"I'm sorry?"
"Swordsmanship son, swordsmanship! Oh and hand-to-hand fighting while we're at it. Care to try it out?"
It was not the most absurd out of all the things he said, but this definitely would make significant changes to my day-to-day routine.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND LEOTRIUL?"
Woah, ok, outright yelling at my dad. It's not everyday that something like that happens. Well sure if you think about it, handing a sword to a five-year-old is quite a stupid idea. I still don't think she recovered from that time she caught the one-year-old me surrounded by kitchen knives I decided to inspect during one of my sessions of sneaking out of bed and crawling around the house. Now hear me out, even the knives here are state-of-the-art masterpieces. What is regarded here as a regular kitchen knife would go for over a hundred bucks back on Earth.
"Wait, just calm down El. Think about it, if…"
"NO, absolutely not! I already agreed to allow him to practice magic by himself, as per your request, if you have not yet forgotten. Everyday I am worried he will injure himself by some spell that spirals out of control, and now you want to hand him a blade? Additionally, to teach him close-range fighting? He has already mastered magic to a level that far exceeds any capabilities of a child his age, and I do not want to constantly apologize to parents whose child he beat to a pulp."
"No dear, listen. Not a real sword, just a wooden one for now. A-and hear this, I will train him so I can watch out for him! It's gonna be fine! And why would he become a bully? Right son?"
"As I already said, I will not allow it, and don't look over to Ard for support! I will not have my son come back home covered in more bruises than he already does! Your training is exactly the reason I am worried even more now!"
They're arguing and leaving me out of it. Well sure, it's not like I really have much of a place in this conversation anyways. I'll just let the grownups do the talking and then hear what they agreed upon. Learning the way of the sword and martial arts would be interesting, I am in a fantasy world now after all, but it would decrease the amount of time I could be spending developing my magic. To look on the bright side, it would present me with even more opportunities in life, now that I decided to become an all-powerful prodigy. So I am not completely against learning to fight right now, it's just that I would like to properly finish one thing before moving onto the next. Multitasking is not really the best approach to completing something. Perhaps at least let me learn some proper air spells before starting. Honing fire magic could wait.
"...diel!"
"Hey Ardiel!?"
"Huh, wha…what?". I completely missed whatever they were talking about, being lost in thought.
"What d'ya think?" my dad asked me. Are we still on the same topic here? I am being put on the spot here. Firstly, what adult asks a five year-old for their opinion regarding something that will essentially shape their life down the line? Additionally, judging by my mom's facial expression, I could just feel her radiating frustration. Yet, if I were to reject his offer, then I would let dad down instead. I really hate these kinds of scenarios where you have to choose one or the other, ultimately disappointing the one you rejected. If you think about it though, the idea of knocking some jerk into the ground after I learn how to fight does sound intriguing. Sorry mom, but I think I will have to go with dad's suggestion here. I don't know when he will be so enthusiastic again to teach me this. You have to grab on to whatever opportunity comes your way, that's something I learned the hard way in my past life.
"I think…I would like to learn it…from dad."
I had the good grace to look sheepish in front of my mom, putting on a show of being semi pressured into learning it and perhaps alleviating some of her pent up concerns. I already knew she was disappointed with dad, and that this talk was definitely far from over, but I myself didn't want to be the target of disappointment as well. Sorry dad. Your suggestion, so it's all on you buddy.
"Alright! Then starting tomorrow we can buy some toy wooden swords from the market and practice with those!"
"Yeah, sure dad."
I made sure to glance over at my mom, but she just started dead-pan into her plate with nothing else to say, and seemingly exhausted with this entire conversation. Usually it's my mom who wins any argument, but when my dad has his mind set on something, he becomes more stubborn than a mule, and my mother eventually gives up. That was how I was allowed to practice magic by the way.
***
Early in the morning the next day I was woken up by my dad already dressed and full of energy. Seriously, I have no idea where it even comes from in this guy. Clumsily I dragged myself out of bed, and still yawning, went to brush my teeth and take a quick "shower". For breakfast I wrapped some nuts and dried fruits into a leaf, a type of improvised elvish trail mix, stuffed it into my pocket to eat on the way, and left for the market.
We stepped off the platform of our tree-top neighborhood, and down the spiraling stairs that coiled around the tree-trunk. Making our way to the lowest residential platform, we stepped inside the trunk and into a contraption, which reminded me of an elevator, drilled through the inside of the giant Celestial.
