape it. I'll explain everything."
Ginny, watching from the doorway, tilted her head. "Can I… watch? Or help?"
"No," Ron said, shaking his head. "It's too dangerous. Not for little hands yet."
Arthur grinned. "Don't worry, Ginny. You'll get to see the marvels of magic construction!"
Molly shook her head, muttering about her children and their endless ideas, but there was pride in her voice. "Alright, but sensibly. No collapsing, no flying boards. You behave, Ronald."
Ron pulled out his parchment and sketches, showing them the layout: wooden constructs for practice, poles to mark movement, a clear space to swing, targets of different heights and sizes. He spoke in terms they could understand — constructs, practice devices, training space — all wizarding concepts, no Muggle jargon.
Arthur bounced on his heels, already imagining how to build them. "We'll need wood, ropes, maybe some of the old broom handles… oh! A few practice charms to make the constructs sturdy!"
Ron smiled faintly. Finally, a plan in motion. No boredom. No idle waiting. Just preparation, training, and the promise of mastery over body and blade, with magic infused in every step.
Ginny followed a few steps behind, curious but respectful of the boundaries, while Molly busied herself with questions about safety measures. Arthur, meanwhile, had already begun sketching potential construction plans with excitement only he could muster.
Ron's mind raced. Soon, he would practice strikes, footwork, energy flows — all honed toward the day when magic, speed, and precision would matter most. For now, he had their help, their attention, and his own determination. That was enough to begin.