'Now this is unexpected.' Harley's brows twitched as he stood holding a short, metallic sword, facing the tall Eman who wielded a longsword.
When Eman told him to come and learn, he thought that they would start with wood, not a real metallic sword that can kill a man!
"Don't be surprised that we're using real weapons. As a warrior, one of the things you must learn from the get-go is that on a battlefield, no one is training." He tapped his metallic sword on the ground, pacing around.
"What makes you think I plan to fight?" Harley asked.
Inwardly, he was kind of uncomfortable around sharp weapons wielded in another person's hand. He never knew what their intentions with it were.
Eman stopped pacing, looking directly at Harley. Then, his voice sounded stern.
"We are in an era of war. There is no peace in any kingdom or even small village. Why wouldn't you want to learn how to fight? Because the time will come for you to do exactly that." Eman said, finally raising his sword.
"Let me tell you something you should have with you throughout your life. How I fought and how I defended, it's called swordplay." Eman began to weave steps, sliding on the wooden board while striking the sword multiple times at constant speed.
It was beautiful to watch.
The blade sang thin silver arcs through the air, each motion precise yet fluid, like a dancer who had forgotten he was allowed to kill. The rhythm never faltered for even a second. Even when Eman turned his wrist in a sudden flourish, the sword seemed to pull his body after it rather than the other way around.
"What do you think swordplay is?" Eman asked, slowing until the final cut hung suspended for a heartbeat before he lowered the tip to kiss the floorboards. "Judge it as you've seen it."
Harley looked down at the faint scuff marks the blade had left, then lifted his eyes to Eman again. In his mind he replayed the display, but this time he pictured it against more than empty air—against six, seven shadows rushing in from every side. The elegant steps, the flowing cuts… they began to look different.
He shrugged one shoulder. "It's… pretty and graceful. Like something you'd see on a stage. But if I'm honest?" Harley met Eman's gaze steadily. "I don't see why anyone would choose a sword when a bow keeps you fifty paces away from the mess. One good arrow and the fight's already decided. This—" he gestured toward the blade "—is definitely what I would have said if I didn't see how efficient it is, in close range."
Eman regarded him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he gave a single, slow shake of his head.
"That's the mistake most people make." He lifted the sword again—not in demonstration this time, but simply to feel its familiar weight. "What you just watched wasn't art. Not the way you think. It was choreography, yes. Control, yes. Beauty, even. But strip away the polish, strip away the open floor and the audience of one, and swordplay has only one purpose."
He turned the blade so the edge caught the sunlight and held it there, steady.
"It's a murder art, Harley. That's all it has ever been. Every step, every angle, every breath you take while the steel is in your hand—they're all designed to put metal through meat as efficiently as possible. The gracefulness you saw was all for efficiency. It's beautiful, that's why it's called art."
He let the sword drop to his side again. The deck felt quieter than it had a moment before.
"So learn it if you want to survive when someone closes the distance. But don't ever call it pretty. Not when you're the one holding the blade."
Harley had no words, looking at the short metallic sword in his hand. Then he let out a sigh and nodded simply.
Eman smiled slightly showing his white teeth.
"Good. But you won't be able to learn swordplay from me. There's no time.This... is how to strike with a sword."
From then on, Eman began to show Harley the ways of striking with the sword and how to receive attacks with the same weapon. From there he began to mirror Eman's movements, learning basic slashing and blocking.
And it didn't even take an hour for him to already grasp the concept and the movements required to use it.
The next set was advanced defence and slashing where Eman showed Harley angles that real knights and other war-trained veterans would be able to exploit and kill him, so he taught Harley how to defend against those types of attacks, and how to move his feet.
But it was all confusing.
'How the hell do I slash while jumping?' Harley felt frustration, but he proceeded to learn it.
All this while, he was the only one attacking Eman and the noble knight didn't have to counter-attack; all he had to do was block, block, and block with the sword.
Harley was fascinated by the entire thing. There was a whole style of swinging the sword. He had no experience with sharp weapons so this was new for him.
Over four hours into the training, Harley didn't stop once. Eman was already by the side, sitting on the wooden deck to rest.
He looked up at Harley, seeing his torn clothes being drenched in sweat.
"Don't overdo it. You can't learn it all in your first day." Eman comforted him with a smile. "Skills like this take years upon years of practice."