It does make sense that such gigantic trees were to have elevators. By the time you would climb the unfathomable amount of stairs to just reach the lowest platform you would already be drenched in sweat and feel like you just ran a marathon. That's not to say that there are stairs that start from the very bottom, but nobody uses those unless the "elevator" is out of order.
Dad pressed his finger onto some kind of green-ish crystal gemstone. The contraption hummed, and our elevator began to make its way downwards. I noticed that it wasn't mechanical, as it was nothing but a stone platform floating in thin air, so I could only assume it was gravity magic. Gravity magic was a very advanced form of earth magic. Once a mage masters the basic spells of an element, they can begin to study its more complex forms, which are much more difficult to cast. By the way, the vines I am currently working on are also a deviation from original earth magic.
Once the elevator finished bringing us to the ground level, we stepped out of the tree-trunk, and made our way to the market. There was no need to go to the center of the capital. What we needed were wooden swords, and they were sold practically everywhere, so we made a short trip to the local shops. As we walked past the stands, I noticed that their products lacked some variety in comparison to the center marker, but they were cheaper as well. For example, a good quality silk robe here would go for around ten marks, whereas in the capital you could see prices so high you will need to use a crest.
The currency in this kingdom is simple. A hundred marks for a crest. To put their value into perspective, the average elven family, such as my own, is able to live comfortably off of around fifty marks per month. Those who could afford to spend that kind of money would only be noble families with influence and old money, and well known crafters and artisans.
As we made our way further down the street, dad stopped near a stand with various kinds of wooden carvings. Animals, birds, and peculiar childrens toys. Even the toys here were crafted with care and mastery. Polished, shiny, and the amount of detail made them look almost life-like.
"Interested in anything?" Said the old keeper of the stand, startling me out of my daze. His white hair was neatly tied into a ponytail, and despite his age he had a cunning glimmer in his forest-green eyes. He was wearing a gray tunic, lined with white at the end of the sleeves and down the traces of the collar. He had a small earring in his left ear, which I assume was a clear crystal, or perhaps even a diamond.
"Yeah, we were looking for some wooden swords. Something to train the little guy here with. Do you have anything like that?" My dad responded, standing back straight again after looking at the toys.
"Yes we do, here let me check."
The old man bent down to retrieve something out from beneath the stand. I suppose he doesn't keep swords on display, so him selling items like these is basically a trade secret, and if you don't ask, he won't show. Any stranger who would come to the market would only see this stand as a regular toy shop, although I do not really see any necessity in hiding them. Peculiar man.
What he retrieved was a box, approximately a meter in length. Opening it, he began laying out the swords in a row on the stand, while sliding the toys to the side.
I was surprised to see that even the wooden swords here were crafted diligently and with style. For something that was obviously made for childsplay, and was likely to get damaged quickly and break, the craftsmanship and effort was no different than the real deal. The only difference between them being that these ones were made of wood, and neither were they sharp, as all the edges were well dulled, even at the tip of the sword.
"Pick whichever one you like, kid." The old man prodded.
He didn't need to hurry me, as one particular sword already caught my attention. It was a straight-sword, without the usual elvish-style curved blade. The cross-guard was somewhat arched upwards towards the tip. The grip was wrapped in some kind of dark colored rough fabric, making it easier to hold, and prevent it from slipping out of your hand. The pommel was in the shape of a three dimensional rhombus.
The sword was light, and it felt comfortable in my hand. The center of gravity was not near the end of the blade so the sword did not dip down when I pointed it outward, but more towards the handle, allowing for quick and comfortable movement. Holding the sword felt natural, even though never before in my life did I ever hold anything that can somewhat resemble one, besides a kitchen knife.
"This one." I finally said, resting it back on the toy stand.
"Terrific! Anything that caught your interest sir?"
"No, I will be fine, I'll find something to use. What's important is for the kid to learn to hold a sword."
"Well then. That would be three marks sir. Oh, and best of luck in training, child."
After buying the sword, we returned back. I had it in the scabbard I flung over my back, and which the old man so graciously offered to us as a gift. My father was beaming, while I was feeling mixed emotions of both excitement and worry. I knew that now there was no going back, and that just like this, begins my journey as a fighter.
***
My dad and I did not return home after the market. By his demand we went straight to training. Walking past our home, by my suggestion we made our way into the forest towards my magic training grounds. I figured why try to find another place to do it if I already have a suitable spot? Besides, I have already practiced so much magic in it for the past years that it was clear of any grass or leaves, leaving just a smooth surface of rock-solid compacted dirt.
