"The deeper I sink into myself, the easier it becomes to move my legs, Master."
"Well now. A warrior must not only feel his sword as an extension of himself, but also be focused enough not to lose other equally important parts of himself in battle—his head, for example. Take up your weapon. Let's begin."
These days, Master Piandao sparred with me personally. The time when Fath—the butler, steward, assistant, and practically Piandao's only friend—was enough to handle me had long since passed. The old man was skilled, but his form was no longer what it had been in his youth, and the last time he'd trained seriously had been about ten years ago.
If during our first spar he had ground me into the dirt, then during the second—after a month of drills—I had simply overwhelmed him with speed and knocked the wooden blade from his hands.
And now… I was starting to notice that even Piandao couldn't quite keep up with me anymore. Only by fractions of a second, true—and his mastery still surpassed my skill by orders of magnitude. You couldn't learn in a year what a recognized genius of the sword had studied for thirty-five. But he wasn't a bender, and time was beginning to take its toll.
His jian clashed with mine again.
Damn—if my favorite dagger were in my left hand right now, I might've been able to slip a strike into that briefly exposed side. But no such luck… it hadn't survived the last training session, and my master had promised to forge me a new one later. Besides, I wasn't even sure my left hand should be holding anything—using firebending with a weapon in hand was far harder than doing it unarmed.
Well, at least it gave me something to strive for.
And as for landing a blow to the kidneys of my favorite sadist—that I could manage without any weapon.
"Oof—"
The mentor, unable to react in time, flinched from the pain, allowing me to slip under his attack and press the tip of my sword to his throat.
"You've lost, Master."
A broad, delighted grin spread across my face.
This was the first time I had defeated him without resorting to "dirty tricks" like throwing sand, spitting fire, or anything of the sort. Though, to be fair, Piandao actively encouraged such tactics—"If you have an advantage, you must use it" was practically his motto. Every underhanded trick my twisted imagination could come up with was carefully examined by my master and either approved or discouraged for further use. Some of them he didn't even hesitate to "borrow" himself.
Or rather, to use against me—though it was unlikely he hadn't known such tricks long before. If a complete greenhorn like me could come up with them, then a seasoned veteran like him would certainly be capable of using—and perfecting—such methods.
"Yes," the Master smiled, "you've pleased this old man—though you might've been a bit gentler. I'm not quite as young as you anymore."
"Oh? So that's why the maids never leave your bed, Master. I suppose they're just warming it, so your old bones stay nice and cozy. And rubbing you down with fine wine for much the same purpose, no doubt…"
"No comment," the warrior cut me off. "However, the time has come for us to part, my young disciple."
That hit me like a bolt from the blue.
"What? Why?"
"You have learned everything I can teach you. Now you need real experience—and practice."
"I see… In that case, thank you for everything, Master."
I bowed deeply—and…
…received a bow in return.
Equal to equal.
"Before you leave, I have a gift for you. Fath, if you would."
The elderly butler nodded and left the courtyard. He returned shortly after with two bundles, which he handed to Piandao. The Master unwrapped them, revealing a seemingly unremarkable sword in plain wooden scabbard.
But the moment I drew it…
The blade gleamed with the gray-blue sheen of the finest steel, bearing the Master's personal mark at its base. That sword alone could buy a fine house with a garden—and leave enough to live comfortably for a year.
The dagger lying beside it, in equally plain black sheaths, was no less impressive beneath its modest exterior.
"I… I don't even know what to say."
"Then don't say anything, Chan. I made these weapons specifically for you. Like you, they are far more interesting on the inside than on the outside."
"How long have you known?"
"Almost from the moment I saw you. Your father once sought a few lessons from me—you resemble him greatly, and I have a good memory for faces."
"Then why did you agree to teach me?"
"To be honest, at first I was quite surprised that the son of Admiral Chan knocked on my door and asked like an ordinary beggar boy, rather than behaving like one of the Empire's 'golden children.' I even thought I might be mistaken—though your correspondence with your father later confirmed my suspicions. You didn't think that part through."
He gave a faint smile.
"In any case, I decided to test you. To see whether this was a whim of a spoiled boy—or if you were serious. And you passed my test. That's all there is to it."
"…Yeah. Honestly, I didn't expect to be exposed that quickly. I thought I'd have at least a couple of months—maybe even half a year."
"So you were counting on that?" the Master raised an eyebrow.
"I was realistically assessing my chances. A warrior of your level can notice even the smallest details, and I'm not nearly a good enough actor to convincingly play a simple village boy in front of you."
"Yes, I noticed you are quite perceptive for your age," Piandao snorted.
"Well then… I suppose this is goodbye. Thank you again, Master. Fath…"
I hesitated.
"…Ah, to hell with etiquette."
I simply stepped forward and embraced the two people who were probably the closest to me in this world.
"I'll miss you."
"Now, now, lad—we're not planning on dying tomorrow. You will always be a welcome guest in this house."
And just like that, my training under the Master came to an end.
The whole world lay open before me.
Hundreds of paths. Hundreds of possibilities.
Which one should I choose… to achieve my goals—and preferably stay in one piece while doing it?