Shota Isekai (16) - Disciple (Patreon)

Their blades were locked together in a game of wills. Well, it wasn't really a game. Nova could've knocked Raven's blade off course at the if she wanted, ending their bout by injuring her student and sending him flying on his butt.

It was merely an exhibition of their different skill levels. The display was like an artist displaying a complex piece of art for children or uneducated simpletons to behold.

Meanwhile, Raven put all his tiny and weakened might and body weight into his attempt to overpower her defense. He gave a mighty shout, not too loud and not too quiet, and put some force into it. No miracle or supernatural power manifested from within him. Of course, with how her arm was practically deadlocking him, it was obvious Raven could as well just drop his weapon and declare himself defeated.

However, Nova wanted to give Raven enough ground to prove himself. "You're not giving up, are you?" She inquired.

"No." Raven growled, the tip of the practice sword trembling in his grasp.

"That's the right attitude. What's a warrior without a will of fire? What's a swordsman without conviction and iron resolve? Tell me, kid, what drove you to swing a wooden sword every day despite your injuries? What made you ignore common sense and endure even though I said you should stop?"

'It's just not the life I want...' He answered silently.

He put all his weight onto the point of his foot as it struggled to keep itself firmly on the ground. His legs, still bruised and abused, trembled visibly.

Sweat had coated his forehead. A droplet slipped along his temple, rolled down, and finally settled as a bead over the point of his chin.

But Nova's hands were firm. The steady grip she had on her weapon was an impenetrable fortress and, combined with her feet rooted onto the earth, it would take the gods to dislodge her and sweep her to the side.

Raven gritted his teeth as he broke the stalemate, allowing the side of the blade to roughly flake off against hers; and there was no doubt that she let him do it to see his next attempt, his next idea of attack.

As their blades slid off each other, Raven took a couple of steps back to create distance and give himself time to reset his form.

The blade dropped down in front of him. Without pause, it slashed forward at waist-height, angling it like a katana with his hand, the leading edge lined parallel to the ground. He moved his rear leg into position, following his front leg in the advance with all of his body.

Nova waited until the moment when he would reach his peak momentum, then flicked her wrist a hair to the side again, effortlessly redirecting his momentum upward and to her opposite side.

Raven, already aware of Nova's superb timing and technique, allowed his momentum to take him in that direction, letting the slash flow into the following movement, adding spin into it.

Using a semicircular, diagonal approach, his blade was thrust outward into a final, diagonal cut.

Nova tilted her weapon, parried it upward and off-line in a smooth, graceful stroke, flicking Raven's strike away harmlessly. "Swordplay isn't all about attacking." She declared. "It's also important to understand the defense and control part, kid. As much as it sounds boring or anticlimactic, learning and mastering control is an absolutely essential skill." She grinned, finding his attacks too entertaining. "Or in your case, a sorely lacking skill. We can remedy that, however, don't worry."

He took a deep breath, raising his left arm up and drawing his elbows closer together before angling them ever so slightly out and to his side, keeping his right forearm close in as well. "Haaaa..." He took a deep, lung-filling breath, taking an instant to reflect on the nature of his technique, his will, the line, the blade, the meaning, the essence, the soul.

A bunch of nonsense he'd have scoffed at in his previous world, but here, they had a profound effect on his swordsmanship, whatever it meant. It was hard to describe exactly what a proper breath did. What will, the essence, or even the soul had to do with it. There wasn't really anything technically scientific about it.

Then, exhaling with control and using his full lung capacity, he snapped his leading forearm sideways in a solid, measured stroke, transferring the explosive kinetic force behind that blow and into his blade, creating the momentum, speed, and acceleration of the strike.

He moved his leading foot to reinforce the position.

Nova parried, and as his sword arced down, she threw a light jab at the center of his face.

Forget his weak, feeble body; her fist was like the hammer of the god.

The hit didn't make Raven's vision go white and black, and he didn't become disoriented, nor did his neck snap backwards and crack audibly as his body collapsed to the floor.

Instead, her fist stopped abruptly before his nose, halting mere millimeters shy of cracking him in the mouth.

Nova stared at him.

They stood in that position for a while, in silence, Raven standing tall and tense, as if ready to fight despite his clear exhaustion.

He was breathing heavily, with deep, wheezy gasps and heaves as if he'd been starved for air for an entire year. But he remained on his feet, tall and determined, despite being hunched in such a fashion that one would've expected him to drop right there and then.

Nova stared at him, her intense, golden-rimmed stare intense and unflinching.

"...Do you understand, little bird? What separates a fighter from the fodder that would otherwise be pummeled or skewered is conviction and will. You do not falter, even when injured and with no chance to win. A warrior isn't a person who wins all of their fights, but a warrior who endures all losses and keeps fighting." Nova raised her blade. "How's a fighter supposed to win without a desire to live themselves, no?"

He didn't nod nor did he reply. He simply remained focused, intent, not responding to her rhetorical question.

"Come again."

Raven let all frustrations bleed away. There was no need to struggle or grow angry, since losing control wouldn't get him a step closer to getting her.

With a sharp, clean exhale, he flicked the tip of his wooden sword upwards. He made use of every iota of speed, power, and focus within him.

