Denva wielded the 80cm long katana and took a deep breath.
This sword would accompany him through many worlds and be his strength.
Swordsmanship, just like any other art had its advantages and disadvantages.
As long as the user had his sword, he would be exceptionally powerful, depending on his mastery that is.
However, without the sword, he would be exceptionally weak. This was basic knowledge.
Denva had come here because it was a rather quiet place in the evening. The bridge acted as a demarcation between ID7 and ID9.
ID8 was located further North from both ID7 and 9.
People generally hated this path and chose to avoid it when the sun came down in fear of being mugged as it was a spot that looked the part with how dark it was during the night and the ease of disposability that came with the place.
A sharp pain disrupted Denva as it emanated from his shoulder. The pain came from his soul where the wound from the spear would just not let up. He gnashed his teeth and kept his form once again, taking a deep breath.
"You lied to me, old man," he said. "That is not the True Way of the Sword."
The True Way of the Sword?
Denva had idolised his first master's ideology on swordsmanship.
Seeing the sword as an extension of the body.
Imposing one's will on the sword.
'This sword shall protect my family.'
'This is our heirloom for generations to come.'
Denva snorted as he recalled how wrong that theory was when he rose to Higher Worlds.
Yes, his master's way was definitely a way to get strong by the sword, but it was...
Weak.
Denva lifted the sword above his head, inputting every bit of strength there was in his body as he gazed forward.
His eyes turned cold as he released all the bottled up emotion he had been carrying since he woke up. Since Zixin had brought to light what Freidris tried to push to the back of his head, his negative emotions rose above all within him.
The rage.
The blood lust.
The sorrow.
The pain.
The dark inky substance that had stained his bed was the culmination of all the negative emotions that had been let loose when he was made to remember adequately what had been done to him.
That darkness that Freidris had foreshadowed to be born in the future if he continued on this path.
It had leaked out.
Denva grasped the hilt of his sword and spoke.
"You are rage."
As he said so, he slashed down with the sword, his arms not quite able to bring down the sword in a perfect slash.
However, it was a slash nonetheless.
It was clumsy, but it was fine.
Denva raised his arms and grasped his sword above his head again.
"You are pain," he said as he slashed down with a better steadiness that made his slash look a bit more elegant.
The look in his eyes turned colder as the evening breeze brushed past him.
Before him was not the sea or the moon or the stars.
There was the face of his enemies as they dared to bring to ruin all that he had built.
"You are fear," he said as he brought down his sword again, its rusting blade showing nothing of the magnificence a sword should bear.
What was the True Way of the Sword?
Swords were objects. Like any other weapon.
However, they did have an instinct.
An instinct that was dormant until they had a master.
A sword's instinct would bloom into a consciousness when the master of the sword became powerful, sharing his strength with his sword.
But what was a sword's instinct?
It was to cause bloodshed.
It was to cause pain.
It was to cause sorrow.
It was to tear away families from their fathers, husbands, children, mothers.
Every weapon was forged to cut down a life.
Whether it was to protect or not.
A life would be taken by the silver blade as it slashed down.
The bulky man in the forge, hammering away at the heated metal would seek to make a sword stronger and sharpen it afterwards so it wouldn't fail to behead a foe.
A sword's purpose and instinct was to kill.
"You are torment!"
Denva slashed again with all his might, his slash being a silver light could be seen as it was lit in the night.
A sword was never a part of the swordsman.
It had its own will that the swordmaster would awaken and borrow.
A sword and its master were two separate entities that were stronger when they were existed as such.
The will of the sword and the will of its master as he wished to cut down his enemies, bred the ultimate power.
A tamer's style and that of a swordsman were often mistaken and confused.
A sword did not care for the master's family which he sought to protect. While they could be bound to one another, it was an agreement of mutual respect of wills.
Why was he called the master then?
Because he was the one who awakened the will of the object through his intent.
"You are war!"
Denva lowered his stance as he felt the sword slice through the air seamlessly.
Denva was building a connection with the sword in its infancy. Before its strength was diluted by weak masters, he would cultivate it into the ultimate weapon.
He chose a rusty abandoned sword because he knew, its will to be used was greater than that of a fine sword. When it awakened, it would carry a deeper bloodlust that would rival his own.
"You are madness!"
The sword blew a bit of the sand on the shore as Denva swung down.
He had decisively chosen to seek a sword today because, in addition to cultivating it, he could also store the raging bloodlust and negativity that was boiling within him.
He would come here each day to store all the rage and pain in the sword as the weapon would readily accept what would match its instinct.
It wouldn't quell his anguish, but it would prevent scenarios where that darkness would leak out again.
"You are destruction!" Denva said as he slashed.
'I will walk this path again. It has worked for me before and it will continue to work now,' he thought.
A sword was strongest when its wielder indulged its instinct with his own, not imposing a pretty idealism onto it and dulling its blade!
Denva slashed again.
When he felt that he had gotten a better feel of the sword, he reached into his soul to fetch something that he would use to strengthen it and solidify his bond with it.
When he had lost his cultivation, he lost his Realm Essence, but a portion of a particular energy that would only emerge when one reached a certain stage, remained.
Soul Essence.
(A/N: Refer to 'The King Meets The Family' for this detail).
Only a small portion remained in his soul and when he had learnt of it, he knew exactly what he had to do.
As he wielded the katana, a dim energy flowed into the sword from the hilt to the blade. It wasn't much, covering to the tip of the blade before it died down.
Denva only used 60% of what remained of his Soul Essence, reserving the rest for later use.
He felt a powerful sensation that connected him to the sword and breathed a sigh of relief.
Soul Essence had the primary ability to connect the owner to any living or non-living existence, allowing for mutual growth.
This was its primary use.
Denva adjusted his stance again and raised his sword.
"You are bloodshed.
You are murder.
You are madness.
You are pain.
You are sorrow.
You are rage.
You are destruction.
You are war.
You are torment," Denva said as he slashed each time.
"You are... Emenidas!"