The Sword Dance

Suleiman feared that the food and copper coins he had given the farmwife might be stolen, so he sent Lushen and Roslyn to escort her home.

He also told them to convey his law to every one of his subjects: from now on, anyone who dared mistreat a family that had served House Foulkeep would be punished!

Suleiman felt a wave of exhaustion, but more than that, he felt clearer-headed than ever before!

He knew he couldn't keep lying around like this. His frail body was limiting everything he did.

Strength was indispensable in Westeros, and this world was full of all kinds of monsters and demons.

When he returned to the tower, Old Nicken was busy taking inventory of all House Foulkeep's supplies.

Suleiman picked up a rusty longsword. It was one of the few weapons in the domain that was still in halfway decent condition.

The blade was covered in notches and rust, and its hilt was wrapped in rags, making it look crude and worn.

Its history might have stretched back to his great-grandfather, the first Foulkeep knight.

Suleiman walked out of the tower and into the open patch of muddy ground outside.

It barely qualified as the castle courtyard. There was no surrounding wall, not even a proper floor—just wet earth and weeds.

"What kind of castle courtyard is this? It doesn't even have a wall. Once I'm successful, I'm definitely building one," Suleiman grumbled to himself. "We're dirt poor. This barely counts as a castle; it might not even be sturdier than a peasant's farmhouse on Earth."

He swung the sword and found it a little heavy, but it didn't feel as clumsy as he'd expected.

Drawing a deep breath of the rich air, he began to swing the longsword.

He made broad movements, trying to rouse his frail body completely.

He knew no swordsmanship and simply swung wildly. The original Suleiman hadn't known any swordsmanship either.

From his memories, he could tell that everyone in the family was a brawler.

When their father taught them to practice with swords, all he ever said was:

"Swing harder! Slash harder! Strike harder! You're still not putting enough strength into it! Put your back into it! Put your back into it! How did I never realize all my children were women?"

The shouts of Suleiman and his brothers echoed all around them. When his second brother swung too hard and took a spectacular tumble,

his eldest brother and Suleiman giggled foolishly, waving their arms around.

He could almost hear his father's usual roar:

"What are you doing? Get back to training!"

But the roar never came. Instead,

his father's mouth twitched ever so slightly. Then, unbelievably, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile before quickly disappearing.

Above them, at a second-floor window of the castle, their mother stood quietly.

She rested one hand lightly on the stone railing, gazing at Suleiman and his brothers with gentle, warm eyes.

That memory was so vivid, so warm.

Even Li Qing, a soul from Earth, could feel it. He'd had no family back on Earth; he had been all alone. A sharp pain in his chest pulled Li Qing back to reality.

He could feel how Suleiman had stubbornly held on when his father and brothers died.

He'd done it for his mother. He knew that if he died too, she wouldn't be able to go on living.

But when he learned that his mother had leaped from the tower in despair, he made the same choice she had.

"Ah," Suleiman sighed, and continued practicing with the sword.

Strangely, even though his body had only just recovered, his movements were exceptionally smooth, without the slightest hindrance.

With every swing, every turn, every leap, his body felt impossibly light, as though it had broken free of gravity.

What's more, he could feel that his senses had become exceptionally sharp.

He could clearly hear frogs croaking in the distant reeds, smell the earth and decaying leaves, and even feel the faint touch of the breeze against his cheek.

"What... what's happening?" Suleiman stopped, bewildered, and took stock of the changes in his body.

The sensation was so strange. He felt as though he had complete control over his body—and then some.

Suleiman didn't know how to describe it. "Mastery?" That didn't seem quite right either.

A thought flashed through his mind: could this be an effect of his transmigration?

In his previous life, a meteorite had struck him, and his soul had crossed over into this body. Could the process have strengthened his soul in some way, which in turn had enhanced his body?

Or perhaps the two souls had actually fused inside the body, strengthening his mental power and making him lighter, more coordinated, and more perceptive?

It sounded a little far-fetched, but in this world of magic and even gods, anything was possible.

As he became absorbed in his thoughts, two figures caught the corner of his eye.

Lushen and Roslyn, the two newly appointed guards, had returned to the castle. They were staring at him, their eyes filled with a complicated expression that was hard to describe.

Suleiman beckoned them over. "Come here."

The two exchanged a glance, looking a little uneasy, but hurried over at once.

"Lord Suleiman." They bowed respectfully.

Suleiman lowered his sword and looked at them. "You were standing here the whole time, so you must have seen me practicing."

They nodded without a word.

"Tell me, what did you think of my practice?" Suleiman asked.

At that, Lushen and Roslyn both stiffened.

A lord wanted peasants to judge his swordsmanship? How could they possibly dare? They didn't know what to say; their faces were full of awkwardness and unease.

"Lord Suleiman, we... we don't know anything about this," Roslyn stammered.

"Even if you don't know, you still have to answer." Suleiman's tone was calm, but the order was unmistakable. "I told you to speak, so speak. Tell me the truth. If you dare lie to me..."

He left the threat unfinished, but the cold look in his eyes was enough to make both men tense up.

Lushen and Roslyn exchanged another glance, both looking nervous.

At last, Lushen worked up the courage to speak, stammering, "Lord Suleiman, you... you were... very, very graceful!"

Gods above, if we say Lord Suleiman's swordplay looks beautiful, he'll surely chop off our heads and kick them around like balls!

"Graceful?" Suleiman raised an eyebrow.

Lushen hurried to elaborate. "Yes! It was like... like dancing. Very smooth, and very... very graceful. Yes, exactly—graceful!"

"Like dancing?" Suleiman mused.

Roslyn shakily chimed in, "Y-yes, my lord. Just like a woman dancing. It looked very graceful."

"A woman?" Suleiman's expression grew strange.