A thrust whose tip was aimed squarely at his enemy's throat.

Nova flicked her wrist, almost in disdain, guiding Raven's swordpoint up, well-over her head, before flinging his blade down, towards the floor.

Again.

It was pointless to dwell or speculate about why he couldn't even reach his opponent's fingertips. She was too fast, too experienced, too precise for him to hope to land a single hit. He might as well have been a mosquito trying to bite a dragon's hide. At this rate, the only thing Raven would achieve is exhausting himself and making a fool of himself.

But if he quit, then what was even the point of showing up? For all the grueling training and sweat he'd poured into learning this craft?

What was even the point of being here if he couldn't even fight with everything he had?

So he refused to quit. He refused to accept defeat.

He kept trying.

Again.

And again.

And again.

It was a meaningless exercise, a fruitless attempt to overcome a gap in skill and experience that was as wide as the ocean. Each attack he launched was deflected with insulting ease. Each thrust, each slice, each cut, was met with a casual flick of her wrist that sent his sword flying wildly off course.

His lungs burned like he was inhaling fire, and his vision began to blur at the edges.

He was running on fumes, on pure stubborn will, and even that was beginning to fade.

Yet, he continued.

Again.

He might not have known it himself, but with each deflection, Nova's smile widened by an increment. It was barely perceptible, but it was there. She saw something in him that he couldn't see himself.

Raven's eyes slowly lost focus, but not because of exhaustion. He was slipping into that strange, meditative state again. The world around him faded, and there was only him, the sword, and the enemy.

No more thoughts. No more doubts. Just movement. Pure, instinctual movement.

His sword grew faster despite the fatigue setting in. His movements started discarding unnecessary gestures. Every single thing he did was for a reason, to get him closer to landing a hit.

And when not even that worked, his footwork started changing. He started moving unpredictably, changing direction at the last second, lunging from awkward angles, trying to bait her into making a mistake.

A feint, a flick of the wrist to the left, then a sudden, explosive thrust to the right. A wide, telegraphed cut that was, at the last second, pulled back and transformed into a quick jab at her knee. He was improvising, creating on the fly, and it was all born from pure, desperate instinct.

This was the real test. Not just learning the forms, but understanding the why behind them. Not just performing the movements, but adapting them to a living, breathing opponent.

Nova met each new attack with the same infuriating ease, but her smile was genuine now.

He could've gained a hundred more insights and enlightenment, and Nova would still be far beyond him. But for a boy who had held a sword for only a week... it was nothing short of a miracle.

Raven's sword played with feints, lunges, retreats, and attacks, harmonizing with his footwork. His sword, incomparably faster than before, moved through the air, and—

Tilting his blade upward just by a smidge, she slipped by his and then brought the weapon down to rest the blade against his shoulder.

Not a direct, precise stab at a weak spot, just an exact press with a point of steel on his skin, letting him experience what his death blow would've felt like had it connected.

"......"

Raven was forcefully snapped out of it.

"Well done... kid."

He had nothing left. He was a rag doll in her hands. All he could do was look up at her, panting like a dog left out in the sun.

Nova drew back her sword.

"Your initial training is complete." She declared, her voice echoing through the dojo. "You've passed. You've... kept your word."

He released a raspy wheeze, which may have been his attempt at a chuckle. "Hah... hah... really?"

"You won't find a better master." She shook her head, not a hint of humbleness in her confident tone. "For most people, basic sword combat consists of a few, easily exploitable patterns. Learning to recognize the subtle changes that occur before those attacks, learning to execute each move with impeccable efficiency, these are the hallmarks of a learned swordsman, not necessarily a good one. But I can push you far beyond that, kid. I can train you to do things that no one, no matter how much they want it, no matter how talented, has ever reached."

Silence.

A pause.

"Thank you..." He breathed, finally collapsing on the floor. Everything hurt so much. He felt like seriously throwing up.

Would she kick him out if he barfed on her feet?

"...Hm." Her gaze softened a little. "You've done good today, kid, and now, we begin for real. Are you ready?"

He blinked blearily at her, and when his slightly spinning vision landed on her again, this time Nova wasn't holding a dull wooden practice sword anymore, but a real, honest to God metal sword with a razor-sharp, well-crafted edge.

"We're gonna get fucking real now." She said in a dangerous tone.

"Oh yeah, no big." He replied tiredly. "What's a metal sword going to do that the wood can't?"

"This." Nova gently pushed the sword through his shirt, at a speed too quick for him to react. Not that his instincts would've stopped it anyway. His poor, washed out rags easily came apart under the sharp edge, revealing his sweaty, exhausted chest and torso. A faint red line. A paper cut, practically. He didn't feel anything other than a slight sting of the chilly dojo air. "There, now, are you still feeling like challenging me, kid?"

Well shit.

Raven's eyes heated with the begrudging thrill of being under knifepoint from a hot, older woman. She was so close, and his chest was exposed.

'My tastes are definitely strange...'

“Now get up, a proper disciple of the Nova Velisia School doesn't eat or drink lying on his back. Stand up straight, no, stop looking at me like that, this is not part of training!”

A/N: Finished this in a rush, will proofread tomorrow!