Chapter 195
TRAINING (4)
IAM raised the short sword, carefully settling into the stance Henry had shown him. He exhaled, focused, then swung downward in a diagonal motion—just like he'd been told.
It went poorly.
He misjudged the weight of the weapon and leaned too much into the motion. The momentum threw off his balance, and his back foot didn't pivot in time. The next thing he knew, the blade dragged him forward and he stumbled—his arms flailing slightly before he landed hard, face-first, onto the floor with a dull thud.
A long pause.
Then a sharp snort broke the silence.
Henry had one hand over his face, shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—to contain himself. His lips were pressed together tightly, but the effort only made the laugh more obvious. His whole body trembled with restrained amusement.
IAM stayed there for a second, on all fours, trying to collect his dignity as he let out a slow breath. "Seriously?" he muttered under his breath before standing up.
He dusted off his palms, then retrieved the wooden sword and returned to his position, his expression was unreadable.
"Instead of laughing… help me," IAM said, his tone completely dry.
Henry turned slightly, still half-chuckling as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Hmm? I'm not laughing," he said—clearly lying through his teeth, his voice trembling with suppressed laughter.
IAM stared at him for a moment, unamused.
Henry coughed into his fist and tried to regain composure. "Alright, alright. Let's fix that footwork before you send yourself flying again."
He walked around IAM and tapped his front foot lightly with his own. "First, you are putting too much weight on the front foot. You need to stay centered—not lean forward like you're throwing yourself into the strike."
IAM adjusted slightly.
"Good. Now your back foot—turn it out just a bit. Think of your feet like train tracks. You want it parallel, this is because we want stability. "
Henry stepped in front again and held up his own sword. "Now watch this closely—don't copy yet, just watch."
He slowly demonstrated the cut, breaking it into pieces. "Your arms extend, but only after the hips start the turn. It's your body that powers the strike, not your shoulder alone."
He did it again, slower.
"Watch how I stay balanced. I'm not forcing it—it's one smooth motion. You're not just hitting something; you're cutting through it."
IAM nodded, absorbing it.
"Now your turn. This time, go slow. Focus on posture. Forget about power—just feel the motion."
IAM took a breath, shifted his stance slightly, then began the motion again—slower this time. The blade followed a cleaner path this time, and though the movement wasn't perfect, it didn't send him crashing to the floor either.
Henry nodded once, satisfied. "Better. Still a bit stiff, but that'll fade with time. You've got the form down—that's more important right now."
He stepped back and crossed his arms. "Remember, the sword's not a hammer. You don't swing it like one. It's a lever. You use your grip, your hips, your shoulders—everything—to guide it, not force it."
IAM glanced at the wooden blade again, now seeing it less as a stick to swing, and more like a tool that required care.
Henry gave a small smile. "Good. Now do it again. Thirty more times. Slowly. Until your body starts remembering it without you thinking."
IAM exhaled and began again, lifting the wooden blade and cutting down in a slow motion. The strike was cleaner this time—still stiff at the shoulder, but more controlled. He adjusted his grip slightly, easing the tension in his fingers the way Henry had shown him earlier. By the third strike, he nearly lost his balance again, the back foot dragging just a little too far behind, but he caught himself before stumbling.
Henry remained at his side, arms crossed, his eyes silently studying every movement—"Keep your wrist aligned with the edge," he said, his voice calm but firm. "The sword should move with your arm, not fight against it."
IAM gave a small nod and corrected his form. Again, the sword cut through the air.
The repetition began to take shape. He wasn't thinking about every part anymore. By the tenth strike, his breathing had fallen into rhythm. By the twelfth, he was sweating, a fine sheen forming along his forehead and the back of his neck. His shoulders ached, but not in a way that made him stop. It was a new kind of exhaustion.
"Don't lean too far forward," Henry added, stepping closer. "You're starting to shift your weight into the blade. Stay balanced. Let the motion come from your hips, not your chest."
IAM made the adjustment and kept moving.
The strikes continued. Each one chipped away a little hesitation, carved out a little more understanding in the way his body moved. The sword was still felt strange in his hands, but it no longer felt as foreign. He began to recognize the quiet vibration it left in his palm at the end of each swing.
Henry didn't interrupt much. He just watched. By the twentieth repetition, IAM had stopped thinking about technique entirely. His body was doing the work now. His arms moved. His feet followed. The wooden blade rose and fell in a quiet rhythm.
"This is the part most people hate," Henry said at last, his voice low. "The boring part. But this is where everything starts. Right here. One cut at a time."
IAM didn't answer. He just nodded slightly and kept going.
When IAM finally completed his thirtieth swing, he lowered the short sword and took a deep breath. His arms were sore, his back was damp with sweat, but there was a strange satisfaction in his chest. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and turned toward Henry, expecting some kind of nod of approval.
Instead, Henry grinned and raised both thumbs in the air… before quietly whispering, "Thirty more."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
IAM blinked at him, then sighed. "You're actually not a bad teacher, you know. The way you were talking earlier, it sounded like you didn't think you could do it at all."
"If you're trying to distract me, it's not going to work," Henry replied, unamused. "I want another thirty."
"No, I'm serious," IAM said, setting the wooden sword down for a moment. "You're really good. Actually… how did you learn to use a sword? Someone must've taught you, right?"
The question hung in the air.
Henry froze. Then, without a word, his right hand began to tremble. Barely noticeable at first, just a slight shake at the fingertips, but enough for IAM to see. Henry quickly shoved the hand into his pocket and looked away.
"I… I did," he said quietly, once he'd calmed himself.
IAM paused, watching him carefully. "I see," he said, keeping his voice low and cautious now—like he'd stepped on something fragile without meaning to.
There was a few seconds of silence between them.
Then Henry cleared his throat. "Now do another sixty swings."
IAM nearly choked. "Wait—what?"