The Knight of Incomparable Comprehension

Chapter 2: Stellar Sword Art

After doing the daily missions, I really didn't have much to do.

I usually stayed at home sleeping or went out to appreciate nature, but yesterday was a particularly boring day.

For some reason I couldn't fall asleep, but I didn't feel like going out, so I just laid there staring at the ceiling with a dumb look on my face.

I didn't forget to eat when I got hungry, of course, but I didn't do anything else for the rest of the day.

Until it was another day, and I had to get up reluctantly.

When I left the house fully clean and the sunlight hit my eyes and body, I felt that today would be a very productive day for me.

With a smile on my face, I set off for my first destination of the day.

*

The sun was shining in the clear sky.

There was a hut relatively far away from the village. It seemed strategically placed there to avoid any unnecessary interaction with other people.

Loi Village was close to a forest, but in the opposite direction of the forest, there was a large meadow stretching to the horizon.

This hut was precisely in this direction, away from the forest or any underlying danger.

Since it was remote, there was a large space in all directions from the hut. Enough to train with a sword comfortably.

And speaking of which, coincidentally there was someone doing just that.

He was an elderly man with a bushy beard and large, naturally furrowed eyebrows.

His clothing was composed of simple black pants. His torso was exposed to the air.

He was swinging a large stone sword.

It was moving up and down, left and right with slow but explosive movements. He was exerting a lot of force with his arms, back and legs at all times, seeming to exert a great deal of effort in real time.

A boy came running up to him at full speed, looking desperate to get somewhere.

"Whew, lucky I made it in time."

The boy, Leo, wiped away the sweat caused by his rush, as he quietly celebrated.

The old swordsman, seeing him arrive in such a hurry, only glanced sideways at him for a moment before deciding to ignore him as usual.

Leo did not notice this. He sat on the floor and stared at the old swordsman's movements with his eyes wide open.

Every movement, every muscle contraction, every breath and every set of feet came into his view. These were analyzed and compared with the sword technique he had already formed mentally during the dozens of previous observations.

His own body, which had imitated this swordplay countless times, had already begun to familiarize itself with it little by little.

Now, when he looked at the old swordsman's technique, he could recognize it without the need for great concentration.

Nevertheless, Leo did not dare to be distracted even for a second. He had only become familiar with swordplay, which did not mean that he was already perfect.

In fact, he could already mimic all the sword trajectories and body movements perfectly. But he felt that something was still missing.

It was as if a puzzle that was about to be finished was missing a piece, the most important one.

The old man continued his training unperturbed by anyone's presence. In his perception, only he and his sword existed.

The great sword kept changing its location slowly and spontaneously.

It could be a thrust in one movement and an upward slash in the next.

Leo was surprised to see this, but only a little. The old swordsman had changed the order of his sword movements from yesterday's.

His boyish frown furrowed, drawing his eyebrows together. He seemed burdened by a decision. Though with his face yet to develop, he was like a child fretting over which candy to try first.

There was something bothering him, something he hadn't noticed until now. At least, he hadn't paid attention to it.

The old swordsman seemed to be in the habit of not following an order in his training, but there were weeks and even months when he followed the same identical course.

I thought the changes he made had no meaning or reason, but to accept that without question was his mistake.

There it was.

The missing piece of his puzzle.

When he noticed this, Leo felt as if chains were breaking in his head. His limited perception had also limited his expectations.

Why stay in the same pattern? Why repeat everything in a rigid order?

Repetition makes the master, but it also shackles him.

As the ideas came, Leo felt a big, different world opening up before his eyes.

Along with Leo's epiphany, the old swordsman's daily training ended.

Perhaps from old age or perhaps from physical exertion, sweat filled his body.

With a sigh similar to hot steam, he left his stance and put the large stone sword over his shoulder.

He started to walk back to his hut, intending to take a good bath, but Leo's voice stopped him.

"Sir!" he shouted.

Hearing his shout from so close made his eardrums tingle. "Tsk, don't yell, brat. I'm right in front of you."

"Oh, sorry." Leo put his hand on his head, embarrassed. "Anyway, sir, I have a question."

"What is it?"

"What's the name of the sword technique you practice every day?"

Sword technique?" the old swordsman mentally asked himself, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmph," he snorted.

The stone sword resting on his shoulder moved until it stood before Leo's eyes, vertically, carrying a silent message.

Leo was startled for a moment, falling on his butt, thinking this old man had finally gone mad, but sighed when his prediction didn't come true.

