Training changed after that.
The Mountain Guest forbade wide swings.
"No strength," he said. "No intent."
Vale stood for hours holding the saber without moving.
His arms trembled—not from weight, but from restraint.
"Force creates reaction," the Guest said. "Reaction creates resistance."
Vale exhaled slowly.
"When you soften," the Guest continued, "the world leans toward you without realizing it."
Vale raised the blade slightly.
Too much.
"Stop," the Guest said.
Vale adjusted.
Still too much.
Again.
Again.
Hours passed.
By sunset, Vale's hands felt numb. His thoughts slowed. His breathing grew shallow and even.
At some point, the blade no longer felt separate from his posture.
The Guest stepped forward and placed a single finger against the blade's flat.
"Move," he said.
Vale did.
The blade slipped past the finger without touching it—yet the air behind it parted cleanly.
The Guest withdrew his hand.
"No sound," he observed.
"No force," Vale replied.
The Guest nodded approvingly.
"Softness," he said, "is not weakness. It is precision without excess."
Vale finally understood:
Sound-based cultivation amplified presence.
This path reduced it.