The courtyard smelled of damp earth and stone. Dew clung to the grass, and the early sun had just begun to paint the palace walls with a golden hue. The air was crisp, clear — the kind of morning that demanded focus.
Rudura stood barefoot in the center, gripping the wooden training sword tightly in his small hands. His breath puffed lightly in the chill, his young frame trembling, not from weakness, but from the weight of determination that pressed on his chest.
He raised the blade.
"Again…" he muttered.
"Swoooosh—THUD!"
The sword struck the straw dummy. Dust and loose straw shook free, scattering onto the ground. But the mark left behind was shallow, weak, unsatisfying.
Not good enough.
He shifted his stance, sweat already sliding down his forehead despite the cool air.
"Again!"
This time, he slashed horizontally.
"Swishhh—CRACK!"
The dummy's neck shuddered but didn't fall. His tiny arms burned, but frustration burned hotter.
He narrowed his eyes, picturing more than just straw.
Suddenly, the straw dummy shifted in his mind. No longer a bundle of hay. It became a soldier of the Gupta Empire — clad in iron, towering above him, shield raised. The glint of a spear threatened his chest.
Rudura inhaled sharply. If I don't cut through… I die.
He swung down, harder this time.
"Swoooosh—CLANG!"
In his mind, the blade slammed against the soldier's shield. Sparks flew. The soldier grinned, pushing forward with brute force, his spear lunging for Rudura's heart.
"Dodge!" Rudura hissed to himself, throwing his small body sideways. His bare feet scraped across the dirt. The spear whooshed past his cheek.
He spun, bringing the blade diagonally.
"Fffshhh—SLASH!"
In his imagination, the wooden blade tore across the soldier's arm. The giant roared, blood spraying as he staggered back.
Rudura's chest pounded. His body trembled. Yet his lips curved slightly. That's it. Again.
He reset his stance, heart racing. Another soldier replaced the first. This one wore a helmet, eyes glaring beneath the metal ridge.
The soldier charged.
"Come!" Rudura shouted, swinging upward with all his strength.
"Swoooosh—CRUNCH!"
The blade cleaved into the soldier's jaw in his mind, snapping his head back. Rudura followed with a horizontal strike —
"SWISSHHH!"
The helmet flew from the soldier's head as he collapsed.
Rudura stood, panting, his real blade embedded halfway into the dummy's torso. Straw spilled out like entrails. His tiny hands shook with both exhaustion and excitement.
But he wasn't done.
Now he saw not one — but three Gupta soldiers advancing. Their swords glinted, feet pounding against the stone courtyard.
Rudura's grip tightened. Three against one? Then three must fall.
The first soldier swung high. Rudura ducked low, his small frame slipping under the arc. He thrust forward.
"Thhhhunk!"
The wooden blade pierced the soldier's stomach in his mind. The man coughed blood, eyes wide, before crumpling.
The second soldier came immediately, slashing down. Rudura spun. His feet barely held balance, but instinct carried him.
"Swishhh—CLACK!"
His sword collided with the enemy's, the shock rattling his wrists. Pain seared through his arms, but he pushed forward, forcing the soldier back.
He struck again, this time straight at the throat.
"SWOOSH—SLASH!"
The soldier's neck split open in his imagination, crimson spraying across the palace courtyard.
The third roared, charging with shield raised. Rudura didn't retreat. He jumped forward instead, slamming his sword into the shield's rim.
"CRACKKK!"
The shield splintered. He rolled to the side, then delivered a final cut across the soldier's back.
"SSHHHHTHH!"
The man fell to the ground, twitching.
Rudura collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. His body in reality was exhausted from swinging, his arms weak, his chest heaving. Sweat drenched his thin training clothes. Yet in his mind, the courtyard was a battlefield — corpses scattered, his enemies slain.
He lifted his head. The straw dummy still stood, battered but not broken. His hands shook, but his heart roared.
Not enough… keep going.
He raised the sword again, but then......
The image of the black book flashed in his mind. Échecs humains. The golden letters glowed, darker than any battlefield.
He faltered.
The sword wavered midair. His mind spun. Why that book? Why can't I touch it? What secrets lie inside?
"Swoooosh—SMACK!"
His strike missed. He stumbled forward, falling into the dirt.
"Damn it!" he shouted, punching the ground.
From the courtyard's edge, Malavatas had been watching silently. He had seen every cut, every stumble, every fire in Rudura's eyes. And now, he stepped forward.
His boots crunched against gravel. His shadow fell over Rudura.
"Enough," Malavatas said, voice like iron.
Rudura froze, sword still trembling in his grip.
Malavatas knelt, gripping the boy's small wrists. He adjusted the hold on the sword, curling his fingers properly around the hilt. His eyes bore into Rudura's.
And then, with calm authority, he spoke:
"If your hand is weak, the cut fails. If your mind is weak, the warrior fails."
The words were heavy. They pierced deeper than the blade itself. Rudura's chest tightened. His distraction, his doubts about the book, his wandering thoughts — all of it had made him weak.
He swallowed hard, then nodded. "I… understand, Guru."
"Good," Malavatas said, releasing him. "Now show me."
Rudura exhaled. He shut his eyes for a moment. The book, the questions, the doubts — gone. All that remained was the blade in his hands and the soldiers in his mind.
He opened his eyes.
He swung.
"Swoooosh—CRACKKK!"
The dummy's torso split clean. Straw burst out like smoke.
Another soldier appeared in his imagination, roaring, charging. Rudura ducked.
"Swishhh—SLASH!"
Blood sprayed. The man fell.
Another. Rudura spun, cutting through.
"CRACK—SSHHHHTHH!"
The courtyard echoed with the rhythm of his strikes.
"Swooshhh!""Swishhh!""Thhhhunk!""Crackkkk!"
The battlefield in his mind was filled with fallen soldiers, his small figure standing tall among them, chest heaving but eyes blazing.
When he finally lowered his sword, sweat dripped onto the dirt like rain. His whole body trembled. His hands ached. Yet his heart burned hotter than ever.
He looked at the rising sun, its rays spilling across the palace walls. His lips moved in a whisper.
"I'll prove myself in the end-year test. No matter what it takes. Even if I face a thousand soldiers."
And with that, he raised the sword again.
"Swoooosh—CRACK!"
The courtyard echoed with his resolve, every swing carving his destiny deeper into the world.