"Come, Kael! Give me your best shot."
The old man's voice boomed across the courtyard as he pointed a wooden sword at the boy standing before him.
Kael gripped his own wooden blade, his eyes focused on the old man. His breathing was steady but his hands were trembling slightly.
"Master... you might regret this," Kael muttered with a faint smirk.
The old man gave a small smile in return but didn't reply.
Narrowing his gaze, Kael took his stance. After waiting for exactly 10 seconds, he lunged at the old man, aiming his sword straight for his chest.
The old man, however, didn't move.
Kael's smirk widened. "Just as I thought," he said—and brought his sword down in a vertical slash.
The old man waited for the last possible second and finally raised his sword to block Kael's blow.
The two swords collided with a crack and before Kael could even process it, he was sent flying backward.
"That was too easy, boy."
The old man stepped toward Kael and laughed.
Kael rolled his eyes as he stood back up, brushing dirt from his arms. "You didn't have to send me flying through the air, you know."
The old man smirked then sheathed his wooden sword. "Everything should be done flashily."
Kael chuckled, brushing dust off his trousers now. "Yeah, yeah, old man. You just love showing off."
But then, the old man's expression shifted. His brows furrowed slightly as his eyes studied Kael more closely.
"Kael," he said, his tone quieter now, more thoughtful. "Tell me… why do you really want to learn the sword?"
Kael blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question.
"Huh?"
The old man crossed his arms and Kael realized his master was serious.
"In this age of science and technology… there's no place for swords anymore. The world has moved on. Guns, tanks, drones. There are machines that can wipe out entire civilizations with the press of a button."
He took a step closer.
"So why the sword, Kael?"
Kael tilted his head, unsure how to respond. A flicker of confusion passed through his eyes. He looked away for a moment, as if searching for the answer.
"I... I don't know, Master," Kael finally said, his voice softer now, almost uncertain.
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"Why does something need a reason to be pursued?" Kael continued, his eyes still lowered. Then he looked up and saw something close to confusion in his master's face. He had rarely seen that sight.
Stepping forward, he brushed his messy hair back and continued, his voice more determined now:
"Master... I have always been fascinated by the sword. Not cause its capable of spilling blood. Not even for the violence it welcomes when drawn."
He paused, resting his hands on the wooden grip of his sword.
"A blade," Kael said, meeting his master's gaze, "is a reflection of myself. When I hold it... I see not a weapon—but a part of me: vulnerable and raw."
The old man's expression changed and Kael could see the edge of his mouth curling into a faint smile.
"When I first started, you remember, don't you, Master? My sword... it used to shake a lot."
The old man nodded slowly, the memory clearly vivid in his mind.
"But now I understand. It wasn't the sword that trembled." Kael's voice dropped as if lost in thought. "It was me. The boy holding it... I was the one who shook. I didn't know what I was holding, what it meant to bear a sword."
"I was uncertain. Scared."
"But time passed. I grew. And as I grew... the shaking stopped. Not because the sword became lighter but because I became more determined. And now, here I stand in front of you, not as the trembling boy from years ago, but as someone who knows the worth of his blade."
He took a deep breath, then added, "To me, every path the sword leads me down is a form of education. Every cut, every stance, every fall... it's knowledge. It's learning. And I want to keep learning."
The old man shook with excitement. A long-forgotten spark lit in his chest. He too had once been a boy like Kael, full of dreams and wide-eyed ambition. He too had fallen in love with the sword—not for glory or blood, but for the satisfaction it brought him.