***
'How in the depths did he dodge that!?'
Quies slowly got up from a kneeling position, his arms covered in blood, yet not bleeding. He kept the blood flowing, and not bleeding, with blood enhancement. Interestingly, the hand which he used the tourniquet on was reacting better to the wounds than the other.
'And the whole time, he looked like he was barely breaking a sweat! It's like he anticipated everything I was doing!'
Whenever Quies caught a glance of Evengarde, his face was always expressionlessly stoic. It was like a sculpted statue—unmoving and still. He didn't dare stare directly into Evengarde's eyes, either.
"Huh…"
Evengarde walked towards Quies slowly. He jolted upright, but relaxed when he noticed Evengarde was moving to sheath his blade once more. In response, Quies absorbed his blood blade back into his body.
Evengarde raised his hand to point at Quies, but dropped it, realizing it might have been rude to do so. A light, airy click resonated as Evengarde's katana fully sheathed.
"Do you know what makes a good… no, great mentor, Quies?"
He stared at Quies with those deep eyes that hid a whirlwind of thoughts beneath them. Quies shuddered at their gaze.
"I…when the student surpasses the teacher? Is that a philosophical enough answer?"
Evengarde's eyebrows raised slightly, as if he hadn't expected Quies to give a legitimate answer.
"I don't know if anyone else has told you this, but you're an intelligent man, Quies. And yes, I agree with that answer…
"…However, a student surpassing their teacher is only a product of what makes a great teacher. Rather, I believe it is the duty of the mentor to be able to spot that potential within a pupil that, when nurtured, gives them the ability to achieve greater achievements than the mentor could ever dream of achieving. That is what, in my opinion, makes a great mentor…
…That is why, when one teaches, it is an absolute necessity to drop their hubris—your pride. That only blinds them from being able to spot that nascent, golden potential within a student. If one teaches with their hubris, they are not a teacher. They are a lecturer—a mere channel for information to spread."
Evengarde walked with a measured pace towards where he began the spar, on the other side of the room. Reaching the middle, he turned and spoke to Quies.
"When I fought you, Quies, I didn't do it with the intent of showing off—or even to win, in that matter. I was hunting for your potential…
…and within your soul, I can hear it clearly. It just needs some tuning."
He swiped his vigil coat to the side, revealing his blade's austere sheath.
"Let me be the one that tunes your soul, Quies, or at least the one who begins that process. Then, the rest of the process will be in your hands."
Quies, noticing Evengarde standing still, used the blood that stained his forearms and formed it into a blade. He assumed that Evengarde would want to spar once more.
'Am I really that extraordinary? I only took three days to learn my attune… damn, maybe I am.'
As the blade was halfway done forming, Evengarde interrupted Quies.
"Drop your weapons. We will spar once more, but without the use of attunements and weapons…
…Attunements and weapons should be treated as an extension of one's body and, to a certain point, an expression of one's soul. To harness their boons, you must learn to harness your natural weapons—your arms and fists."
Quies hesitantly drew his Zweihander back into his body. He expected Evengarde to do something, but he continued speaking.
It was essential to think of one's weapon as an extension of their own body. That way, they could control its movement much better to the point where a blade becomes an extra limb. Quies wondered how Evengarde fought with that sleek katana of his.
Evengarde continued speaking, and Quies listened attentively.
"Oh, and this time, I won't attack you. My job is only to dodge…
…you, on the other hand, have one goal. Get a proper hit on me, just a single time. It doesn't matter if I block or parry your attack, as long as you make contact. Then, we can move on."
Evengarde released a small chain which held his pure white vigil coat in place—taking his arms out of its sleeves and dropping it on the ground. It flew violently into the air as Evengarde blitzed the distance between himself and Quies in a flash, appearing right beside him.
"Begin."
Zweihander fully absorbed into his body, Quies had nothing but his own two hands to land an attack on Evengarde.
That is, if he could even keep up with his ludicrous speed.
Quies delayed his first attack, hoping he could catch Evengarde off guard with an unexpected punch.
The air parted as Quies awkwardly threw a punch in the direction of Evengarde. It was hard to get into the proper stance to throw a proper one for two reasons: First, it would reveal his intentions. Second, it was awkward positioning.
As expected, Evengarde disappeared into the midst of the air. A slight moment later, a gust of air blew from behind Quies.
However, he didn't turn around. Instead, he listened to Evengarde's song, exactly like how he had done at the beginning of their last spar to predict Evengarde's movement. The divine sound resonated from behind him, just as he expected.
As fast as he could, Quies kicked backwards.
It hit the air.
His foot landed on the training surface with the speed of a trained fighter. He felt a slight pull on his achilles tendon as his foot stretched. The wind blew once more.
He punched, this time to the other side.
He hit air once more.
He punched.
Hit air.
He kicked.
Hit air.
He punched.
Hit air.
He kept hitting the air.
He hit the air a little harder this time.
He hit the air a little softer the next.
Another gust of wind blew from his side. The song resonated from behind him, to the right slightly. This time, he did a spinning kick, sweeping over a vast space around him. Despite his effort, he still hit the air.
And for the next two strikes, he hit the air once more.
Beads of sweat rolled down his face. He was beginning to get frustrated at not being able to land a single hit.
He knew it was going to be difficult, but still…
Every time he threw a strike, it was like dry-firing a bow without an arrow. Despite hitting nothing, his muscles and tendons were under a great amount of stress.
Making his strikes less taxing on his body, he continued hitting nothing.