Chương 156: Chapter 43: Sky Piercer

The third day of the Klearon Prefectural Contest came to an end with a flurry of sobs. I watched from my secluded spot in the dugout as over a dozen of my competitors, now eliminated, sobbed with tears flowing in a free spree. The wailing was even more severe in the common class duels; the participants there were much younger. The results had not yet been announced, some of the fencing competitions still carrying on, but for many, the outcome was evident enough.

Perhaps most of them had not thought about becoming a champion. Perhaps not even half had thought of moving past the first round, but there were still plenty who dreamt of at least passing it. Unfortunately, reality proved more cut-throat than their imagination. I had won all the duels I had fought and was going into the second round undefeated. Very few contestants had that honour, yet looking at those forlorn figures, I could not help but feel somewhat ill at ease.

Before the referee removed us from the ground, I headed to meet my parents in the stands. Eran still had one battle due.

"Well, it doesn't make any difference," Diana said to me at first notice, "but congratulations on advancing to round two."

"Why the long face?" Mum asked instead. I gestured to the side. Even in the stands, no more than a few seats away, I saw a contestant or two sobbing, their family consoling them.

"Nothing much," I said, my eyes still drawn to those downtrodden figures.

"I'm just wondering if, without the relic, perhaps I would be no different from them." Perhaps not in the very first round, but eliminated in some other round, all the same.

"Trust me," Mum said, "even without that, you would have a far easier time than most."

"Well, you haven't even fought with your shaping abilities yet," Father said, "which I reckon is still far stronger than your aura."

"It's not that, I..." I paused, watching as Eran appeared on the stage, his fight against a speedster, the one we had discussed before the lunch break. I folded my arms, bowing my head, already seeing through the outcome. Mum exchanged a deep look with Father, who finally caught on.

"You are feeling shame for using external items for your growth, while none of your luck."

"That's... far from an apt way to rationalise it," Mum said, clicking her tongue.

"Don't forget how you got the relic. Perhaps it was a good artefact to boot, but even with all my ability I cannot make a relic. It is through your valiant action that you have earned it. I suspect none of your competitors carrying a relic in this competition is the same."

"It's just a stupid thought," I mumbled, though my mind dwelled on more than one relic. On one of the eight rings, Eran fought an impossible opponent, already lagging five to one. Despite all his effort, he could not deal any significant blow when his foe could simply evade with superior pace. Why was it that someone like Eran, who worked harder than anyone I know, was to be defeated like this, while I barely faced any challenges? What constitutes talent? Is it something one is born with?

Can it be earned through hard work? Has Eran not worked hard enough? If it all depended on talent, why do I deserve so much of it? Ignoring my swordsmanship, which I noted I was unnaturally good at, my ability to weave was uncanny as well. What I could learn by watching a couple of times would take someone like Diana a week at the very least. Eran's fencing duel concluded, cutting his entry from the top 32. He stood there in silence for an extended moment before striding his way out.

He did not come straight towards the stands to meet his parents or us. I understood that my grief was not merely from the guilt I carried; I was drifting away from my first and best friend.

"You lot go ahead," Father said, noting the departing figure.

"Arilyn and I will go meet Eran." With all sixty thousand people trying to get out of the stands at the same time, it took a bit of time to find him. By then, his parents and little Lilia were already there to console him. They had come out of the hippodrome to take shelter under a large oak tree, though they were not getting much privacy with all the people pouring out from the amphitheatre. Eran remained silent throughout, as his mother did most of the talking.

Uncle Dalin probably understood his emotions best and gave his son the time he needed. At least Eran was not crying, although I did not know whether that was a good thing or not. After exchanging a few words with Uncle Dallin, the Stonecutters walked off, leaving their son to his mentor. Aunt Risna kept shooting glances until their figures faded into the crowd.

"Let's take the emptier street to home," Father said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Sir, I..." It was only then that he lifted his head, eyes teary.

"I have failed you, my parents..."

"Let's talk as we walk," Father said, pulling him along. I watched as Eran trudged along the path as though it took a great deal of effort, his shoulders drooping, eyes fixed on his feet.

"Are you disappointed?" Father asked.

"Only in myself," Eran replied.

"Good," Father intoned. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Good? I almost screamed. How is that good? Even Eran lifted his head to shoot a measured glance.

"Common men blame the world for its unfairness, which, even if fair, only empowers their vanity and kills all their strength. Today you may feel disappointed in yourself; tomorrow you may feel the same about the world, but do not let your conviction falter under any challenge. You are allowed to be disappointed today, Eran, to fail, to make mistakes, because when you stand up, when you succeed, it will be all the more rewarding. No great wall was built in a day.

A warrior should always try to better themselves and the world around them." I watched my father with wide eyes. He was never a big talker. I would not say he was great at it, but these were words from the bottom of his heart, something he lived by.

"But what if I still do not make it?" Eran mumbled.

"What if even with my best, I still fail?"

"Failure is constant in life. It is the great freedom that allows you to correct those failures. If you can beat the you of yesterday, you are already winning." He patted the young boy on the shoulder.

"Now, all the wisecracks aside, you may be disappointed at yourself, but I'm not disappointed in my disciple. I have noted all the competitors in your fencing competition. I have to say, even without your gift, there are fewer than ten kids who may be able to defeat you in a fair battle, and none of them is even half your match in swordsmanship." That did seem to uplift his mood a little, but the memory of defeat was still written all over his face.

"You think that is not good enough?" Eran did not answer, which was answer enough.

"Good," Father said.

