Before the morning light had even reached the mountain ridge, only the sound of one person's breathing could be heard in the center of that open field covered with fine grass.
Linley sat cross-legged on a blue stone by the round lake, his eyes closed for a full day and night. The Purple Blood Soft Sword lay across his knees, its blade gleaming with a faint blue light as his chest rose and fell. The wind around him no longer swirled around him, but seemed to be drawn by his breath, condensing into eddies almost invisible to the naked eye around him.
Hayward glanced at it from afar, stroked his red beard, and muttered, "This kid's got it."
Desri stood with his hands behind his back in front of the stone mansion, saying nothing. He could see it clearly— the Wind Element magic that had stubbornly flowed through Linley's blood was gradually merging with his sword intent.
Fast, fast to the extreme, tears space apart; slow, slow to the extreme, freezes everything. In the past two days, under the guidance of Hayward's fire, Higginson's sword, and Desri's words, Linley finally got his hands on that thread.
Fast and slow are two sides of the same coin as the wind.
When he held the sword, the trajectory of the sword tip sometimes resembled a thunderclap in the sky, and sometimes a falling feather or a piece of paper. But those seemingly contradictory trends suddenly converged like flowing water in a certain moment—the airflow was no longer cleaved by the sword, but led by the sword, as if a long sword had become the eye of the wind.
It's done.
Linley opened his eyes, drew his Purple Blood Soft Sword with a backhand flick of his wrist.
There was no sword light, no burst of energy, and the pool water didn't even ripple. Yet, the grass blades several feet away were silently and neatly severed in two, the cuts as smooth as a mirror. That sword strike was so fast it was almost silent, yet so slow that every inch of wind blocked any escape route.
Hayward's pupils contracted, and he slammed his hand on the table, exclaiming, "What a brilliant combination of fast and slow!"
Desri nodded slightly, his admiration deepening. "To have mastered the Laws of Wind to this level, with the sword arriving before the person, you've already touched the threshold of ' the Rhythm of the Wind.' Linley, your talent is truly remarkable."
Linley sheathed his sword, exhaled a long breath, and cupped his hands, saying, "Thanks to the guidance you and the two seniors have given me these past few days. Linley used to be greedy, thinking that the greater the strength and the faster the speed, the more powerful I was. Now I know that the way of the wind is all about 'truth'."
He recalled Miller's sword strike that day. The slow, almost stagnant space, the swift, tearing airflow—they were all different paths along the same wind path. He had finally stepped onto this path.
Meanwhile, the commotion at the village entrance drew the attention of the entire village.
Monica stopped Weideli and his group at the valley entrance. This notoriously stubborn girl from the village was unusually serious at this moment, and she spoke clearly, word by word. "My relationship with Reynolds is something I made myself. Anyone who brings up the word 'outsider' about him again is going against me."
Having already witnessed Reynolds's backbone on Bald Peak Cliff, and seeing Monica's protectiveness, Weideli's earlier anger subsided. He merely snorted, "I, Weideli, respect him to some extent, but if he wants to be with you, he'll have to show some real ability. What good is just climbing mountains, hiding from hunts, and flattering others?"
"You want to show me your skills?" Before Monica could reply, Reynolds stepped out from behind her, a crimson longsword in his hand. "Then let's exchange a few blows."
Reynolds, who used to be impetuous and unruly, has lost his youthful impetuosity after staying in the mountain village for the past few days and witnessing firsthand the extraordinary skills of each villager. He has diligently practiced his swordsmanship for several days, and now, holding the sword, he is much more composed than when he first arrived.
Provoked by the crowd, Weideli refused to back down, grabbed a battle axe, and took a fighting stance. The villagers surrounded him, and even Linley sheathed his sword and came over to watch.
Reynolds's swordsmanship was characterized by its sweeping, powerful strokes, infused with the ruthlessness he had developed in the Golden Flame Legion. While Weideli was one of the best among the village's younger generation, he lacked the decisiveness needed for a life-or-death struggle. After exchanging over twenty blows, Reynolds seized an opening in Weideli, spun his crimson blade, and deftly struck Weideli's wrist with the back of the blade.
"Clang—" The battle axe slipped from his hand and rolled to the ground.
Weideli stood there stunned for a moment, then grinned, picked up the battle axe from the ground, and bowed to Reynolds: "I'm impressed. You're stronger than me. You can protect this girl."
A burst of laughter and cheers erupted from the crowd. Monica, however, turned her face away, her ears burning red, and muttered, "Who asked you to stand up for me?"
At night, the lights along the round lake were as dim as beans.
Reynolds sat on a rock by the stream, gazing at the moonlit mountains, unusually devoid of his usual boisterous energy. Linley sat down beside him, saying nothing, only poking at the fire.
"Third brother," Reynolds said in a low voice after a long silence, "I used to spend my days among crowds and saw many beautiful girls, but I never thought of keeping any of them for life. But life in this mountain village, I've only been here a few days, and it feels more grounded than the more than ten years I spent in the capital."
"Then stay." Linley gazed at the flames. "Your sister-in-law is in the city looking after the home for me. The Baruch clan doesn't need another soldier like you. This place has beautiful mountains and rivers, and people here treat you sincerely; that's better than anything else."
"I'll stay here, and you'll be traveling all over the country on your own, third brother." Reynolds thought for a moment, then became unusually serious, "You really don't want me to come along with that monastery business of yours?"
Linley shook his head and smiled, "You have hope now. I have my own way of dealing with this matter. Fourth brother, if you help me get married, have children, and live a good life, that will be the greatest help you can give me."
Reynolds looked at his brother of many years, his Adam's apple bobbed, but in the end he just punched him hard and said nothing.
That night, Linley sat quietly by the lake, trying to grasp the Tempos of the Wind he had just begun to understand; Reynolds, on the other hand, renovated a stone house for him at the end of the village. Neither of them slept, but in their own nights, they each found peace.
The following morning, Linley took Bebe to bid farewell to Desri and Catherine, the couple residing on the back mountain. Desri saw him to the village entrance, paused, and suddenly said, " Linley, judging from your destiny chart, your potential is far greater than this. There are mountains beyond mountains, and heavens beyond heavens. Now that you have touched the threshold of the wind, don't forget that the world is vast, and there are still four directions to explore."
"I have taken your teachings to heart, Linley."
"That boy, Reynolds, truly cares for my daughter," Catherine said gently, standing by the door. "My husband and I accept his relationship with Monica. You can go ahead and make your own way; this mountain village is his home."
Linley bowed deeply, smiled at Monica who was peeking out from the corner, and then mounted his horse. Reynolds escorted him to the valley entrance, saying nothing, but simply stuffed a jar of wild fruit wine from the mountains into his arms. "Keep it for the journey. Third brother, have a safe trip."
Linley grasped the jar of wine, nodded, spurred his horse, and his figure in a green robe disappeared into the mountain path deep in the clouds.
The morning light shone over the mountaintop, casting a long shadow of the departing figure. Reynolds stood at the village entrance, gazing in that direction until the figure completely disappeared into the mountains before slowly turning around. Behind him, Monica stood under the old tree, holding two freshly picked wildflowers, and smiled at him.
Reynolds felt a warmth in his heart, strode towards her, and finally asked the question that had been hidden in his heart:
" Monica, from now on, I'll stay and protect this mountain village for the rest of my life, okay?"
The mountain breeze rustled through the treetops, and the fragrance of flowers and the sound of leaves filled the valley, as if they were answering his question.