Knight – Part 05
One of the Inhumans opened its clenched fist to the limit. Thin, long claws shot out from its fingers. The beast whipped its arm like a lash, aiming the curved claws at Luke’s face.
Luke’s right eye widened as he tracked the beast’s movement. He lowered his sword and shifted his body to the right. The beast’s swing, possessing enough force to slice off his left shoulder, narrowly missed.
Unable to connect, the beast’s arm swung away. Luke spun beneath it, stepped forward with his right foot, and twisted his waist. His sword arced upward in a smooth vertical slice, cleaving the beast’s arm.
The beast howled in pain, large tears spilling from its eyes. It swung its other arm wildly. Luke nimbly jumped back to avoid the blow and, as he landed, instantly sprang forward to confront the beast again. Caught off guard, the Inhuman met Luke’s blade flashing sideways. The sword sliced effortlessly from the beast’s left temple to its right temple. To an observer, it would have looked as if the sword slipped right through flesh.
Just like the first one, the second Inhuman’s head was crushed. Even after collapsing, it continued to convulse for a while.
Luke didn’t stop there. In a single step, his right foot dug into the dirt, kicking up dust as he lunged forward. He swung his blade horizontally, slicing the chest of the beast in front of him. It was a shallow cut. The beast let out a shrill howl and thrust its claws forward. Luke swiftly reversed his sword and slashed upward in a diagonal strike, severing four of the beast’s fingers. The beast roared in agony. Raising his sword high above his head, Luke brought it down in a straight, crushing strike. The blade sliced effortlessly from the top of the beast’s skull down to its groin, splitting it vertically. Blood sprayed everywhere.
“Wow,” Cecily breathed.
The sword’s sharpness was astounding, able to slice through the beast’s tough flesh, but it was Luke’s movements that truly caught Cecily’s eye. His footwork, his precise swings, control of his body—everything about his technique was unfamiliar to her.
While there were exceptions, continental swordsmanship typically involved positioning the left side forward and holding the sword on the right. This was based on the assumption of holding a shield with the left hand. However, Luke’s stance and movements were the opposite—his right foot always led, placing his right side forward. He shifted positions by sliding his feet, gliding across the ground, and his strokes were light and quick, making use of his whole body’s momentum. None of this aligned with the fundamentals of swordsmanship found on the continent.
Who is this man?
Luke’s combat skills were far beyond those of a mere swordsmith. He could easily pass for a seasoned warrior.
He had slain all the Inhumans. After the second beast fell, the bandits began to retreat, but Luke pursued them.
He glided forward with his right foot, then his left, matching his steps to his strikes in a seamless flow. The first swing cut into the chest of one bandit on the left, and the second sliced through the thigh of another on the right. The third strike was blocked as another bandit lunged with a dagger the moment Luke turned. Luke dodged the thrust by tilting his head just enough, then slammed the sword’s pommel into the man’s gut. An elbow to the temple followed, sending the bandit crashing to the ground. As another man swung a hand axe at Luke’s neck, Luke dropped to his knees. The blade whistled over his head and shaved off a lock of his black hair.
Luke delivered a fierce blow to the man’s groin with the sword’s pommel. The bandit writhed in pain, foaming at the mouth. Luke kicked him aside and rose. The bandits were no match for his speed and precision.
Hmm?
It was an impressive display of skill. But Cecily noticed something unexpected when she looked at Luke’s face.
He was drenched in sweat, and he was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. He no longer looked like the composed, untouchable swordsman. He looked strained, desperate.
“Heh.”
Despite his labored breathing, Luke grinned defiantly and clashed with the bandits once more. Some panicked and fled, while others scrambled to close in on him.
Watching the battle, Cecily murmured in confusion, “Why?”
For someone so skilled, why did he seem so tense?
“It goes without saying that swords can break, and blades can chip—including Luke’s katana.”
Cecily turned to Lisa, who was standing beside her, eyes fixed on Luke.
“Losing your weapon on the battlefield means death. That’s why Luke never blocks with his sword. Locking blades is out of the question. He dodges by a hair’s breadth every time. I think you know where I’m going with this.”