"If you believed that you had done the best you could perform at this stage, then I'll be thoroughly disappointed in you. No disciple of mine should aim any lower than the realm of true swordsmanship." We walked in silence for a bit, until the familiar street towards our current abode came into view. Father faltered halfway along the path, as though something was on his mind. After hesitating for a moment, he asked Eran, "Has your father shown you his soulblade?"

"Soulblade?" Eran repeated in confusion.

"So he has not." A memory came to my mind of the night I had stood side by side with Uncle Dallin. The sword he had been holding, which I thought was merely a greater mastery of aura blade, was actually something else. Soulblade... why does it feel so familiar?

"Is that what will become of this?" I asked, rubbing the pommel of the unnamed blade. Father did not answer immediately.

"The road to true swordsmanship is much more arduous now," he said, turning his gaze towards the skyline.

"Master Kaius mentioned it was something to do with the dwindling fortune of the realm... Anyhow, the steeper the difficulty, the greater the benefit you reap once you cross the threshold." Eran frowned, peering at nothing, then nodded, though he did not seem to fully understand, and even I was a little baffled.

"You still have not answered what a soulblade is?" I muttered under my breath.

"It can be called another form of soulward," Father said, "or soul relic, one you can awaken by reaching a certain threshold of mastery." My pupils contracted in interest. Doesn't that mean if I reach the threshold tomorrow, I'll get my soulward tomorrow?

"Of course, it wouldn't be as strong, but as with any soulward, it will grow with you, and its connection with the soul will also make you stronger." I was delighted to have my suspicion confirmed, but still could not help glancing at him suspiciously.

"Father, do you have another named blade other than Ouroboros?"

"I do..." he said, "but it is more complicated than that." He hesitated for another moment, gazing at us before saying, "I guess showing it will better explain it all." We continued walking until we reached the yard of our quarters. There, Jinn O'Ryon, the swordmaster, raised his right arm. Black and white light coalesced from his palm into a pillar of aura longer than ten metres. It gathered in his hand, forming a single-edged, curved blade, gleaming with a metallic sheen around its razor-sharp edges.

But the most intriguing and unfortunate part was that the blade was broken at two-thirds of its length, its tip missing.

"It was an odachi," Father explained, "but it was broken in a battle long ago, and I still haven't found a way to mend it."

"Can you still use it?" Eran asked.

"It is still usable," Father said, handing it to him, who was almost disbalanced by its weight.

"It's far more weighty than I expected," Eran said, making a few test swings.

"This is way over twenty kilograms."

"It can feel that way." Father tilted his head.

"Even though it's shattered, it is as powerful as my aura can get. But it falls short compared to the other sword I carry, so I don't get to use it much."

"Wait, let me take a look." Eran handed it to me, and I felt the weight. Although it was heavy, it was much better in hand than the lightweight unnamed sword at my hip. There seemed to be some word etched into the upper part of its blade. I could not recognise it, though I assumed it was the name.

"So what do you call it?" I asked tentatively, pouring a bit of my aura into it. Immediately, the weight of the blade increased severalfold. I almost dropped it, the burden pressing on my very being. Still trying to wield it, I looked at Father in astonishment.

"It is a soul blade, created from a portion of my soul and aura," Father said.

"It would be unruly in anyone else's hand while I live." He gestured with his palm, and the blade flew in a swirl of light, returning to its rightful owner. I watched it with awe. Eran had a dreamy look in his eyes, perhaps wondering when he would have a soul blade of his own.

"You still haven't mentioned its name." And why haven't you shown it to me before?

"Naming a soul blade is almost as important as forging it," Father said, still keeping the name to himself.

"In Master Kaius' words, names have power, but moreover, it matters more the will behind naming it. For example, I knew a grandmaster of the sword with a soul blade named Blossoming Reeds. His swordplay was as lethal as it was breathtaking."

"What about yours?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, what is it called?" Father looked rather peeved before mumbling a word.

"Sky Piercer."

"Sky Piercer?" Eran and I said in unison. Hmm, was that some fluster I caught on his face? Was Father embarrassed about the name? Well, it was quite ambitious. Perhaps unable to endure my scrutinising gaze, he turned away and infused his aura into the blade.

"Fine, I'll show you why it is called that." With aura surging from the blade, Father took a step and appeared over a hundred metres in the air. With aura still rising high, he swung the soulblade upwards. A thunderous ray of sword light flashed through the air and seemed to bite into the very curtain of the sky. It cleaved through the illusion and opened a crack into the dark void beyond.

Even after the scene cleared, the sky, the illusion repairing itself, my head remained tilted up, staring at where the sword light had passed. Eran was much the same, his mouth hanging open.

"It is not as severe as it seemed to your eyes," Father explained.

"The difficulty was mostly in making the sword light reach that far." While I was utterly amazed, a part of me could not help but feel furious at him for not showing me this all this time, while he was trying to make me a true swordsman. This should have been a great incentive, so much so that perhaps I would have postponed all my other pursuits to train my sword. Perhaps the surprise of the moment when I achieved it would make up for it, but for now, I was not yet a true swordsman, and I was a bit annoyed.

"Wow," I said with a sardonic tone.

"It does what its name says. Brilliant." Father glared at me as the blade faded into light and disappeared into his body.

"Wait, I haven't finished inspecting it yet," I said. He snorted and entered our quarters. Hey, it was not my fault that you got flustered with the name of your sword, even if it can do what its name says. I reckon he could not pierce the sky in his younger days and had to listen to all the quips from his friends. After all, Father said true swordsmen are much more common in Ryon than in the Empire.

"Come on," I cried, running after him.

"Just let me inspect it some more. And I still have so many questions."