'I had to think too much.' He reflected, his judgment merciless.
'Correct too much. Repeat too much.'
His brows furrowed slightly, a subtle line of concentration forming.
'My understanding of the saber is clearly below my understanding of the sword.'
There was no frustration in his thoughts. Much less disappointment. He simply accepted that fact naturally, just as he accepted that the sun rose in the east and set in the west.
Every cultivator possessed different affinities. Some were born destined for fire, their understanding of the blazing element almost intuitive.
Others were destined for ice, feeling the cold as an extension of their own essence. Some naturally understood formations, seeing patterns where others saw only lines. Others could never draw even a single array correctly, no matter how much they trained.
Perhaps... the saber simply was not his greatest talent.
A faint smile appeared on his lips, a smile of acceptance.
