Summer 18 116
Even though it wasn't a nice day… Caelum wished he could spend it lounging outside doing nothing productive at all. His right hand was waiting for a chance to seize the practice sword's hilt, while his left was holding onto the practice sword's body. It required a moment, but eventually, as he struggled to push the distractions from his thoughts, he felt totally at peace with who he was. The weapon by his side was no longer just an object; rather, it was an extension of his actual potential, ready to unleash its full fury on anyone who dared to oppose it.
The usual silence enveloped him as his empty mind took in every sound, smell, sight, and sensation, sorting the important ones to put out of its mind and sharpening his focus on the rest. Caelum had always been amazed at how much concentration was required for a warrior to succeed.
With a sharp movement, he pulled on the practice sword's body with his left hand, not pulling it all the way out of its resting place in his belt, until the hilt protruded slightly below his chin. The practice sword clattered to the ground instead of flowing smoothly into his right hand with the easy grace of an experienced swordsman, and he snatched at the hilt before even taking a breath… Though his face was stiff with frustration at his own clumsiness, he picked up the practice sword again without showing any visible anger. Considering that he had only been going through the motions and hadn't applied his usual enthusiasm… there was no cause for concern.
He was now upset with himself… so he dropped into stance and slammed the practice sword into place. Blinking away the beads of sweat that often caused his vision to become blurry, he took a cleansing breath of the stale dojo air in the hopes of driving away all other distractions once more... Then a violent spirit overcame him. With a low, forceful charge, he propelled the practice sword forward with such speed that he was almost positive it could have rendered a fully grown man unconscious, using his left hand to push it up and out. This time, there was no hesitation as his pivot foot struck the ground hard and spun him around so quickly that he nearly let go of the practice sword.
He hacked down, barely managing to hold on, then flourished the stick and sheathed it away once more. He folded his arms, shaking his head in disgust, trying to figure out why his movements were so jerky and devoid of his usual dexterity. It was clear that he was having trouble focusing or paying attention.
The weather brought a soothing calm that relieved the mind and heart of the heat from the early day's beating… Caelum sat cross-legged in the practice yard outside the dojo, taking in the essence of nature and receiving an all-encompassing peace of mind in return. His thoughts wandered from one banal topic to another.
He became aware that his attention had also been diverted since the day the students had stormed out of the djo in a fit of rage as he considered everything that had transpired since then… He had somehow lost his sese of equilibrium in losing his peers a second time, and it was probably something that would only come back when he realized what he had lost. He spent some time wandering aimlessly through the recesses of his mind, a kind of mental purgatory where nothing quite existed but where every fleeting thought that floated through the emptiness had some real meaning.
He studied the fluidity with which the technique he was working on was executed… and his body became vaguely aware of it. Although the hilt thrust was strong and full of energy, it did not unbalance the rest of his body the way it had in the dojo. The secret to this movement was passion mixed with serenity. He imagined how someone could use their agility to quickly and precisely dispatch an invisible attack that was aimed at his back before quickly sheathing the weapon.
He had developed a connection with his body and its movements, as well as the reasons behind them, during his meditation. He wasn't sure how the two related, but he would not be able to learn this technique, or probably any technique, if he couldn't get his peers to come back to the dojo. After all, they were his new kin. Caelum opened his eyes and saw a stark blanket of black all around him. He thought about what he had seen. Now that he was conscious again, the logic of it all simply did not add up. However, the feeling that his theory had been right persisted in his mind, and when he looked down at his hands, he saw that they were held in a position where they appeared to be drawing his practice sword at his waist. In fact, his entire body tensed with a nervousness that befitted a warrior emerged during his contemplations.
"So, after being silent for so long, I need them to come back so that I can get my inner peace and my instructor back then," he said out loud, his lips quivering slightly. "So be it."
He had promised himself that he would locate the missing dojo students and persuade them to go back to their teacher tomorrow. He would succeed one way or another. Not long later he found some of his peers in an section sandwiched between two affluent establishments that sold fresh fruit on one counter and fried fish on the other.
As they were merrily dividing their most recent purchase among themselves, Caelum's figure appeared, obstructing their view. His eyes narrowed as he glanced a basket filled with vibrant green apples. "So you now spend your time like this?" He suddenly found it extremely difficult to control his rage towards the idiots since their pointless antics were wasting his time.
