My mind raced as I kept thinking about the words Rash had spoken.
I didn't even notice that he had already disappeared into the crowd of teens to continue his own training.
'Don't think with your sword. Let the sword follow your body.'
Those two sentences replayed in my mind over and over.
"Don't think with your sword. Let the sword follow your body."
Without realizing it, my lips began to move as I whispered the same words to myself.
I didn't know how I must have looked right now—sitting on the ground with my eyes closed and muttering to myself—but it felt like there was a faint smile on my lips.
I didn't know why I felt like that, and it didn't even matter.
What mattered were the words he had spoken.
At first, they sounded like the same vague phrases you would hear in every martial arts story from some old masters.
They often talked about things like that, the sword wasn't a tool but a part of yourself, and gained enlightenment from that phrase, becoming one with their sword.
To a modern person who had never even touched a sword, those ideas would sound strange and unrealistic.
But now—
After wielding a sword for so long, and practicing the basic movements every single day, using them again and again in real battles—those words felt different.
The way I saw and felt about those very same words I had once stamped as nothing more than fiction... changed.
It wasn't some sudden enlightenment.
I hadn't suddenly become a swordmaster who had become one with his weapon.
No, it wasn't even close to that,
Those parts were fiction. Of that I was sure.
But I felt like I understood what Rash had tried to tell me.
The way I used my sword really was plain if you looked at it from a different perspective.
I had incorporated various techniques and moves, fusing them with my swordsmanship, and believed I had evolved. I thought I had grown beyond the student I once was, who practiced the same basic moves again and again.
But in the end—
I hadn't.
If you eat bread together with your soup, it is still soup. You may feel fuller after eating the bread. But the soup itself hadn't changed.
It was just soup.
My swordsmanship is the soup.
The other techniques and moves I added to it were the bread.
Together, they created a new fighting style.
Soup and bread.
I created a new kind of meal, but it didn't change the soup itself.
Just like the soup—the core of it, my swordsmanship, remained the same.
What I needed now wasn't to add more bread.
I needed to change the soup.
My swordmanship.
But how?
That was the big question.
Yes, it was good that I understood what Rash had meant when he called my swordmanship plain, but that didn't solve the problem.
I needed a solution.
And as the saying goes—knowing the problem is already half the work of finding the answer.
Rash had said I should let my body lead.
I should see with my eyes and react with my hands and feet, and let the sword follow.
A sword following your body?
It sounded ridiculous.
How could a sword follow my body?
But that wasn't meant literally.
It was a metaphor.
What I really needed to change was the way I thought.
Or more precisely—
I needed to stop thinking.
Until now, I had always thought with my sword.
I looked at my opponent.
How was he standing?
Where was his sword?
Which side was open?
Where was the gap?
Which angle should I strike from?
A diagonal slash?
A stab?
That was how I fought.
I analyzed my opponent. Then chose a move, thinking of a way to land a hit.
Now I needed to change that process.
I would still observe my opponent's stance and position. But not to decide which sword move to use.
Instead—
I would simply decide where I needed to stand.
If his sword was to his left and his stance was slightly unbalanced—
Where would I need to stand in order to dodge or attack?
That was all I needed to do.
The sword should follow that movement.
How I attacked would naturally change depending on my position.
Instead of thinking: Where should I stand to slash or stab?
I would think: Where should I stand to attack or defend?
I will just erase the part where I consciously decide what to do with my sword.
I would not think and just act.
That was how I understood it.
But understanding it and actually doing it were two very different things.
Right now, it sounded simple.
Just stop thinking.
But I was certain that would change in a real fight.
And the worst part was—
I wasn't even sure if my interpretation was correct.
Still—
I had a feeling.
A feeling that I was on the right track.
Haah.
Letting out a breath, I leaned my head back against the cold stone wall.
There wasn't anything I could do right now.
Training my sword at this moment wouldn't help. All I could do was wait until tomorrow and test it during another duel with Rash.
My thoughts suddenly halted as I realized something strange.
The duels between Rash and me.
Since when had I begun looking forward to them?
It began as a sort of curiosity.
I was curious about him.
I wanted to know how strong he was.
And—
I lost.
The next time he asked for a duel, I accepted again.
The reason?
Curiosity.
I was curious about him as a person.
He was strong. Far stronger than any of the other teens I had faced. His fighting style was also strange, unpredictable. His positive attitude in a place filled with death. And why he kept trying to get closer to me.
Then there were his unknown origins.
All of it led to one thing.
Curiosity.
So I kept accepting his duels, one after the other, even though I lost.
Not out of rivalry.
Not out of revenge.
Not out of pride.
There was no space for emotions like this here.
It was curiosity.
I wanted to understand him.
And without realizing it—
I had grown used to our daily duels. They had become a part of my daily routine. That very same daily routine that remained unchanged for months.
It was strange how quickly that had happened and without me even realizing it.
And now there was another thing I was curious about.
His master.
The one who had taught him how to fight.
The one who had taught him to wield a sword not as a weapon, but as an extension of himself.
Who was that master?
What else had Rash learned from him?
Normally, I wouldn't have cared about such questions. But every interaction with Rash only created more of them. My curiosity about him grew a little more each day.
That was why I kept dueling him.
Why I kept talking to him.
Because maybe—
I would find the answers to some of those questions.
But instead of answers, I only got more questions.
Now, after spending these days with him, I had grown used to his presence. I even allowed it, but kept everyone else at a distance.
It was as if Rash alone had managed to break through the walls I had built around myself.
The walls that once kept people away—because I didn't want to add another name on the wall beside my bed.
The walls that stopped the teens around me, who were nothing more than numbers, from becoming human beings.
And as I felt how close Rash was to breaking through those walls—
I had mixed feelings.
I was afraid.
Could I kill someone I knew the name of?
Someone I had allowed to come close?
Would he even survive?
Or would he become another name I had to add to the stone wall?
But alongside that fear—
There was another feeling.
Curiosity.
I wanted to know more about him.
I wanted answers to all the questions I had.
And that was why I didn't push him away.
Why I allowed him to remain close.