Elara, after a moment, gave a short, exasperated groan and rolled her eyes to the ceiling as if imploring patience from the higher powers. "Father is a mountain. He not only believes in but also advocates the usage of the overwhelming force."
"I, on the other hand, believe in the one, perfect lightning bolt that, in fact, decides the battle even before the mountain is aware of it. Strength is what you take out when you are either too slow or too stupid to be somewhere else."
The Gale Shadow Strike is not strength, but rather finesse. It is the most tangible form of control."
She stepped away from him and towards the middle of the corridor. Her hand went out to the handle of her sword, a real one, a beautifully made steel blade that, when taken out of the sheath, emitted a soft, but sharp, metallic sound. Her move was impeccable not overly formal, yet still containing a great amount of latent power, just like a tightened bowstring.
"Watch," she commanded, her voice getting even lower and quieter.
Leonel was very tight, almost as if he was holding his breath.
It seemed to me that she not only didn't move but in fact showed her position. She was a warrior of the ancient times, frozen in the moment.
After that, it was a glint of the metal, a razor-like sound, and a movement so fast that it was beyond his capacity to see it.
Actually, it was not a slash; it was the notion of a slash, the invisible line which was drawn in the air became the real one.
The wooden figure of a soldier made of leather and tightly packed straw that she aimed at was simply cut in two. There was no crashing sound that accompanied the act, nor was there any obvious breaking of the wood.
The upper half of the figure separated from the lower one in a gentle manner and hence it landed on the stone floor with two quiet thuds.
"See?" Elara said as she gave her sword a definite click with the scabbard. She didn't even exhale heavily. "It is not a question of the strength of the blow. Becoming the part that hits is what it is all about. The sword is just the proof."
Leonel was dumbfounded. The performance was miles beyond what he had ever known her capable of. A lethal act, but in a charming way. "How… how do you do that?"
"Breath," she said while she was tapping a finger on her lips. "It is the meter. When breath, body, and blade are one and the same rhythm, you don't struggle with the air.
Instead, you let it lead you. You don't oppose, you become part of the flow."
His own wooden practice sword was looked at by him and it suddenly felt ridiculously insufficient.
"I don't think I am capable of doing that."
Elara's laughter was like a ray of sunshine that reached every corner of the hall. "If you keep on whining like that, you will never be able to do it. Come here. Stand up. Let me see if you can keep your balance with your own feet."
Leonel, with some awkwardness, and uncertain of himself, went to her, imitated her position in a very rough manner, and raised his sword.
"You are constantly moving your center from top to bottom like a fishing float," she declared immediately, she threw her leg at the back of his knee and thus, he lost his balance.
"Little brother, your shoulder are not the ones that deliver the blow. It is here..." She very energetically pointed her stomach with her finger. "It has been generated in your core, it goes along your spine and finally, it is done by your arm. The sword is only the one who delivers the message."
He blushed, changed the position of his feet and hands and struck in the air with his sword.
"Not," she said very seriously, "You are unnecessarily straining your muscles. You are trying to physically push the air aside. Please don't push so hard.
"Let go of the tension, breathe in, and concentrate on the surrounding space."
His following breath was a bit longer than his usual ones. He really was trying to slow down his very fast and loud heartbeat.
He struck again, this time he was slow, very attentive and focused and on the air that was touching his blade.
"Right," she said. "A little bit of understanding. Now you are just overdoing the thinking part. You are trying to think the swing through. Don't think. Feel."
He expelled the air that was under pressure, from his shoulders. For a very short period of time he even shut his eyes and with it, he not only forgot Elara, but also the promotion and everything else except the sword's weight and the soft sound of the air in the great hall.
He allowed his body to recall the odd warmth of the yard, the sensation of the blade as an extension of himself. He made his move.
The action was more fluid. There was no sudden power, no overwhelming speed, but for the first time, it felt… integrated. It felt whole.
With a short, loud sound, Elara's hand met together once and sharply. "Finally! A spark! A tiny, pathetic, barely-visible-to-the-naked-eye spark, but I'll take it. A spark is enough for work, we have."
Leonel smiled, which was quite out of character for him and his concentration. "I'm not a genius like you," he said.
"Not yet," she said, tapping his forehead with her knuckle lightly. "But you will. I don't think one can be forced to learn the Technique, but Talent is just a little bit ahead of the game. What you have…"
Her eyes indicating him, her playful manner changing to more thoughtful she said, "What you have is a stubbornness that very closely resembles divine madness. That's even more rare. Don't let it go."
Her words, although simple, affected him as if they were a big, warm, firmer stone inside.
She kept on him until the very end of the day, which was draining and, at the same time, maddening a bit of her. Her mockeries of him were like arrows, one of her few praises maybe a bit of irony, and she was absolutely oblivious to her missing any detail throughout the encounter.
Every time he failed to carry out the movement, she would indicate his elbow, point to her own side, tell him that he was breathing from the diaphragm, not from the chest, and so on. Through slow painful progress, the steps were felt less like a new thing, more familiar.
The wooden sword was for sure not a club any longer but rather more of a partner in something fragile, deadly, and graceful.
When the sun that has been shining through the large windows of the room during the day was going down, changing them into orange and golden shades, Leonel was full of sweat which was the result of his very hard but very rewarding work. With great effort, each stroke of the sword had to be done
Though he was tired, he also felt a new excitement, a sense that this was just the beginning
After she had gotten rid of her weapon, Elara approached him and looked him over. Her strict gaze was now more kind than it had been previously. "You didn't shame yourself completely, Leonel. You still have some spark left in you."
Shortly after, Leonel in his frantic search for words and help put his hand on the practice sword and said: "Thank you, Elara. I... I will keep it up."
"I am sure you will," she said in a low voice and almost gently. "That's how you are. And the day will come when this family will be totally quiet and stunned by you."
She left him standing in the darkening corridor with the sound of her slowly walking away. Leonel was alone, and the silence was almost choking.
He looked at the wooden sword that he was holding in his hand; this was the weapon that came with his new rank. While still there and slowly catching his breath, his thoughts were running wild.
Time passed...
The smell was the very first thing that Leonel noticed. It was identical to what he had stored in his memory a dry, old smell of sun-baked stone and mildly crushed sand that had a little metallic side from the weapon racks.
It was the smell of the past, the time when he was holding tight to his mother's skirts, his little fingers getting mixed in the silk while he was watching the giants fight in the arena down.
At that time the warriors had appeared to be demigods, their actions to be a blur of superhuman speed and earth-shaking power.
The noise of the people was something that could be felt in the chest, a sound that was both scary and exciting at the same time.
At present, Leonel, as a competitor, waiting at the entrance, the roar was the same, but he felt that he was in a completely different world.