The Mountain Guest did not allow Vale to touch the saber the next morning.
Instead, he poured tea.
Steam rose slowly, curling and dispersing without pattern.
"Fast Saber," the Guest said, "is a misleading name."
Vale listened carefully.
"Most hear fast and think of speed," the Guest continued. "They imagine reflex, reaction, motion surpassing thought."
He placed the teapot down.
"That is the shallow understanding."
Vale hesitated before speaking. "Then what does fast mean?"
The Guest smiled faintly. "Unresisted."
He picked up a fallen leaf from the table and let it drop.
It fell naturally. No hesitation. No effort.
"Speed is the result," the Guest said. "Not the cause."
Vale frowned. "But every manual I've read—"
"—was written by those who chased results," the Guest interrupted calmly. "Fast Saber is not about moving quicker than others. It is about arriving before resistance forms."
He stood and walked outside.
Vale followed.
The mountain breeze brushed past them, light and directionless.
"When you swing a blade," the Guest continued, "the world responds. Air stiffens. Intent gathers. Sound prepares to echo."
He stopped and faced Vale.
"A fast saber move happens before the world decides how to answer."
Vale's eyes widened slightly.
"That's impossible," Vale said.
The Guest shook his head. "It is impossible if you announce yourself."
He gestured toward the empty space between them.
"Your cultivation already does this," he said quietly. "Your Aether Ring does not project. It defines limits."
Vale thought back to the leaf that had split without sound.
"So Fast Saber is…" Vale said slowly, "…not speed, but timing."
The Guest nodded. "Timing born from understanding."