Chereads / Monarch of Slaughter / Chapter 3 - The sword of Freja

Chapter 3 - The sword of Freja

Having spent his night hours in the cave, he returned home. His grandmother taught him how to read because it was essential to read all those books. Despite her warning to come back after reading for a few hours, he was in the cave the whole night.

"Did you study all night again? You should at least sleep for a few hours."

Lately, he has been doing nothing but training and scouring through the library in the cave. His interest leaned towards swordsmanship. He referred to many books, trying to learn more about the way of the swords.

Freja has been giving him training making his physique strong enough to endure the technique he was about to learn. All these five years, Freja has been preparing him thoroughly.

Because she wanted her grandson to protect himself. She has especially been attentive to his physical training. She had surplus amount of resources to nurture him.

Seeing that, Aragon was more confused about how she was able to bring such wonderful items. How was she capable of doing that? Whenever he asked her, she said that she eventually tell him. 

As he couldn't do anything about it, he just focused on the methods she instructed him.

"Have your meal then." She had prepared a bowl of meat soup and bread for him.

"Grandma, when will you start teaching me actual sword skills."

"No need for haste. As I always tell you, training your body will help you wield a sword," she said, sitting beside him.

She sighed, "Seeing the as the days pass, he reminds me of him so much." she said in a low tone, inaudible for Aragon.

"What!" Aragon stared at her, he thought he heard her say something.

"Nothing, Eat before it gets cold."She said while getting up.

Then she left the room.

Aragon thought inwardly, 'Did she say something?'

'Hmm,' He pondered for a moment.

He finished his meal and headed to the back of his house.

After deciding to train him, they expanded the house. Now they had space enough for training in the back of the house.

Aragon was done with the basics of martial combat. He was flexing his muscles when Freja came. In her right hand, she was holding a sheathed sword.

"Come here, Aragon."

"Watch me carefully without blinking even once. I am going to show you a glimpse of a technique."

With a swift motion, his grandmother drew the sword from its sheath, firmly grasping it with both hands. As the blade emerged, delicate streams of red light began to flow out, casting an ethereal glow in the surrounding area.

The moment the red light poured forth, the atmosphere seemed to change, growing dense and oppressive. The very fabric of space around her seemed to warp and twist as if responding to the power emanating from the sword.

Aragon's entire body suddenly felt immobilized, as if an invisible force held him in place. The combined effects of the radiant red light and Freja's formidable presence overwhelmed him, leaving him unable to even twitch a finger. Instinctively, he sensed the immense danger lurking within the radiance.

Yet, despite the warning bells ringing in his mind, Aragon clenched his fists and kept his gaze fixed upon the unfolding spectacle. He watched as his grandmother unleashed a series of precise and fluid movements, each strike cutting through the air with such force that it seemed to rend the very fabric of reality. Wherever the sword touched, the surrounding space distorted and vanished, leaving a void in its wake. The sheer power and skill displayed were beyond anything Aragon could have imagined, especially considering that she had been residing quietly in their humble village all this time.

Aragon found himself drenched in sweat, his eyes never leaving his grandmother's every motion. He was captivated, absorbing every detail with an intensity bordering on obsession.

For a few minutes, she continued her intricate display, each strike executed with precision and grace. And then, as abruptly as it had begun, she sheathed her sword, the red light receding.

"Have you observed every movement?" His grandmother's gaze locked onto Aragon, who had been transfixed by the spectacle, beads of perspiration clinging to his brow.

He nodded, his affirmation accompanied by a slight trickle of blood from his nose. The strain of the intense observation had taken its toll, and his body gave way beneath him, collapsing to the ground with a resounding thud.