Rising god
Chapter 53: Training II

Chapter 53: Training II

The training hall was a cavernous expanse of polished stone, its walls etched with the faint scars of countless battles. Dim light filtered through high, narrow windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and steel, a testament to the relentless pursuit of mastery that defined this place. Tasha lingered near the entrance, her presence unnoticed by Baines, who stood at the center of the room, his sword gleaming faintly in the half-light.

His movements were fluid, deliberate, as if he were already locked in combat with an invisible foe. Tasha’s heart sank as she watched him, a pang of inadequacy gnawing at her.

"Young lady," a soft voice broke her reverie. The servant bowed slightly in greeting.

"Oh, hey," Tasha replied, her voice lacking its usual spark. She turned her gaze back to Baines, who was now executing a series of precise strikes, each one resonating with purpose. She had come to learn, to find a way to climb out of her own rut.

Baines was barely a year older than her and had ascended to the 6th star, while she remained mired at the 4th. The disparity stung, a quiet wound she carried in silence. She hadn’t shown her face for weeks for that reason. If that wasn’t depressing, then what was?

"Young lady, I advise you not to rush the process," the servant said, his tone gentle but firm, as if he could sense the storm of self-doubt brewing within her.

"Hm?" Tasha tilted her head, her brow furrowing.

"I understand what you’re feeling," he continued, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret meant only for her. "But you must understand something."

"Understand what?" Tasha’s voice carried an edge of frustration. She wasn’t in the mood for cryptic advice, she wanted answers, a clear path forward.

The servant’s eyes softened, but his words were unflinching. "Young lady, do you know what I sense from Sir Baines every day? Rage. Fury. Bloodlust. A burning desire to achieve his goals drives him forward, like a fire consuming everything in its path. He means to risk everything to achieve it. And I fear you lack that same intensity, that hunger to improve."

Tasha’s breath caught. She remembered their first meeting at the Last Front, she had felt it then, a force that both awed and intimidated her.

But what of her own desires? What drove her to become stronger? The question hung in the air, unanswered. She had no clear goal, no blazing purpose to fuel her progress.

"I advise you to come here every day," the servant said, his voice pulling her back to the present. "Watch. Learn. Perhaps even train alongside him. You may find something to ignite that spark within you."

Tasha nodded, the weight of his words settling over her.

She stayed that day, her eyes fixed on Baines as he moved through his forms with relentless precision. His sword danced through the air, each strike a testament to his growing mastery.

By the seventh day, Tasha made a decision. She stepped into the training room not as an observer but to train. She stayed up in a corner, a blade in her hand, mirroring Baines’s movements as best she could. His actions were purposeful, each swing and parry imbued with the intensity of a real battle. She watched, mesmerized, as he seamlessly incorporated techniques from the eighth and ninth days, blending them into a fluid, almost hypnotic display of swordsmanship.

On the ninth day, something extraordinary happened.

Baines’s body froze mid-motion, his sword suspended in the air as if caught in an invisible web. Tasha’s heart raced, her instincts urging her to step forward.

"Stop, young lady," the servant’s voice cut through her impulse, sharp and commanding. He stared at Baines, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief.

"What is happening?" She asked.

"Unbelievable. He’s in a sword resonance."

"Sword resonance?" Tasha echoed, turning to the servant, her curiosity piqued.

"Yes," he said, his voice tinged with reverence. "Resonance is the harmony between a swordsman’s skills and their rank, how in tune they are with their swordsmanship rank."

He explained saying if there were two swordmasters of the same rank, resonance is what sets the exceptional apart. The swordmaster with resonance could destroy the other with just pure skill.

Most spend their lives chasing it, yet Baines has achieved it on his ninth day of training.

Tasha’s eyes widened as Baines stirred, his expression one of quiet realization.

He felt it too, a deepening of his connection to his blade.

If he had to put it in words, his swordsmanship had ascended to a new realm.

His mind expanded, like cold water dousing his head. His body felt like he had just woken up and was in perfect condition.

’Let’s try it again.’ Without hesitation, he began again, moving through the forms of the first star techniques with newfound clarity. Each motion was sharper, more precise, as if he were seeing the techniques anew.

"This can go further," he murmured to himself, tweaking movements, combining techniques with an ease that bordered on instinct. Where he once struggled to blend three techniques, he now wove them together effortlessly.

On the tenth day, Baines transitioned to the 4th star techniques, a new Chapter in his training.

He called it a new Chapter because these were exponentially more complex than those at the lower levels, and that was because it required sword aura and manipulation.

Just like at the 4th star, one unlocks aura, the techniques at this rank also require aura to perform.

Despite achieving resonance, he spent two days acclimating to their demands, his movements growing smoother with each repetition.

The servant couldn’t understand, ’Is he performing the techniques he memorized that day, but why does he seem like he had studied them continuously?’

As they were getting confused, Baines was reaching another understanding.

Most of the Last Front’s manipulation and combat techniques were 4th star.

After reaching this level, he was able to tell at a glance. Then, his time as a 5th star had given him an edge, allowing him to grasp these techniques with startling efficiency.

By the twelfth day, Baines requested a larger training field. The servant then led him to an open expanse, a sprawling field designed for battle simulations.

Here, Baines faced a new challenge: eliminating the underground forces and outliers. Their strength now paled against his aura and skills, rendering them ineffective as sparring partners. Only the old man, Martos, the Last Front commanders, and the Darkan head remained viable opponents. But even they were tiring, their strength outmatched by Baines’s relentless growth.

His constructs were either too strong or too weak.

’Alright, eye,’ Baines said, his voice steady with resolve. ’Bring them.’

From the air before him materialized a clone, a perfect replica of himself.

This was the second plan. He would battle his stronger version of himself, who also had a deeper understanding of the skills he had learnt.

The training ground erupted in a cacophony of clashing steel and explosive aura. Baines and his clone traded blows, each mirroring the other’s movements but with subtle differences.

The clone’s "Crescent Storm" unleashed a barrage of moon-shaped energy arcs, forcing Baines to counter with "Flicker Cut," teleporting behind the clone to strike but the clone had also responded with "Sword Orbit," its blade spinning in a hovering formation, deflecting Baines’s attack and conjuring whirlwinds to press the assault.

Baines watched, breathless, as the skill unfolded.

The clone had just applied a movement technique to a sword technique after all.

He quickly responded, his body phasing through attacks with "Veil Phase," then dashed at the clone. As he dug into the neck, he redirected his whole momentum with "Reversal Shift" and changed his swing mid-swing.

The clone matched him blow for blow, but Baines’s ingenuity shone through. He adapted "Backlash Evade," channeling its flow into his sword to unleash shockwaves that tore through the clone’s defenses, copying the previous technique he had seen.

With a final, devastating strike, the clone dissipated, leaving Baines panting but triumphant.

"Phew..." He wiped the sweat from his brow, his chest heaving.

’I should feel that again at the sixth star,’ he muttered and turned around.

At an unknown time, a crowd had gathered at his training ground. They were drawn by the explosive sounds of his training.

They stared, dumbfounded, as Baines’s techniques defied comprehension—swords changing mid-swing, attacks materializing from impossible angles, and shockwaves that seemed to affect them meters away from the movements.

Without taking a second glance, he left the training ground.

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