Lushen cautiously glanced at Suleiman's face. Seeing that he didn't seem angry,

he dared to continue. "But... but it didn't feel threatening. It had no sense of power."

"That's right, that's right," Roslyn said, nodding rapidly. "It was like... like it wasn't meant for fighting, just... just for show."

As soon as they finished, both men fell silent, heads bowed uneasily as they waited for Suleiman's reaction.

They were terrified they had offended their lord and would be punished.

However, Suleiman wasn't angry. Instead, he fell into thought. Like dancing? Like a woman? Graceful, but not threatening?

He considered it. Perhaps his movements were so smooth, without any stiffness or force, that they seemed to lack a sense of threat.

But that lightness and speed were unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

It might actually be a good thing. In Westeros, people judged a swordsman's strength by the power behind his swings. Perhaps he could use that to catch his enemies off guard.

"How interesting," Suleiman murmured. Then he looked at Lushen and Roslyn. "Lushen, come up here. Spar with me."

Lushen jerked his head up, his face full of shock. "Lord Bleiman, you mean... you want me to spar with you?"

"That's right!" Suleiman replied firmly.

Lushen grew even more uneasy and waved his hands repeatedly. "Th-this won't do, Lord Suleiman! How could I fight you? What if I hurt you?"

Suleiman said, "Come on! Let me see your swordsmanship! Hurry! Don't make me repeat myself!"

Lushen and Roslyn exchanged another glance. At last, under Suleiman's unyielding gaze, Lushen reluctantly stepped forward.

He took another rusty longsword from Roslyn and carefully took his place, adopting an awkward-looking stance.

"Lord Suleiman, Lushen... Lushen's coming at you!" Lushen said nervously.

"Come on, then! Stop wasting time, you!" Suleiman shouted.

Lushen took a deep breath, then swung his sword at Suleiman with all his might.

His movements had all the stiffness and force of a farmer at work, without the slightest hint of technique. The sword in his hands looked more like a hoe.

To Suleiman, Lushen's movements looked as if he'd been watching a video at 0.7 or 0.5 speed.

He didn't even need to think. His body and mind seemed to react on instinct!

He sidestepped Lushen's heavy strike and spun lightly, like an elegant dance step, instantly circling behind him.

Suleiman merely gave Lushen a gentle push in the back with the sword hilt!

Lushen hadn't imagined Suleiman could move so quickly and circle around him so easily.

He felt a small force against his back, but it was as if his body had lost its support. His balance vanished instantly.

He staggered forward and fell flat on his face with a thud. His sword clattered to the ground.

Lushen lay in the mud, unable to react for a moment. He looked up at Suleiman in shock, his face full of disbelief.

He hadn't put much strength into his attack, but he'd been moving as fast as he could. How had Lord Suleiman simply dodged, circled behind him, and knocked him over so easily?

And Lord Suleiman's movements had been just like dancing, too graceful to look like fighting.

Suleiman himself was astonished. He hadn't expected his body to react so quickly or his control over his strength to be so precise.

It felt as if the sword and his body had become one, as if wielding it were no different from swinging his own arm.

He truly hadn't used much force. He had simply followed Lushen's movement, found the right angle, and given him a light tap with the sword hilt. That was all it had taken to knock him down.

"Lushen, get up." Suleiman walked over and offered him a hand.

Lushen didn't dare take Lord Suleiman's hand. He struggled to his feet on his own, brushed the mud off his clothes, and continued to stare at Suleiman in shock.

From where he stood, Lord Suleiman's movements had looked just like dancing, far too graceful to look like fighting.

There had been no sense of power, yet he'd been effortlessly thrown off balance and left sprawled on the ground.

Suleiman turned to Roslyn. "Roslyn! You too! Both of you, come at me together! Hurry!"

Roslyn jumped in fright and waved his hands in alarm. "Lord Suleiman, Lord Suleiman, you're too good! We won't do it! We won't!"

"Stop talking and come at me!" Suleiman ordered. "Or else!"

Lushen and Roslyn had no choice. They exchanged a glance, then reluctantly stood side by side.

"Hurry up! Come on!" Suleiman barked, taking his stance with the sword.

Lushen and Roslyn gritted their teeth and swung their rusty longswords, attacking Suleiman from either side. Their movements were slow and clumsy, full of openings.

To Suleiman, their attacks really did look as if they were moving at 0.5 or 0.7 speed, riddled with openings.

He just didn't know how he'd fare against the top swordsmen of Westeros. These two were only peasants, after all.

His body swayed lightly, dodging Lushen's sword, then he took a sidestep to evade Roslyn's downward strike.

His figure darted between the two like a ghost, slipping and weaving without a sound and without the slightest hindrance.

He "danced" between the two guards like that, dodging left, evading right, darting in, then slipping away. He moved like a phantom!

The whole thing lasted less than half a minute.

In the end, Lushen and Roslyn fell one after the other into the mud, like two rags wrung dry.

Their longswords slipped from their hands again. Gasping for breath, they stared in horror at Suleiman, who still stood there looking completely at ease.

At first, they may have been worried about hurting Suleiman. But swinging a sword took strength, and by the end they were too tired to think. They'd forgotten all about holding back.

They had never imagined that a fight could look like this.

There had been no clash of strength, no meeting of blades. One man had simply moved through them like the wind, and then they had fallen over. What kind of fight was that?

Gods above, Lord Suleiman had to be the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms!

He was just like the legendary figures of Westeros in the tales sung by wandering minstrels!

Suleiman lowered his sword. He was a little out of breath, but that was more from being out of practice than from the fight itself.

He looked down at his hands and felt once more the lightness and coordination within his body.

At last, he was sure that transmigrating hadn't only brought his memories with it. It had also somehow strengthened this body.

Damn it, could this be my cheat?