As Lisa said, Luke dodged the bandits’ strikes just by the skin of his nose. His hair and clothes might get torn, but his skin remained unscathed. It was a close, high-stakes dance that demanded utmost focus.
Death loomed over Luke at every moment, but he kept overcoming it. Realizing the true nature of the fight unfolding before her, Cecily swallowed hard.
“I’ve been wondering since yesterday: what exactly is a katana?”
She knew it was a type of sword, but she had never seen anything like it.
“A katana is a sword crafted using an ancient forging technique from the continent.”
“So, it’s an old method.”
“Yes. As far as I know, very few craftsmen still use it. You’re familiar with basic modern smithing, right?
Cecily thought back to her recent visit to a smithy in the city.
“They use molds.”
“Yes. Mass production through mold casting.”
The mold casting method involved pouring molten iron into molds to mass-produce swords at once. This production technique was born to meet the needs of the continent after the great Valbanill War.
“In contrast to mold casting, we carefully forge each blade one at a time. There’s a unique smithing process called folding, but it became obsolete when mass production was prioritized. Um, I might sound like I know what I’m talking about, but I’m just repeating what I’ve heard.”
Lisa smiled sheepishly.
“Our method fell out of favor because of mold casting, and the technique itself has been forgotten, but it’s what makes katanas so much sharper and more durable than other swords.”
Although Cecily didn’t know what kind of technique folding was, it was clear that this method was the key to the katana’s remarkable sharpness. And perhaps to Luke’s fighting style, too.
The right-leading stance, starting with the right foot, the sliding movement, the aggressive first-strike—all of it might be attributes unique to the katana.
“Well, then.” Lisa turned back with a cheerful smile that didn’t quite fit the tense atmosphere. “If we leave everything to Luke, this will be a piece of cake.” She dropped her voice to a soft whisper. “But is that what you want?”
Cecily felt her blood boil.
“I want you to look at me.”
Her words from yesterday echoed in her mind.
“I want you to evaluate me.”
Shame flushed Cecily’s cheeks. She had talked a big game and dragged Luke along, but here she was, cowering, relying on the very people she was meant to protect.
Cecily’s touched the hilt at her waist, the keepsake from her father. The chains clinked.
I can’t wear the mantle of a knight with pride. Not like this. I don’t deserve the title.
“Is that what you want?”
“Of course not.”
It couldn’t be.
She clenched her teeth hard, down on one knee. What was this feeling welling up from deep inside? Anger. Anger at herself. Fury.
Unacceptable. I can’t allow myself to be like this.
The anger turned into adrenaline, and the adrenaline washed away her fear, filling her with energy. Cecily gripped the sword’s hilt so tightly her fingers hurt. She sprang to her feet, kicking off the ground explosively, and charged into the fray between Luke and the bandits.
One of the bandits spotted her and swung his sword. Cecily caught sight of the deadly arc from the corner of her eye. Unlike Luke, she didn’t have the skill or experience to dodge with pinpoint precision, so she focused on what she could do. She deflected the blade with the flat of her sword and, in one swift motion, slashed at the man’s side.
She felt the blade bite into flesh—a jarring, visceral sensation that traveled up her arm. The reality of cutting into another person nearly made her falter, but she let out a defiant shout, locking the fear inside. Right now, she focused solely on the fight.
Several bandits redirected their attention from Luke to Cecily. She felt their piercing eyes on her, but she fought to keep her nerve. She clashed swords with the nearest bandit, hilts locking together, and kicked his shin hard with her boot. As he staggered, she shoved him, sending him crashing into another bandit, and they both collapsed to the ground.
“Hngh!”
Cecily barely managed to block a hand axe that came down from the side, catching it with her sword’s guard. The impact numbed her arms, and she winced. Her opponent, a hulking brute with bloodshot eyes, bore down on her, pushing the axe closer. Cecily’s arms trembled from the strain, and she bit her lip until she tasted blood.
Let your rage out. If you lack strength, make up for it with burning emotion.
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