SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 145: Sword Training (1)

They didn’t train in a field or a gym. Not even a drift platform.

Just an old terrace.

Empty rooftop of some retired government building. The kind of place that smelled like ozone and pigeon shit. Cracked tiles. Dust over glass. Wind blowing faint across the cityline.

Lucen stepped out, squinting at the sunrise. Then looked down at the blade in his hand.

"Feels wrong," he said.

"Good," Varik replied.

No warm-up. No lesson.

Varik just pointed.

"Stance."

Lucen blinked. "Stance what?"

"Take one."

He hesitated. Then lowered his knees a bit, planted his left foot back, held the sword up and out like he’d seen in duels.

Varik tilted his head. "You watching anime or trying to fight?"

Lucen adjusted. "What—like this?"

"Worse."

Lucen groaned, lowered the sword. "Okay, then show me."

Varik stepped close. Didn’t speak.

Just moved.

One foot forward. Knee bent. Hips square. Hands loose but steady on the hilt, blade angled slight. His posture didn’t look aggressive—just balanced. Like he could dodge or kill with the same motion.

Lucen watched. Mimicked it.

Varik didn’t correct him yet.

Then he stepped back. "Swing."

Lucen hesitated. "At what?"

"Air."

Lucen frowned. Then swung.

It was awkward. Too wide. Too much shoulder. His weight leaned wrong.

Varik caught the sword mid-motion with two fingers.

Lucen flinched.

"Too much arm," Varik said. "Let the hips drive it."

Lucen reset.

Tried again.

Better. Not good. But less like a guy swatting flies.

"You fight like someone who’s used to spells bailing him out," Varik said.

Lucen smirked. "Because I am."

"Then stop being that."

They trained in silence after that. Varik paced while Lucen swung, over and over. Vertical slashes. Horizontal. Light strikes, heavy. Grip corrections every ten minutes. Posture checks every two.

Lucen’s hands started to ache.

His fingers itched where the hilt rubbed wrong.

"You ever think of gloves?" he muttered.

"Gloves don’t fix bad form."

Lucen grunted. Tried again. By the tenth set his swing was slower. More focused. Less show, more drive.

"Better," Varik said finally.

Lucen lowered the blade, panting.

"On a scale of one to swordsman?"

"Paperweight."

Lucen flipped him off.

Varik almost smiled.

—

They took a short break.

Lucen sat on the ledge, back to a wall, sword across his knees. He let his hands hang limp.

’So this is what it’s like. Real sword work. Not glowing edges and cool names.’

Varik handed him a bottle of clear electrolyte water.

Lucen took it, drank. Didn’t even ask for soda.

He watched Varik stretch near the rooftop rail, slow rotations, shoulders pulling back with practiced ease.

Lucen asked, "How long did it take you?"

Varik didn’t look over. "To not suck?"

"Yeah."

"Years."

Lucen sighed. "Cool. Can’t wait."

"You’re not aiming for mastery," Varik said. "You just need to not die if someone gets close."

Lucen nodded.

Then asked, "What about killing them if they do?"

Varik turned. His expression was calm, unreadable.

"You’ll figure that part out."

—

Second half of training was all movement.

Varik stood opposite him now, both swords drawn.

"Don’t hit me," Varik said.

Lucen blinked. "Okay?"

"But don’t let me hit you, either."

Lucen raised his blade.

Varik moved.

Fast.

Not blink-teleport fast. Not skill-boosted dash.

Just clean, practiced footwork and economy of motion.

Lucen flinched. Blocked too late. Steel tapped his side. Light. Controlled.

Varik stepped back.

"Again."

They ran it ten times.

Lucen blocked three.

Sweat soaked his shirt by the fifth. His breath came shallow by the eighth. Hands raw by the tenth.

"More wrist," Varik said. "You’re fighting like a stick’s enough. A sword’s an edge. Use it."

Lucen gritted his teeth. ’Right. Not a club. An edge.’

They sparred again.

This time Lucen deflected a swing, barely. Slid left. Slashed in return.

The blade hit nothing.

Varik had already moved.

"Better."

Lucen exhaled. "This better get me a raise."

Varik just stepped forward again.

—

The sun was higher now.

City noise floated up from below. Horns. Distant train whistles. The buzz of a street drone passing near the edge.

Lucen stood in the middle of the rooftop, breathing hard. Sweat clung under his shirt. His arms were heavy. But he kept his grip. Steady now.

Varik walked a slow circle around him.

"Your footwork sucks."

Lucen didn’t argue.

"Your swing’s got gaps."

Lucen didn’t blink.

"But," Varik said, stopping in front of him, "you’re not flinching anymore."

Lucen cracked a dry smile. "Progress."

Varik nodded.

Then stepped back. Drew his blade again.

"One last time."

Lucen raised his sword.

And when they clashed?

This time, he blocked clean.

—

Morning air sliced across the rooftop, sharper now that training had warmed Lucen’s blood. Sweat glistened on the tile beneath his boots. He adjusted his grip.

Varik was watching him. No expression. Just observation.

"Forget about blocks," Varik said. "Your only defense is movement."

Lucen blinked. "Right. Step faster. Not swing less?"

Varik moved closer.

He drew his own blade and tapped it flat against Lucen’s upper arm, gently.

Lucen flinched.

"Not a signal to flinch," Varik said. "A test."

Lucen tensed.

Varik stepped back.

"You react once you feel," he told him. "The goal is before you feel."

Lucen frowned. Tried again. Held his stance. Didn’t flinch. The blade touched his arm again, this time before he realized it was coming.

Lucen exhaled slowly. "That took a second longer."

"Good," Varik said. "Now stop thinking."

—

They reset. Varik sheathed his blade.

"Footwork drill," he said. "Square pattern."

He drew a marker in the cracked tile with his toe.

"A square," he said. "Step forward, side, back, side. Then slide."

Lucen watched. Mimicked.

They moved in a square for two minutes straight.

Varik didn’t speak.

Lucen’s calves burned.

He slipped off the line once.

Varik paused.

"Outside."

Lucen corrected. Finished the third pass.

Then Varik finished the square with Lucen still inside it.

"Step out when you sense pressure."

Lucen tested. Stepped forward. Then back. Then to the left.

Varik stepped into one corner.

Took Lucen’s sword arm gently, and Lucen leaned. Balanced. No strain.

Varik nodded.

"You’re learning the zone."