Chapter 2: The Awakening of the Sword Saint
Bleddyn stared at the glowing ring on his finger, his heart racing. The spirit that stood before him, tall and imposing, radiated a power that felt ancient and overwhelming. His voice echoed in Bleddyn’s mind, filling the empty training ground with a presence unlike anything he had ever known.
“I have been waiting for someone worthy,” the spirit repeated, stepping closer. His features were clear now—a man with sharp, commanding eyes and a warrior’s build, dressed in ancient robes that seemed to shimmer with the faintest hint of sword energy.
Bleddyn stumbled back, still dazed from Talon’s earlier assault. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, but the figure remained resolute, his gaze piercing through the confusion in Bleddyn’s thoughts.
“Who… who are you?” Bleddyn finally managed to ask, his voice trembling.
The spirit’s eyes flickered with intensity. “I am known as the Sword Saint. In life, I was a master of swordsmanship, the likes of which this world has not seen for centuries. My soul was bound to this ring, passed down through generations of your family.”
Bleddyn’s gaze shifted to the ring—his father’s ring. “My father’s…? But why—”
The Sword Saint raised a hand, cutting him off. “You are of my bloodline. Your ancestors once wielded great power, and you, Bleddyn, have inherited that potential. Though you are weak now, you are destined for more. Your blood has awakened me, and I will guide you.”
Bleddyn’s chest tightened. Potential? Weak now? He had trained tirelessly, and still, he was at the bottom of the sect. How could he have any potential at all?
“I’m… no one,” Bleddyn muttered. “I can’t even stand up to my senior brother. I’ve been in the sect for years, and I’ve barely made any progress.”
The Sword Saint’s expression softened, though his eyes remained sharp. “Strength is not determined by time alone. It is determined by the will to improve, by the willingness to push past your limits. You have faced adversity and still remained. That is why I have chosen you.”
Bleddyn swallowed, still unsure. His entire life, he had been told he wasn’t good enough. That he didn’t belong. Could this be different?
The Sword Saint reached out his hand. “You are not alone in this anymore, Bleddyn. I will teach you. I will make you strong. Together, we will rise.”
For a long moment, Bleddyn hesitated. The weight of the decision pressed on him like a stone. If this was real—if the Sword Saint was truly offering to guide him—it would change everything. Could he really become stronger? Could he finally escape the shadow of failure that had haunted him for so long?
Slowly, he extended his hand and placed it in the Sword Saint’s. The moment their hands touched, a rush of energy surged through Bleddyn’s body, filling him with a warmth that spread to every corner of his being. It was as though a dormant power deep within him had been unlocked.
The Sword Saint smiled. “Good. Now, we begin.”
The next few days were a blur for Bleddyn. The Sword Saint spoke to him constantly, guiding him through a series of exercises designed to build his foundation from the ground up. They were basic—far simpler than anything Bleddyn had been practicing in the sect—but the way the Sword Saint explained them made them feel new, alive with purpose.
“The key to swordsmanship is not in strength alone, but in understanding,” the Sword Saint said as Bleddyn practiced basic sword forms. “You must first understand your body, then the sword, and finally, the energy that flows between them. Only then can you master Sword Intent, the first step toward true power.”
Bleddyn listened intently, trying to absorb every word. He practiced from dawn to dusk, pushing himself harder than ever before. With each strike, each movement, he felt something shifting inside him, a growing awareness of the connection between himself and the sword.
“The other disciples focus too much on flashy techniques, on proving their strength,” the Sword Saint continued. “But strength without understanding is brittle. You must build a strong foundation if you are to ascend.”
It was exhausting, more exhausting than anything Bleddyn had ever experienced. But for the first time in his life, he felt like he was making real progress. His movements became more fluid, his strikes more controlled. He could feel the sword becoming an extension of his will, responding to his thoughts as naturally as his own hand.
Still, the path ahead was long. The Sword Saint constantly reminded him of that.
“You have potential, Bleddyn,” the Sword Saint said one evening after a long day of training. “But potential is meaningless without discipline. You must train harder, push further, and never allow doubt to cloud your mind.”
Bleddyn wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles aching from hours of practice. “I will,” he promised, though the exhaustion weighed heavily on him.
The Sword Saint gave a single nod. “Good. Tomorrow, we will begin the first true step toward mastering Sword Intent. You will learn to channel your willpower into your sword.”
As the days passed, Bleddyn’s training intensified. The Sword Saint began teaching him how to focus his will, directing it into his sword with precision. It was difficult at first—Bleddyn’s mind often wandered, and he found it hard to maintain the intense concentration required to manifest Sword Intent. But with the Sword Saint’s guidance, he slowly began to improve.
“Focus your mind,” the Sword Saint instructed one afternoon as Bleddyn stood with his sword raised before him. “Feel the energy inside you. Let it flow through your body, into the sword. Will it to strike.”
Bleddyn closed his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts. He could feel a faint energy, a pulsing warmth in his chest. He focused on it, trying to direct it toward his sword, but the moment he reached for it, the energy scattered, leaving him feeling hollow.
He exhaled in frustration. “I can’t do it.”
The Sword Saint shook his head. “You are overthinking it. Sword Intent is not something you force. It is something you guide, like water flowing down a riverbed. You must let your will flow naturally.”
Bleddyn nodded and tried again, this time relaxing his mind, letting the energy flow without forcing it. Slowly, he felt it move, spreading through his body and into the sword. He opened his eyes just as the blade began to glow faintly, a soft aura of energy surrounding it.
His heart raced with excitement.
“Good,” the Sword Saint said, his voice calm but approving. “You have taken the first step.”
Bleddyn smiled, his grip on the sword tightening. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was truly growing, truly becoming something more.
“Now,” the Sword Saint said, stepping forward, “the real training begins.”
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