Morning Light and Sword Shadows

Dawn had barely broken the next day, and Cast Iron Alley was still steeped in the last of the night.

Loa was already standing in the middle of the little courtyard. He did not move at once, but closed his eyes, feeling the slightly chilly morning air pass through his nose into his lungs before slowly breathing it out. The warm current within him circulated slowly with his breathing, like a beast gradually waking.

Two months of fighting and travel had left him with far too much to digest. In particular, that battle against the pack of Wind Wolves, and the thrust he had delivered at the brink of death, seemed to have opened some floodgate. Even after breaking through the middle stage, he could still advance rapidly. The qi in his dantian was clearly thicker and more condensed than before, and he could even feel a slight swelling as it circulated.

He was nearing the peak of a Rank 3 Warrior.

He opened his eyes and picked up the homemade iron sword leaning against the wall. Repaired and polished many times, its blade gleamed a somber black in the morning light.

Gale Thrust.

He had practiced this sword technique relentlessly since Wushan Town. Now it was his strongest killing move, and his only one. But that was also the problem-it was too limited. In battle, enemies would not always give him the chance to gather his strength for a thrust. Against an opponent with a tough hide or exceptional agility, a missed thrust would leave him at a disadvantage.

If I stake all the qi and strength in my body on a single point and thrust without regard for the consequences... Loa simulated it in his mind. Perhaps it could become a life-or-death strike, far more powerful than usual. But after that one blow, I would be empty too.

Or I could do the opposite. Reduce the force of each thrust, distribute my qi evenly, and pursue the utmost speed, delivering multiple thrusts in an instant to form dense sword shadows that disrupt or even cover a small area...

His wrist shifted slightly, and the iron sword thrust out. The first strike was a standard Gale Thrust: fast, precise, concentrated. On the second, he tried reducing the force and increasing the speed-hiss! The sound of the tip cutting through the air grew higher and thinner. Its path seemed faster, but its penetrating power was clearly lacking.

Ultimately, he still was not strong enough.

If I could reach Rank 6 Warrior and project battle-qi outside my body... Loa drew back his sword and inwardly shook his head. That was still far too distant for him. Battle-qi would liquefy, its quality would improve again, and it could be projected outward, condensed into a potent force, and formed into a "battle-qi gauze robe" that protected the entire body. Combining offense and defense, that was the first threshold of qualitative change on a warrior's path. Right now, he did not even have the most basic systematic cultivation method. He had to feel his way through everything himself.

Enough thinking. I have to take this one step at a time. The most important thing now was to strengthen his foundations. He could not neglect swordsmanship itself. Gale Thrust was a killing move, but in ordinary combat, he would rely more on solid swordsmanship fundamentals, swift reactions, and nimble footwork.

He set down his sword and took a blunt, two-handed practice greatsword from beside the wall. He had forged it himself from scraps. Nearly twice as heavy as a standard longsword, it was suited to strength training.

Holding the sword in both hands, he moved with it: drawing, sweeping, circling, skimming, lifting; pointing, snapping, rising, thrusting, striking; twisting, intercepting, slashing, blocking, cleaving; flicking, deflecting, hooking, crossing, clearing. The twenty sword forms unfolded in sequence.

Sweat soon soaked his thin clothes. Sword wind stirred the courtyard dust, sending it dancing in the rising sunlight. The sword shadows grew ever more connected, ever denser, at times pouring down like a violent storm, at others flowing nimbly like a stream around rocks. Though he was still far from moving with effortless fluidity, his concentration and the growing sense of smoothness were real.

Immersed in training, Loa recalled the momentum and intent of swordsmanship from deep within his memories, learning and imitating them.

"This kid..."

Bob had gotten up at some point. Wearing his old leather vest and holding the earthenware cup that never left his hand, he leaned against the inner room's doorframe. Morning light outlined Loa's sweat-drenched figure and illuminated his young yet unusually composed eyes.

Bob slowly sipped his homemade, odd-tasting "morning tea," but his gaze remained as sharp as ever, following the sword shadows flashing through the courtyard. He was not watching the spectacle, but the technique.

This sword routine isn't something a boy his age could have dreamed up out of thin air.

The old blacksmith had an exceptionally discerning eye. In forty years at the forge, he had made and repaired countless weapons and encountered warriors of every kind. The swordsmanship Loa was practicing revealed a faint trace of almost instinctive coordination and practical combat sense that could only come from relentless tempering. This was certainly not something he could have developed by shutting himself away from the world.

Still, these days, who doesn't have a past or secrets they'd rather not talk about? Bob lowered his eyelids and blew on the steam above his cup. Had he ever told anyone how he had gotten that old scar on his left arm, the one that had cut to the bone? Everyone had their own burdens to carry. Loa was willing to endure hardship, knew when to advance and retreat, and had his heart in the right place. That was enough. As for where his impressive foundations and that two-handed swordsmanship of clearly unusual origins came from... Bob had no interest in asking. When struggling to survive at the bottom of Fenlai City, every extra measure of skill meant another chance to stay alive. That was enough.