Soon, night came. And Harley was still up, looking at the short metallic blade that was 75 centimeters long. The deep gashes on the ship left by the great ice shark made the entire team sleep in the captain's large cabin.
He had gone in to organize the Captain's cabin for the knights to use, after that he went straight to training.
Only Harley was outside staring at the sword while brushing his fingers against the surface. The sword itself had a dull blade and lacked serious quality; the guard was only a single arc that had no design whatsoever.
Harley couldn't help but think that the Oracle deliberately made it so that this was the weapon he chose. It couldn't just let him find some godly item and let him blitz the entire trial.
'Swords. I like them, but now they are sounding way too serious.' He thought, remembering everything he figured out today about it.
He learned that a sword was not a tool you picked up—it was a decision you made. To draw it meant accepting a simple truth: someone would bleed, and it might be him. In a battle where swords clash, there was no room for hesitation, no space for innocence.
When he wields a weapon like this, he has to abandon fear or doubt. It demanded resolve, and it answered uncertainty with death.
From the moment his hand wrapped around the hilt, he understood that wielding a blade meant standing at the edge between life and death. If he faced an enemy with a sword, in that fight, one of them would have to die.
Harley didn't think much about living and dying. He knew that he was going to live, because he would make it so.
*Creak!*
The captain's room door opened and Harley turned to see the blue-haired woman walking towards him while stretching her back.
'They are done talking huh? What a bunch of hypocrites. It's good that I put that thing inside the room.' He smiled, seeing the woman approach him.
She stood beside Harley, looking towards the ocean like he was.
Harley looked at her, and then he raised a brow. Her pupils had a ring of gold in them, something he never noticed before; they were a weird but beautiful golden-brown colour.
"Your eyes are beautiful." He said in a flat tone, still staring at her.
The lady blinked in surprise, then...
"Hahahahaha...!" She laughed loudly, shaking her head.
"Here I am coming to talk about war and you find an opportunity to flirt with me." She put a hand on his shoulder, making Harley quite annoyed.
"It was a compliment." He stated, not wanting to even talk any more.
"You're one to compliment about eyes. Have you seen yours? I've never seen anything like it. So all jesters have this colour of eyes?" She asked excitedly, leaning on the railings to look into his eyes.
Harley smiled. He was decent in looks but his strange purple eyes brought him more attention—a lot!
"I was once kidnapped for these eyes." He laughed, remembering the days when he was just a kid in an orphanage living on leftovers.
The blue-haired lady didn't reply, staying quiet. She looked towards the cabin, and then back towards Harley.
"Please join us. We could use a person like you to take back our entire kingdom." She pleaded, grabbing his arm. "We do have a strategist, but you would be a valuable addition to the war."
Harley raised a brow, looking at the hand she put on him with a cold frown. Unconsciously releasing a bit of his murderous aura around himself.
Seeing this, she left his arm, looking down in embarrassment.
Harley scoffed. He couldn't believe that this was the same woman that thought he was useless inside the dark basement and tried to make the knight captain hate him.
Even if he wanted to explore a real kingdom, there was something that he was looking for that had utmost priority.
"I can't go with you. I need to find something." Harley replied coldly, making the female smile.
Inwardly he was hoping they wouldn't push him, cause he knew their real intention towards him. His ears were very sensitive.
'Should I just jump into the water and try to swim to land?' He thought, if these knights really wanted they could make him a slave right now.
"Is it the Godsworn?" The blue haired woman beside him suddenly asked, startling Harley out of his thoughts.
"You're looking for a specific one, right? We have a woman who is called a seer. She can help you find the specific Godsworn you're looking for." She said, putting her hands together.
'That's... how a negotiation should start.' Harley smiled, but then the smile faded.
He had to be very careful when dealing with these knights. They could kill him if he went out of line so he was trying his best to be respectful to all of them.
"Fine, I'll go." He replied, making the blue-haired woman turn around to go deliver the good news.
"My name is Anne!" She shouted, waving at Harley before she entered the cabin and slammed the door.
Harley, still looking with a blank expression, mumbled a short sentence.
"I'm sorry." He felt bad for what he was about to do.
Almost on cue, he heard a loud popping sound within the Captain's cabin and he turned, pulling out a dagger he hid inside his pants.
'I thought it would never go off.'