One of the ex-students stepped forward. There was something more resilient about him. There was an air of impending danger that had not been there before, whether it was his appearance or the stretch that pulled the skin over his cheeks more sharply. And his eyes had a predatory appearance. Even so, Caelum forced himself to look indifferent, save from the indifferent loosening of the practice sword's hilt.
He growled menacingly, "Go home dragon, this isn't the dojo"
Caelum felt anger bubble up inside him. "Apologize and come back to the dojo. Maybe then I won't give each of you bloody noses."
Two of the ex-students snarled something incoherent and lunged at him in response to his request. He made an observation that they were all older than himself, and that they outnumbered him seven to one in the brief moments before he was fully engrossed in the altercation. But… they couldn't fly like he could. These facts lingered in the back of his mind, but his sword hand stayed steady as it shot out of the sheath, catching one of the two approaching opponents under the chin. Then, on the backstroke, Caelum struck the other opponent's neck sideways, sending him spinning to the ground before automatically sheathing his practice sword. One more charged at him, but this one brandished a filthy club, which he swung wildly and laughed, spitting phlegm all over the place.
Since one of the other two had slipped behind him and the other two were awakening from their brief shock, Caelum didn't bother confronting him head-on. With rapid motion, he flew into the air to readjust himself with his back to a tree, using the hard bark as a springboard over the head of another former dojo student. Without pausing to consider his options, he dodged a left hook by ducking beneath it and then deflected a right with a downward flick of his practice sword, landing with a loud crack on their wrist.
He realized that the group was trying to trap him between a rock and a hard place. It was clear that he couldn't win this fight – hell, he could hardly win a 1v3 against novices. So, he lifted up into the air to think things over.
"How about we all go back to the dojo? We can spar like this all the time… we don't have to turn this into a bloody mess."
The ex-students were just as tired as he was, and looked to their leader. He spoke up, "it would beat goofing off, but the instructor's training was much too difficult."
Caelum sighed, "I think he realized as much. He seems deeply sorry that he drove you all out… how about we all just agree to give each other another chance?"
The former trainee with continued to carry his practice sword, his heated attitude had been building since some time ago. With apparent skill, the man flourished his sword twice over his head before bringing it down with a bone-breaking slash through the air to release his pent-up anger.
"Okay, but you have to beat me," he said to the dragon floating above him.
"So be it," Caelum said as he landed.
The ex-student didn't hesitate, unlike in the dojo, when his practice sword suddenly flew straight towards Caelum's face. If the dragon hadn't been as quick, it would have smashed his nose in a spray of blood. Luckily, his only his cheek was skimmed and his arm was hit with a followup attack. "Could have been worse…" he thought. Caelum enjoyed his sense of latent control over his body even as the muscle cords beneath his skin flexed and moved purposefully towards the next threat.
His hands simply twisted the practice sword out of his sheath and knocked the attacker's weapon out of his hands and to the ground in one continuous motion. He was conscious of the heavy breathing that heated the cramped area as he sheathed his weapon once more and dropped into a stance that announced that he was ready to keep going. He sighed wearily as adrenaline finally started to flow out of his system, "The noise will attract someone to take a look soon. This is over."
The next week:
"Please try not to lunge." the teacher gave Caelum instructions as he carefully raised his bruised arm a few inches. Caelum found it irritating that the instructor continued to look at the mark guiltily, as if he had personally injured his student's arm.
Caelum had spent the better part of a week and a half in the infirmary, receiving care from a nurse. The instructor found out about the fight Caelum had and felt quite guilty. Initially, the educator was overcome with fury; however, he eventually composed himself into a solemn, self-loathing quietness. More than he could express, that infuriated Caelum, but at least the man was personally teaching him techniques and had stopped insisting on leaving town in search of students.
"Thrust a little higher! You're going for the heart, remember that!"
Caelum tried to push the hurt away as the words filtered through the ringing pain in his ear, pushing it into a corner of his subconscious where it would stay until he had more time, possibly at night. His eyes slowly opened again, and he glared at the practice sword he was holding in his weak fingers. Even with the teacher's kind and encouraging words, he could tell right away that his form was terrible. The instructor appeared to be able to defend from either side when he executed the sword technique, but Caelum leaned to the left because of an especially nasty greenish-black shiner that covered his entire right rib cage.
He felt the pain shoot up his side and to the base of his neck, putting him out of commission for a short while. Willing his body to straighten, he wheezed. The instructor appeared as though he would soon become ill. "I promise you, I'm okay. Just stop nagging me, please," Caelum growled through the agony. It was draining his energy to constantly have to tell his teacher not to worry when he had a minor itch.