He simply stood there quietly, watching until Loa barely managed to finish the entire sequence and came to a halt, his chest heaving and sweat dripping into the dust like rain.

"Hah... hah..."

Breathing hard, Loa returned both swords to the wall. A feeling of thorough release filled his body. Though tired, his mind was unusually clear. He could feel that the practice had considerably improved both his ability to mobilize the qi within him and his muscular coordination.

"Finished?" Only then did Bob speak, his tone flat. "Then go rinse off. You stink of sweat. How are you supposed to work like that?"

"Right away." Loa answered and walked to the water jar in the corner of the courtyard. He scooped up icy well water and poured it over his head. In the midsummer morning, the cold water striking his hot skin made him shudder involuntarily, but it instantly dispersed the heat and fatigue left by his sword practice.

The two had a simple breakfast. While they ate, Bob glanced at him. "We were so busy counting money after you got back yesterday that I forgot to mention it. While you were out running commissions, plenty of orders piled up in the shop. Twenty chopping knives for 'Old Cripple' Carl, thirty hoes ordered by Wang Po from the South Gate Vegetable Market, and all sorts of repair jobs... Starting today, you're making up for all of it."

Loa swallowed the flatbread in his mouth and nodded. "Understood."

"Good." Bob snorted. "Don't think you're anything special just because you've become some Bronze Mercenary. Here, you're a blacksmith's apprentice first. Do a poor job, and I'll still dock your pay."

"Yes, Uncle Bob."

After breakfast, the familiar sounds of bellows and hammering rang through the blacksmith shop once more. The furnace blazed, bathing both their faces in red. Loa handled most of the forging while Bob supervised nearby, occasionally correcting his technique or taking over some of the delicate quenching and grinding.

The familiar rhythm, the familiar scorching heat, the familiar metallic tang of iron. Loa swung his hammer, feeling his strength travel through his waist and back into his arms, then into the hammerhead before it struck the glowing iron. Unlike the tension and danger of mercenary commissions, smithing was tedious but grounding labor. Sweat dripped onto the anvil and instantly evaporated. His muscles repeated the cycle of aching tension and relaxation, yet his heart grew exceptionally calm amid that repetition.

He could feel his control over his qi seemingly becoming a little more precise with each swing. Following Bob's earlier advice, he began consciously directing some of the current toward his relatively weaker left arm, working to correct the imbalance caused by prolonged sword use.

Time slipped quietly by amid the ringing hammer blows. The piled-up raw iron gradually became neatly shaped blanks for farming tools. When Loa finished forging the tenth chopping knife blank and lifted it with his tongs for the next step, Bob, who had said little all this time, suddenly spoke.

"The qi in your dantian is nearly full, isn't it?"

Loa paused and looked at the old blacksmith.

Bob did not look at him. He was carefully measuring the curve of a hoe with calipers as he said, "When you forge, the rhythm of your breathing and its resonance with your hammer blows are steadier and more sustained than they were half a month ago. That only happens when your control over your own strength reaches a certain level and your internal energy approaches a threshold."

"...Yes." Loa did not hide it. "I feel like I'm nearing the peak of Rank 3. I can try breaking through to Rank 4 Warrior."

"Rank 4 is a hurdle." Bob set down the calipers and looked at him, his usual casual air gone from his eyes. "Going from Rank 3 to Rank 4 isn't just about accumulating more. You need a deeper understanding of the nature of qi, letting it truly begin tempering your sinews, bones, flesh, and blood. Be careful when you make the breakthrough. Rank 4 already makes you an intermediate warrior."

Loa fell silent. Of course he knew. Without a systematic battle-qi cultivation method to guide him, trying to break through on instinct and shallow understanding alone was like walking blindfolded along a cliff. The slightest mistake could damage his foundations.

"I understand, Uncle. I won't rush it," Loa answered.

"Good." Bob turned away and resumed his work, as though the conversation had been no more than a passing remark. "Get moving. If you don't finish this batch of hoe blanks today, don't expect to eat."

Looking at the old blacksmith's back, Loa tightened his grip on the tongs and placed the glowing chopping knife blank back on the anvil.

The hammer rang out again, firm and powerful.

Outside the window, the midsummer sun blazed. Sunlight spilled through gaps in the cloth curtain over the shop entrance, tracing distinct shafts of light through the smoky, dust-filled air.

Countless tiny specks of dust danced within those shafts, like the countless lives in this enormous city that, like Loa, struggled upward yet remained utterly steadfast.

The day passed in forging. After dinner, Loa sat in the courtyard enjoying the cool air. My income is decent now, but I'm still short on gold coins. I wonder if there's a quick way. I'll ask Old Dao another day.