Sylvester ignored their collective skepticism and instead posed a question of his own. "Everyone, have you ever heard of journalism? This—" he said with a flourish, "—is the perfect fusion of journalism and swordsmanship!"
"Journalism?" Yunli tilted her head and repeated the unfamiliar term. Having practiced the sword since childhood, she could be called a sword fanatic—though her academic studies hadn't fallen behind, she had never delved into such diverse fields of knowledge.
"Exactly," Sylvester said. "A martial exhibition is different from a battlefield duel. The battlefield is a place of blood and slaughter among the strong, but not so in a competition. In a contest, strength alone doesn't guarantee victory—you also need a tragic backstory."
"In such settings, it's often the weak who win the audience's sympathy. When a weak contestant defeats a strong one, the crowd cheers even louder. The essence of the [Sentimental Sword Art] lies precisely in this—to portray yourself as the weak, even the victim! In doing so, you harvest the sympathy of both the audience and your opponent, gaining moral dominance. Because morality always favors the weak."
Sylvester had seen plenty of this before his transmigration.
Shows like Got Talent and The Voice of a Certain Nation started as fair competitions but eventually devolved into contests of packaging and sob stories.
He paused for effect, then continued, "Imagine this: during the competition, say Yanqing or Yunli accidentally breaks March 7th's sword—her late father's dying keepsake. Miss March collapses to the ground, heartbroken. Could you still bring yourself to strike again and eliminate her—especially when the entire audience is clamoring for justice on her behalf?"
"That… would indeed be difficult," Yanqing admitted, hand to chest.
With his moral compass, if he saw such a pitiful sight—especially knowing he'd been the cause—guilt might overwhelm his desire for victory, and he'd throw the match without thinking.
"I wouldn't be able to either," Yunli said, picturing the scene in her mind and reaching the same conclusion.
Sylvester nodded, his words flowing effortlessly. "Exactly. As the saying goes—the lips are blades, the tongue a sharpened sword. To wield words as your weapon, to summon a thousand blades from onlookers' sympathy and strike down your foe—that is the true meaning of the Sentimental Sword Art."
"So that's what it means! I completely understand now!"
March 7th struck a triumphant pose, one hand on her hip and the other pointing skyward, her face brimming with innocent delight and pure, untainted "wisdom."
But a second later, a doubt crept in.
Her posture slumped. She poked her fingers together nervously and whispered, "But… I can't even remember who my father was. If someone asks, won't that expose me?"
"Ah, really?"
Neither Yanqing nor Yunli had ever inquired about March 7th's family before. Learning of her amnesia now, they couldn't help but feel a sudden swell of pity.
"Excellent!—ah, I mean…" Sylvester caught himself mid-sentence. "What I meant was, you're quite well-suited to this technique."
That was close. He'd almost said something very offensive.
With a solemn look, he spoke earnestly, "March 7th, you've already met the first criterion for mastering the Sentimental Sword Art. Haven't your two teachers already gone soft on you?"
"You can't recall your father's face, yet through sheer instinct and emotion, you've pierced the sealed walls of memory enough to remember that sword as his keepsake. What a touching bond between father and daughter! And your opponent, who cruelly shatters that bond, will naturally become the villain in the eyes of all—reviled by the masses."
"R-Really? Am I that talented?"
March 7th's eyes sparkled as she straightened with newfound vigor.
For a moment, she truly believed in her tragic past—imagining herself, bloodied and broken, rising once more under the cheers of the crowd, unleashing a defiant cry, and striking down the villain who defied heaven's justice.
"No wonder it's a top-tier sword manual!"
She hugged the [Pure Yang Supplementary Manual] tightly to her chest, swaying from side to side like it was a priceless treasure.
Meanwhile, Yanqing and Yunli frowned deeply.
They had both realized something March 7th hadn't.
In her story, it was she herself who broke the sword.
And from their all-seeing perspective, they knew—the entire tale was fabricated nonsense.
Which meant this victory… wasn't really a victory at all.
They exchanged a glance, unusually silent.
Their gazes returned to the [Pure Yang Supplementary Manual], a strange unease tightening in their chests. The manual hadn't yet revealed any powerful combat techniques—but its art of manipulating hearts was terrifyingly effective. And… disgustingly underhanded.
Was it really a good idea to let March 7th learn such a thing?
As they turned to look, they found her propping her cheek with one hand, smiling goofily as she daydreamed about her glorious future. After a few seconds, she even rubbed the book affectionately against her face.
That was way too naive. She was one drool bubble away from complete idiocy.
Both teachers sighed and palmed their foreheads simultaneously.
Maybe… maybe this manual was perfect for her after all. She really did seem to need something like this.
Seeing no further objections, Sylvester added a careful reminder.
"Just remember this one thing: this sword technique requires you to understand your opponent's style and choose the right setting."
Using it on the battlefield, after all, would be outright suicide.
March 7th's consciousness returned to her body, her tone brimming with confidence. "Mm-hmm! Don't worry, I've got it all figured out!"
Seeing her expression, Sylvester blinked slowly, then said, "Good."
He wasn't worried that she hadn't understood—he was worried she had, but only halfway, and would end up overdoing it and getting her camera knocked out of her hands.
Still, there wasn't much to fear.
After all, the Astral Express crew was well-staffed: Himeko and Welt Yang were experienced and cunning; Dan Heng, the calm and calculating Stoic Young Dragon; Pom-Pom, the mysterious train conductor; and Stelle herself—a chaos-loving, carefree Trailblazer,trash can queen,Emanator of Elation, and comedic darling of the cosmos favored by Nanook,theAmber Lord, and Aha.
With those five around, how could March 7th possibly fail?
Well… at least she probably wouldn't die horribly.
"Shopkeeper Sylvester! What about the second move? The first one was already amazing—surely the second's even stronger!"
March 7th asked eagerly, her eyes shining.
She'd already "defeated" her masters Yunli and Yanqing—just a few more moves, and she'd win the championship at the Martial Exhibition Ceremony!
Huh? When did she defeat them?
Just now, obviously.
Sylvester took a sip of tea to soothe his throat.
Though educating—not brainwashing, of course—March 7th wasn't too difficult, it had still taken some effort.
After refilling the teapot with hot water, he said calmly, "The second move is called [The Sword of Public Opinion]."