The senior gave up trying to be a nagging nancy for the moment and gave Caelum a hard tap on his outstretched forearms. "If that's the case, try not to tremble so much, kay? And try again."
Caelum dutifully complied; he had been fighting all evening for the opportunity to receive instruction like a student rather than a patient in a hospital. Suppressing a sigh, he thrust the practice sword back into his belt. The extra weight on his left side caused his body to become unbalanced and caused his ribs to hurt. He was wincing as every twist of his abdomen sent a stinging fire through the middle of his chest. In Caelum's peripheral vision, the teacher loomed menacingly to his left, making as though he were attacking. Grasping only a fleeting glimpse of the maneuver, Caelum coolly removed the practice sword from its sheath and jabbed its tip toward the instructor's attack approaching from his left.
He cursed as the practice sword struck the ground and he went limp. The teacher was already on his knee by his side offering him advice on how to ignore the pain and recommend that he lie still for a while. A swordsman's sense of pain marked their continued existence and continued combat. What use would a sword serve if there was no pain?
Caelum gave the man standing over him a fierce look. How could someone so powerful become so completely vulnerable? It was absurd. Upon hearing the teacher's continued justifications for not being able to or willing to spar with him in his current state, Caelum stormed out to the practice yard to vent his frustration. Not even a month had passed since his altergation. Caelum's spirit was still unbalanced, but he kept it to himself, especially from the teacher.
"All you have to do is Ignore it. Just concentrate on completing your forms on the dummies," he told himself.
Caelum made himself line up opposite the first dummy he saw outside, unwilling to waste more time on sentiments that were worthless. Its straw stuffing protruded from its arms, torso, and cheeks as though age, the weather, and all the beatings it had probably endured over the years were finally taking a toll. Caelum felt, quite absurdly, that he could relate to the dummy better than he could his teacher.
He lashed upward, straight up across the divide of the symmetric human representation with a single swift stroke, oblivious to the stabbing pain that burned throughout his body and at the back of his mind like low-level radiation. It was a euphoric combination of pain and action. Caelum was sheathing and slashing with impunity before he even realized it. His body's overworked muscles started to relax, allowing him to slash more freely than he had since his fight. With a thoughtless laugh, he windmilled his arm and slammed it haphazardly back against the wooden dummy.
He felt himself making small annotations and edits to his form even as he was just letting his day's worries out. He discovered after slapping that he liked to slant forward a little, which created an opening that shouldn't have existed after the attack. He didn't even realize he was leaning slightly away from his blows, straightening his back, and adjusting his neck to provide more resistance to his forward lean. His thrusts also needed a few minor adjustments.
With both hands, he pushed forward, making sure to keep his knees bent to distribute the force evenly across the ground rather than causing it to wash out along his joints. He was lost in the pure joy of being at one with his practice sword, the practice field, and the dummy that he struck but knew wouldn't strike him back, and the tired exhaustion he'd been experiencing earlier vanished. He soon attempted to limber up using increasingly complex motions. As he slowly rose back into form, a cross-reverse slash caused hot tears of pain to well up in his eyes, but the pain served more as a warning than an actual physical hurt. He quickly became sweaty and took off his clothes, discarding it in a nearby trash can afterward, along with his sleeveless white shirt. He could spend the entire day in this warm, evening air against his bare skin.
He finally cleared his mind of the distracting pain that had been there for an eternity as he narrowed his eyes in focus. He shifted slightly to the right of the dummy, his left hand closing around the practice sword's body as he maintained his focus on its center. His right hand positioned itself just above the handle, clenching and unclenching like a beastly creature awaiting its next meal. The only sound in the background that he could perceive was the gentle kisses of the breeze kicking up dust into the air, but even that sound, so far from the center of his focus, was perceived in his mind as part of the background.
He lowered himself a little and wrapped the practice sword in the fingers of his left hand, his heartbeat slowing. He tightened his hold on the hilt and pulled it totally free from his sheathe, causing the world to slow down for a split second.
He made a thrust as though someone was attacking him from the left, as though an enemy had approached him on the practice field and was now attacking him. With a furious expression on his face, Caelum stood over the dummy, which toppled over after his thrust struck it so forcefully that it cracked at the base. As Caelum continued to pound the faceless dummy, he soon realized that he was shouting. Nevertheless, the teacher had appeared and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, assuring him that everything would be alright. It actually seemed to him that Caelum was being, perhaps, a little too aggressive.