After we arrived, I took the sword out of the scabbard, and began playfully swinging it from place to place in anticipation. Meanwhile, dad was searching the area for a suitable stick for him to use instead of a sword.
"Ardy! You ready?" He finally exclaimed after searching for a minute or two.
"Mhm."
Today we started off with the basics of swordsmanship. I suppose dad was more eager to start off with the sword, than to throw punches and kicks.
He showed me a few beginner swings, demonstrating them to me with his stick. His movements were quick, solid, and honed to mastery, even though he wasn't holding a sword. Each swing was followed by a low sounding "whoosh" of wind which slightly ruffled my hair. I sensed no magic from him, and each swing he made was done purely by his own physical strength, and experience with the blade.
To begin our training, dad made me raise my sword over my head, and then swing it back down so that the blade was almost perpendicular to my body. It was clear just how much of a gap there was between me and my dad. My swings were slow, clumsy, and the sword always wobbled in my hands at the end, instead of coming to a rock-solid halt like it did in my dad's. Each swing also made me lose balance and lean forward, causing me to fight against the momentum.
"Make sure to not keep your legs in the same spot. Put your left leg forward like you're taking a step to prevent you from constantly falling forward. Gripping your sword tightly will not prevent it from wobbling, the strength must come from the wrists. Solidify them!"
I tried again, this time as my dad has instructed me to. I did see some improvement. No longer was I fighting against the forward momentum the sword was generating, and instead of stumbling forwards every few swings, I was planted in place. My sword also did not wobble as much, though I still lacked the physical strength from completely preventing it from doing so.
"How was that just now?"
"Mhm, much better. Keep going."
Keep going? Ok, sure. I guess this will be a training focused on repetition, and refining one particular skill for a while.
I kept on swinging the exact same way about a hundred times or so. After that, with sweat trickling down my forehead I let the sword fall to the ground and placed my hands on my knees, slightly hunched over, and breathing heavily.
"That's it? You can't keep going?"
Keep going? Do you even realize the fact that I just did over a hundred consecutive swings? Do you expect a kid to be a master swordsman just by holding a sword?
"It seems you are greatly lacking in terms of stamina and strength, Ardy. We're going to have to keep working on it. For now, take a short break, and we will continue."
For the rest of the day, besides lunch, I swung the sword in that exact same way. Taking a short break, and then repeating the set all over again. One hundred times, two hundred, three, four. The swings just kept piling up, and so did the sweat on my body and the ache in my arms. By the time dad finally told me to store the sword back into the scabbard, my arms were visibly shaking, and so weakened I was barely able to even move them. My hair was disheveled, and I was so drenched that I looked as if I took a dip in a river.
"I think that should be enough for today. So, how're ya feeling champ?"
The glare I gave him after he spoke those words was perhaps so blood-thirsty that his usual grin somewhat faltered, and now looked more forced as opposed to genuine. If this was a cartoon, it would be the part when the character is awkwardly smiling with a bead of sweat drawn on his forehead.
"Well um…ahem…you did great today Ardy. Just have to work on that stamina and strength of yours, and the training will get easier, so don't be discouraged. You'll see!"
***
I had no time to think about whether I was discouraged or not. The only thing I could think about at that moment was the unbearable pain in my arms. My lungs felt as if I had torn them, and I was afraid my heart would stop beating given how much of a workout it had the entire day.
I barely made it through dinner. The fork shook so much in my hand I kept getting food stains all around my mouth.
I almost collapsed from exhaustion in the shower. My arms ached so much that they felt like there were about to fall off, and I could barely wash myself because they completely gave out.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally stumbled upon my bed, climbing into it only with legs like a worm, with my arms hanging limply by my sides. 'This is even worse than trying to master fire.' I thought to myself as I lay in bed, half alive, half dead. 'Is this really the appropriate introduction of a five year-old to combat?'
When I used to come back home feeling tired from casting spells all day, I thought I was exhausted. As it turns out, I had absolutely no idea what actual exhaustion was up until today. I knew that tomorrow before lunch, I will be faced with the same hell as I faced today. I also knew that tomorrow, my arms would hurt even more than they do now, and I dreaded the thought of having to repeat the same swings again. Or, if dad decides to focus on hand-to-hand combat tomorrow, then I would just drag myself back to mom, and hide teary-eyed within her embrace while she pats my head and casts a deathly glare at my dad.
'At least tomorrow I will have to endure this torture for only half a day.'
On this note, I fell asleep as soon as I shut my eyes.