The stone sword caught his attention, being that he had never seen it from so close. He noticed that there were some words written on its rocky blade.

<>

(or Stellar)

"That's the name." Said the old swordsman, swinging his sword back to his shoulder. "Don't compare it to a simple sword technique."

He snorted again and resumed his walk to his bath, ignoring Leo completely.

Leo stared at his back for a moment, a bit confused.

"Stellar Sword Art..." he muttered as he wiped the dirt off his butt.

Excitedly, he turned around and scurried off to his secret place. An enthusiastic smile graced his boyish face.

*

The sword is my life.

I was five years old when I held a sword in my hands for the first time. That was enough for me to know that I would be linked with it until the end of my days.

As it turned out, my feeling at the time turned out to be real, ironically enough.

As someone who has lived by and for swords, I can say it.

Only tragedy and despair awaits those like me. Unfortunately, I realized this too late.

I harbored admiration and expectations when I was young, just like anyone else. But as the seasons passed and I grew older, the world seemed to darken before my eyes. Slowly.

I witnessed hell in person, and felt ashamed to be human as I shared a race with the most disgusting and nauseating being known.

However, none of this was enough to divert me from my destiny.

I met my Master, who taught me everything I know, including my own sword.

I performed good deeds and atoned for my sins. I used my skills for justice and fought evil.

When I grew old, there was nothing left for me to do. The next generation had already taken my place.

I decided it was time to retire. My home village no longer existed, so I looked for the farthest place, where I would not be known.

When I finally found the right place, years had passed.

It was a small village called Loi, unknown to everyone, with no outside contact. This was the perfect place to wait for my time to come.

I built a small hut away from everyone, and stayed to live there, with the mayor's permission.

My days were peaceful. I enjoyed unprecedented peace.

Several years passed in this way. I did not remember the exact number.

I heard that a child had arrived in the village. The strange thing was that he had no parents, no one knew who or what brought him here. I didn't worry about it, it didn't affect me in any way.

After that, I heard that the orphan managed to survive without parents and no one to take care of him.

I spent several years hearing news of the orphan, until he was old enough to talk coherently and all the villagers stopped talking about him.

For my part, I just thought he was awesome but paid no attention to him.

Until one day that same orphan came before me.

"Let me be your disciple, please!"

... asking me to let him be my disciple or something like that.

I didn't know what it was that brought him to me but I refused without hesitation, of course.

I had never considered taking someone under my tutelage before, nor will I ever.

But that boy, whose name was Leo, did not give up.

The next day he asked me to at least let him see my training.

When I refused that day, he kept coming back the next day and the day after that, asking for the same thing.

After that, I got annoyed and ignored him.

Mysteriously, he kept coming every day, watching me train my sword.

Weeks and months went by like that.

With that strange perseverance of his, he showed me that his interest in the sword arts was not a momentary thing. He even got a wooden sword somehow.

Seeing all this, I deduced that he seemed to have the wrong idea about swordplay. Perhaps he harbored unrealistic hopes about his future.

But I said nothing to him. His decisions were none of my business.

To be honest, his interest in the sword reminded me of myself when I was his age. Maybe it was because of that nostalgia that I allowed him to do whatever he wanted.

Who knows.

*

In a clearing in the forest.

The sun was high in the sky.

I felt its rays of light on my skin, but it was as if my brain did not interpret this information.

At this moment I was training.

The wooden sword in my hands felt lighter than usual, and much sharper in turn.

It was as if I was holding a real sword, although I didn't know what it was like to hold a real one in my hands, that was how I felt anyway.

Watching the old swordsman's training this morning, I felt as if I understood something, and I couldn't help but rush to train.

The last thing my sword practice was missing, I think I know now.

It was as if everything lost meaning and in a dark world there was only me and my sword.

My stellar sword art, which I had trained so far, lacked essence.

I had only imitated the old swordsman's movements for no reason, for no purpose.

If I only did that for the rest of time, even if I learned how to use a sword minimally through imitation, I wouldn't even be able to call myself a swordsman.

This was where the essence, the foundation of the art of swordsmanship came into play.

There was a reason and a goal to be accomplished through every movement, swing and trajectory of the sword.

Of course, this was not limited to simple concepts such as cutting or stabbing.

As to what other objectives each movement of the sword might have, I already had an idea.

The sword I practice is the stellar sword art.

If so, shouldn't there be a relationship between the two?

Now all that remained was to establish concepts that were as close as possible to the objective of each movement and its characteristics.