Mobius's words left the two young swordsmen frozen in place, unable to answer. Gamble their lives? They had barely survived just moments ago.
Mobius only sneered. If you don't even have the courage to risk your life, then you're not worthy of being called swordsmen.
With that, he turned away. Voss followed, leaving the two in silence.
Jedi and Linden stayed rooted to the spot, watching their departing backs.
On the way back, they ran into Teach and Peto.
Teach carried a bag of rum in one hand, already drinking from an open bottle in the other. Peto walked beside him happily, crunching loudly on snacks from a sack slung over his shoulder.
Sensing the fight had ended, Teach had slowed his steps. He gave Mobius a knowing smile.
"Something happen?"
"Nothing big. Just two swordsmen looking for trouble," Mobius answered.
"Don't underestimate them," Teach said with a chuckle. "They're raw now, but with that kind of foundation, they'll grow into true swordsmen soon enough. I bet you felt the pressure when their blades came at you, didn't you?"
Mobius exhaled through his nose and gave a reluctant nod. Voss remained impassive, but he knew the truth as well.
Even though he wasn't a swordsman, he had felt the sharpness in their movements. Those two had pure technique, far beyond the average. Their flaw was simply inexperience.
Once that gap closed, facing them would be no simple matter.
Teach laughed lightly and waved them along. "Mark my words, they'll be back to challenge you again. Don't take them lightly."
Back in the inn, Teach thought on the encounter.
Jedi and Linden had an astonishingly solid base in swordsmanship, clearly trained under an excellent master. He pictured their teacher preparing them like whetstones, sharpening the edge of their foundation until the day it would break through. And when swordsmen broke through, their power could leap forward in terrifying strides.
That night, Jedi and Linden returned to a small courtyard by the palace. Their heads hung low as they faced their teacher.
An old man, hair streaked with gray, slowly swept leaves into a pile with his broom. Neither boy dared speak. Jedi opened his mouth once, but Linden quickly squeezed his hand, signaling him to stay silent.
When the courtyard was finally clean, the old man set aside the broom, turned, and regarded his disciples with calm eyes.
"Failure comes to everyone," he said quietly. "No one climbs undefeated all the way to the summit."
"But, Teacher…" Jedi's frustration finally burst out. "Losing to them just feels wrong. Unfair."
"You two were the unreasonable ones," the old man snapped, his gaze sharpening. "They didn't even want to fight, yet you forced them. And when you lost, you blamed their methods? They are not swordsmen, so of course they fought differently. The fault lies not with them but with your own lack of resolve."
Both boys flinched under his stern tone.
Shame flooded their faces.
"You didn't lose in skill," the old man continued, voice low and heavy. "You lost in conviction. In determination. A swordsman must be ready to cast away everything, pride, body, even life itself. Only then can you truly wield the blade without hesitation."
The words struck deep.
Jedi and Linden clenched their fists, realizing they had retreated when they should have advanced. Intimidated not by blades, but by words, they had lost to themselves.
"Teacher…" Linden's eyes burned. "I understand now. Tomorrow I'll challenge him again. I won't falter this time."
Jedi nodded fiercely beside him, equally resolute.
The old man finally allowed a small, satisfied smile. Good. Their spirits aren't broken, only tempered.
But then his face hardened once more. "Resolve is fine talk. But have you finished today's training?" His sudden bark startled both boys, snapping them back to drills.
As they resumed their sword practice, the old man walked to the courtyard gate. His eyes shifted, as though staring into the distance. He could feel a probing presence, someone watching them.
On the other side, Teach's pupils gleamed with delight. His Observation Haki had brushed against the old man's presence, but the response nearly crushed him. That aura… overwhelming, controlled, yet brimming with destruction. It dwarfed Erik's presence five, six times over. This was no ordinary swordsman.
Admiral-level… maybe higher. A Great Swordsman of the Flame Style.
Teach pictured a sea of endless fire, and in response, his own will surged back; a three-headed dragon wreathed in lightning and flame. Their wills clashed silently, a brief but titanic collision unseen by Mobius and the others.
A grin spread across Teach's face. This was the chance he needed. His Flame Style swordsmanship had always been stronger than his Lightning, but after acquiring the Thunderstone, his Lightning had grown fast, even surpassing his flame techniques.
To balance the two, he needed guidance....he needed this man.
He retrieved a heavy practice blade, dust coating its blunt edge. With slow, deliberate swings, he began to retrain his basics. Each cut was heavy, solid, building not just skill but strength.
Tonight, he would prepare. Tomorrow, he would seek that monster's instruction.
At dawn, Teach stood outside the courtyard with Mobius, Voss, and Peto at his side. The old man had already sensed their arrival.
"Open the gate. We have guests," he told his disciples calmly, sipping his tea.
Jedi and Linden, confused, went to the door. When they opened it, their eyes went wide.
"It's you!"
The same two they had wanted to challenge stood there. But now, as guests. They hesitated, then stepped aside.
Inside, Teach finally laid eyes on the old man up close; tall, lean, his frame not bulky but radiating restrained power. Gray threaded his hair, yet the aura around him was volcanic, quiet now, but capable of shattering worlds when released.
Teach exhaled. So many monsters hidden in the corners of this sea…
He bowed slightly. "Marshall D. Teach. I've come to seek your guidance in swordsmanship."
The old man studied him in silence, then gave a faint smile. He could see the youth's path clearly; lightning and flame, forged into something unique.
Not yet polished, but promising.
"Very well. But first... watch these young ones fight. Let them go before you."
Teach grinned and nodded.
Mobius and Voss stepped forward as Jedi and Linden straightened their blades, eyes alight.
"My name is Jedi."
"My name is Linden."
"Mobius."
"Voss."
This time, there would be no ropes, no mercy, no excuses.
"This time," Jedi said, voice burning with conviction, "I'll defeat you."
"Train another three years," Mobius shot back coldly.
Linden's blade trembled in his grip, but his voice was steady. "I won't lose again."
Voss smirked, short sword flashing as he lunged. "Dream on. Watch how I crush you."
Steel clashed. The battle began anew.