The morning sun broke through the clouds, spilling light across the mountains. A cool breeze danced through the trees as birds scattered, their wings echoing faintly in the air.
Elric staggered out of the small hut, yawning and rubbing his stiff shoulders. Every bone in his body ached from yesterday's training. His back felt like it had been smashed with boulders. His legs trembled with each step.
"Good morning, Master," he mumbled, still half-asleep.
But Master Orin was already waiting, standing tall with his arms folded. In his hand, he held a long wooden sword. It wasn't an ordinary stick. Its surface gleamed with polish, its shape carefully crafted. Even though it was just wood, it radiated weight and purpose.
"Elric," Orin said, his voice sharp as steel, "today you learn the art of the blade."
Elric blinked at the wooden sword. "Uh, Master… it's wood."
Orin's piercing gaze made him flinch.
Elric quickly corrected himself, "I-I mean… wow, such a majestic piece of wood! Truly terrifying!"
Orin didn't smile. "This is not just wood. This is your partner, your discipline, your burden. I call it "Eclipse Fang." Remember this name. Though wooden now, it carries the weight of every sword you may wield in the future."
Elric swallowed. Eclipse Fang. Even the name sounds scarier than me.
As Orin handed him the sword, Elric's hands trembled. Memories flashed in his mind—of his school days back in the village. He had held a wooden sword back then too, fighting with his classmates during training.
Except… he was always lazy. Too lazy to swing it properly. Too lazy to block. Most of the time, he would just get smacked on the head while making excuses like, "I wasn't ready yet!" or "I slipped, I swear!"
Now, staring at Orin, he thought grimly: "How am I supposed to fight a man who moves faster than the wind itself? Even if it's wood, won't it still hurt like hell?"
Still, Elric raised the blade with determination.
"First lesson," Orin said, "the sword is not an arm you carry. It is an extension of your body. Balance it, feel its weight, and let your breathing guide your swing."
Elric tried holding the sword steady, but it wobbled in his hands like a broomstick. He adjusted his grip awkwardly, nearly hitting himself in the shin.
"Uh… Master, I think this sword doesn't like me."
Orin's expression didn't change. "The sword doesn't like anyone. It only respects the disciplined."
"Right…" Elric muttered, embarrassed.
"Second lesson," Orin continued, "swing with purpose. Not wildly. Every breath controls the sword. Inhale when you raise it, exhale when you strike."
Elric followed clumsily. He inhaled deeply, lifted the blade, and then exhaled while swinging down. Except his timing was so off that he ended up coughing mid-swing and stumbling forward.
Orin sighed. "Pathetic."
"Hey! I'm learning!" Elric protested, waving the sword dramatically—only to lose balance and topple backward into the dirt.
Orin shook his head. "The shadows will laugh before they kill you."
"Let them laugh," Elric muttered, dusting himself off, "at least someone's enjoying my suffering."
Hours passed as Orin drilled him on grip, stance, and breathing. Elric's arms ached, but slowly, the wobbling lessened. His swings became straighter. His breathing, though rough, began to sync with his movements.
Finally, Orin lowered his arms. "Enough teaching. Now, show me."
Elric froze. "S-show you? You mean… fight?"
"Yes." Orin stepped forward, holding his own wooden sword with frightening ease.
Elric's stomach churned. He gulped. "Master… this is just a wooden sword, right? It can't hurt that much… right?"
For the first time, a faint smirk crossed Orin's lips. "Why don't you find out?"
Elric's face paled. Great. I'm about to be murdered by a glorified stick.
Still, he raised his blade, taking a shaky stance. "I-I'm ready, Master!"
The moment Orin moved, Elric's heart skipped a beat.
WHOOSH!
Orin vanished. He was a blur, faster than Elric's eyes could follow. But unlike yesterday, Elric managed to catch glimpses—shadows of movement, like flashes of lightning cutting across the ground.
CRACK!
Pain exploded across his back as Orin's wooden blade struck. Elric yelped and stumbled forward.
Before he could react— WHACK! —his leg was smacked, sending him to his knees.
"Aaagh! That hurt!" Elric cried, clutching his shin.
Orin stood calm, expression unreadable. "Pain is a teacher. Listen well."
Elric growled, standing back up. "Fine! Then let's see if I can teach pain something too!"
He charged forward, swinging Eclipse Fang with all his might.
SWOOSH!
But Orin sidestepped effortlessly, smacking Elric's arm. The wooden sword fell from his grip.
"Argh! My hand!"
Elric picked it back up, panting, his body covered in new bruises. Yet his eyes shone with determination. "I won't quit. Not again. Not ever."
He adjusted his breathing, tightened his grip, and stood firm. Orin's gaze flickered, noticing the faintest improvement.
The spar went on, Orin striking mercilessly—back, leg, arm, shoulder. Each hit made Elric stumble, groan, or fall flat on his face. At one point, Elric even shouted, "Is this training or torture?!"
Orin replied coolly, "Both."
By the end, Elric was lying in the dirt, his body aching all over, his hair sticking to his sweat-covered face.
Orin looked down at him. "That is enough for today. You are slow, clumsy, and laughably weak."
Elric groaned. "Thanks for the pep talk, Master…"
Orin's eyes softened just slightly. "But… you did not give up. Even when beaten down, you stood again. That is the spirit of a slayer. Work hard, and you may yet become one."
With that, he turned and walked toward the house. His form seemed as steady and unshaken as ever, while Elric crawled on the ground like a half-dead worm.
"Note to self," Elric muttered, "wooden swords hurt more than real ones."