Missio's eyes widened. The core of Sempiterne Swordsmanship became vaguely clear to him. He met Bellum's gaze again.
"If that's the case… then, shouldn't anyone be able to use it?"
"You would think that…"
Bellum sharply raised his sword. He slashed at Missio who didn't even realize the blade had moved. Bellum's sword moved in a rapid manner, forming several patterns from the afterimages of his sword. Once it stopped near his face did he react. He backed off. Bellum raised his guard, bringing his right foot forward while standing sideways.
"But it's not the case. You still need to know when and how to use your techniques in the philosophy of Sempiterne Swordsmanship. Therefore, one has to be a novice or a master. There is no in-between."
Cold sweat dripped down Missio's chin. He lowered his head, gripping his longsword.
"Then, what are you?" he inquired.
"A master, technically." Bellum replied. "I've used it to survive countless chaos fragment raids and have even earned the title of 'Saint' but in the grand scheme of things, I still feel like a beginner because being a master of Sempiterne Swordsmanship means being able to adapt to any war the universe throws at you without hesitation.
The commander rotated his blade in a swift manner, holding in front of himself.
"Now, let me see your level of mastery."
Missio gulped, restricting his enhanced vision. Both began to use the first form of Sempiterne Swordsmanship, mapping the path of their attack. The sun's light reflected on the oceans' surface as the two locked eyes. The birds chirped, flying off the cliffs. A cold wind swept past the duo as water washed onto their feet. Then…
Both shot forward at the same exact time. They launched into Stride. Their blades clashed, echoing throughout the empty shore. Missio pulled his blade. He swung it down, aiming at Bellum's wrists. Bellum's eyes narrowed to a slit. His hands flashed into a block. Missio's pupils dilated as the swords clashed once more.
'How fast is he…?'
Their mastery difference was too clear to not be noticed. Bellum twisted his wrist, binding his opponent. Missio didn't panic, pulling away. Bellum stepped between Missio's legs. He pressed his palm against the hilt of the blade. Missio leaned back – impulsively. The commander's sword thrusted forward, barely missing Missio's face. Missio pressed his feet on the ground. He caught himself.
His eyes widened, seeing an opening. His blade advanced without hesitation. Bellum smirked – amused. As the blade approached his chest, he struck it with the hilt of his blade. Then, he raised his legs. Missio blinked. He was swept off his feet. Bellum raised his sword, preparing to end the spar. Missio's mind raced in a fraction of a second. He threw his longsword up. It deflected the Saint's sword and bounced back.
'What the…?'
Bellum's eyes widened in shock. Missio's hands touched the sand. He flipped away, catching the sword. He landed and lifted his head. He met the saint's eyes, gripping the hilt of the blade. He shot forward at the surprised Bellum. He transitioned to Restless. His movements became more fluid as the two weapons clashed. Bellum didn't lose his grip. He also transitioned to form three. Missio swung down. Bellum parried the attack. It flowed into his attack.
Missio tilted his face, the metal grazing his skin. He immediately bound Bellum's sword. Bellum twisted his wrists, breaking the bind. Missio gritted his teeth, slashing diagonally. Bellum parried it, sliding his opponent's blade across the surface of his own. He looped it around. His sword fell to Missio's head. Missio didn't falter. His hands flashed up, deflecting Bellum's sword. He thrusted it. Bellum deflected it with his hilt.
They continued on for a few minutes. Both practitioners made horizontal, vertical and diagonals cuts with fluid motions that seamlessly transitioned from one attack to another. They traveled across the beach, the clash of the blades ringing across the entire shore.
As Dante and Victor watched this unfold, Missio's previous therapist suddenly asked a question.
"Dante… what did you do to him?" Victor inquired.
"What? I just brought him along on a road trip." Dante replied sarcastically.
"Oh, yeah sure. He's been traumatized for eighteen years and a road trip fixes everything. Why didn't I try that?" Victor scowled.
"Kidding…" Dante chuckled. "I just forced him to confront his fear upfront instead of hiding from them."
"…How did that not break him?"
"Your mindset was that Missio's would break when confronting his past without anything to back it up. Of course, as a therapist, you are a professional in this so, I won't speak too much. It's simple to think that someone would break under the same pressure as before. Most people do but not Missio." Dante explained.
"How…?" Victor inquired further.
"After I knocked some sense into him, he realized no one was coming to comfort him this time. So, in that dark room of his, he made the decision for his sake – for our mother's sake."
Victor nodded. "So, it was just a matter of making him realize how deformed he had become? I noticed that too. He hadn't aged well mentally since the Gamma rift incident so, I didn't want to break him.
"I feel like this makes me a better therapist than you." Dante commented.
"Come on… he was pretty happy during his Stratos years up until he joined the black ops and all the public backlash of your father's decision sent him into depression again." Victor tilted his head.
"You're right. But now, he doing better than ever just because he isn't hiding from the past any more. Y'know, he hasn't been affected by his nightmares since we went to Vatican City."
"Really?" Victor crossed his arms, raising a brow.
"Yes. He hasn't experienced PTSD either since Venice. That's where I made him do mind training by the way."
Victor nodded, amazed by Missio's recovery. He looked towards the boy whom he had helped fighting equally with a saint. His mind flashed back to their previous therapy sessions. Missio's soft, cracked voice – his weak body – his low self-esteem and his outbursts. A smile couldn't help but form on his face.
'You've grown, Missio…'
Victor thought with a solemn smile.
Bellum and Missio's blade clashed one more. They bound each other at the same time. As they stared into each other's eyes, Bellum whistled.
"That's all. Calm down."
Missio furrowed his brows. He pulled back his weapon and so did the commander. Bellum smirked, sheathing his katana. He brought his hands together and clapped.
"Amazing! You're already competing with me with three forms of Sempiterne Swordsmanship. You're on your way to becoming a Saint, Missio."
Missio blushed slightly, hearing his mentor's praise. "Thanks…"
"Now, your assessment." Bellum raised a finger.
Missio straightened. Dante and Victor also did, awaiting Bellum's assessment of Missio.
"Your first three forms were perfect but you're expending too much extra energy on useless movements. Don't worry, you'll learn how to deal with this in the fifth form but for now… you really have talent for this."
Missio paused for a moment. His lips curled upward – he was unable to hide his happiness.
'Yes!' he exclaimed in his mind.