"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, sweat trailing down his face. His breathing was steady, but his eyes burned with focus.
"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 shifted into stance. Then he lunged. His sword shot forward, aimed straight for the old man's 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.
In that instant, the old man moved, his own sword rising to block Kael's blow.
The two swords collided with a crack and before Kael could even process it, his arms trembled under the force—and he was sent flying backward.
The old man stepped toward Kael and let out a hearty laugh.
"That was too easy, boy."
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, sheathing his wooden sword. "Everything should be done flashily."
Kael chuckled, patting dust off his trousers. "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.
"Huh?"
The old man crossed his arms, his gaze serious. "In this age of science and technology… there's no place for swords anymore. The world has moved on. Guns, tanks, drones—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 the horizon 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 asked, his eyes still lowered. Then he looked up and saw a flicker of confusion on his master's face.
He stepped forward, brushing his messy hair back and continued, more determined now.
"Master... I have always been fascinated by the sword. Not for the blood it has spilled. Not for the violence it welcomes when drawn."
He paused, his hand resting gently on the wooden hilt at his side.
"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, Honest."
The old man's expression changed, the edge of his mouth curling into a faint smile.
"When I first started," Kael said, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "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."
He looked down at his wooden blade, fingers brushing across its surface.
"I was uncertain. Scared."
His eyes lifted again.
"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 has chosen to raise his sword."
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 to him.