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Elric picked up the training sword and slowly assumed a guard stance. His feet shifted into a light Mezza Volta step. His wrist twisted into a subtle Zucken feint.

He moved like a dancer with stage fright.

“Fool’s Blade,” he whispered, smirking. “That’ll be my swordsmanship style.”

Its philosophy was simple: trick their instincts. Invite their pride. Punish their reflexes. Redirect their strength against them.

“Let’s see... fake left,” he muttered, executing a Makko Giri. “Redirect with a twist... Krumphau in reverse, gotcha, imaginary idiot!”

Thump! He stumbled over a tree root.

“Oof! Okay, maybe too much twist.”

Still, he stood and chuckled, shaking it off.

He slid into Katsugi Waza, the blade hanging lazily over his shoulder, body loose...

Then, snap!, slashed forward with startling speed.

“Surprise, idiot!” he shouted, grinning. “You thought I was tired. fool!”

His imaginary opponent didn’t respond.

“Oh, right. Alone. As always.”

Whooosh. A gust swept past, rustling the trees.

“Wait...” He paused. “Is it just me, or has this forest gotten too quiet? Where are the birds? The squirrels?”

No chirping. No rustling. Not even bugs.

The air was too still.

“Okay, okay... chill. It’s not like someone’s watching me again. I overcame that paranoia today, remember?” he muttered, striking a pine tree. Thwack.

“Well, it’s not like something bad’s gonna happen, right?”

“Helppp...!!!”

“Help!! Somebody, please!”

A high-pitched scream shattered the silence.

Elric froze. “Is it sleep deprivation? I have been skipping a lot of… ”

“Helpp!!! Elric!!!”

His breath caught. That voice echoed through the trees.

“Nope. Not sleep deprivation. That was real.”

He bolted toward the sound, feet pounding against dirt and leaves. Branches scratched his arms as he crashed through the underbrush.

“HEL-RIIIIIIC!!”

His heart skipped.

That voice.

He burst into a clearing, and there she was.

A dark-brown-haired girl. Small. Familiar.

“Helina Beatrice?” he whispered. “What the hell...?”

A burly, ragged man was hauling her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“What is this, an actual bandit? Alone? Where’s the rest of your cosplay troupe?!”

The man turned, startled.

Elric ducked behind a tree, mind racing like a caffeinated squirrel.

“Okay, okay, okay, THINK. How the hell do I save her?!”

Then he saw it, this is his usual training spot. The pine tree. Sap-covered bark. Resin bubbles are thick and sticky, especially after last night’s rain. The pile of resin is hidden underneath the dried leaves.

“Right,” he whispered, conjuring a flickering flame. “Let’s put on a show.”

Flick. A spark lit.

Then another.

And another.

He cast a basic fire spell, and half a dozen tiny fireballs lit up.

Then spun them. Fwhip. Fwhip. Fwhip. A ring of glowing motes shimmered in the air like a miniature magic circle.

“Showtime,” he muttered.

He stepped out, hand raised with a fake magic circle that he ‘casted’.

“Put her down,” he said, calm voice belying his bluff.

The man blinked as he saw the magic circle. Then scoffed. “You a mage, boy?”

“I’m the kind of mage who turns kidnappers into roast duck.”

The sparks spun faster, glowing brighter.

The bandit flinched.

Elric hurled a fireball, small, precise, into a pile of dried leaves and resin.

POP-BOOM! A small explosion burst at the bandit’s feet, sending sparks flying.

“GAH!” The man stumbled, dropping Helina.

Elric rushed forward, grabbed her hand, and yanked her behind him.

“Run! Now!”

She nodded, sobbing.

The bandit snarled, wild-eyed. “You little... !”

Elric’s lips curled into a lazy smirk.

“Oh no,” he said, feigning concern. “Did I forget to look scared?”

He moved.

“Makko Giri. Straight down the line. Classical. Predictable.

But I’m not here to hit with it. Just to play with his expectations.”

He raised his blade high, cutting down the center with a clean, vertical slash, deliberate and flashy.

The bandit grunted, locking onto the strike. He threw his sword up to block, fast and hard.

“Perfect,” Elric thought, a sly grin forming.

Now comes the real fun.

He twisted his wrist and rolled his blade along the bandit’s, feeling the bind.

“Winden, a German longsword technique. Wind the blade around your opponent’s, maintain pressure, find the opening.”

It was subtle. A blade-dance. One misstep and you lose control.

Elric imagined his sword as a silk ribbon slipping around rough stone.

With practiced ease, he slipped off the guard and sliced a shallow cut across the man’s shoulder.

“GRAAH!”

The bandit stumbled back, growling.

“One cut, and already rattled? Tch. He’s not used to fighting someone who uses their brain.”

Elric strolled sideways, sword resting lazily on his shoulder.

“Let’s reel him in. One more dance, big guy.”

He raised his blade again, dramatic, theatrical.

Katsugi Waza, a centuries-old kenjutsu feint. The bait-and-switch.

Let him fall for it again.

The bandit sneered through the pain.

“Same damn move again?

He’s a show off. Arrogant.

Thinks he’s already won.”

He raised his sword high to parry it this time

, and Elric snapped the blade sideways, a diagonal blur.

SLASH. Deep into the bandit’s thigh.

“AAAAARGH!!”

The bandit collapsed to one knee.

Elric spun behind him, voice sing-song.

“Oops. That wasn’t the same move, was it?”

Never do the same thing twice, unless it makes the third one lethal.

He slid his foot back, calmly.

“In traversa,” he whispered.

A perfect Italian sidestep, angled, not backward. He slipped off the centerline, just enough to vanish from his opponent’s focus.

Not retreating. Just relocating. Invite the charge. Make him think you've given ground.
Let him lunge at where you were. Let him chase a ghost.

The bandit locked on.

“There! He’s backing off! I’ve got him, ”

“RAAAAAH!!”

He charged.

But Elric didn’t flinch.

He sidestepped with dancer’s grace.

Kaeshi Waza.
Men-kaeshi-dō, counter the head, strike the body.

As the bandit’s sword came crashing down, Elric angled away and deflected, not with strength, but with precision.

Then, his wrists twisted. His blade curved and slashed across the man’s torso in a clean, horizontal arc.

“ARGHHH!!” the bandit roared, then turned tail and fled.

Elric didn’t chase. He just sighed.

“Next time,” he called after him, flicking blood from the blade,
“Try thinking before charging. Good thing that was just a training sword.”

Helina peeked out from behind him, eyes wide.

“That was amazing,” she whispered. “Are you a real magician?” as she recalled the magic circle Elric cast.

Elric puffed out his chest. “Of course. I’m... a real magician, you dumb girl.”

She blinked, confused, then turned away.

The moment she wasn’t looking, Elric doubled over.

“Ooooh my god... I’m gonna die... my lungs are on fire...”

Rumble... Thunder growled in the distance.

Cloud began to drift. Breeze sweeps gently, touching their skin. Cool and soft on his skin.

He looked down. Helina's hand clung to his, trembling.

He smiled gently, patting her head.

“You’re safe now. Let’s get you home.”

As they walked down the mountain, Elric felt the weight of the training sword on his back.

Fool’s Blade.

It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t aura.

But it was deceptive swordplay.

“Maybe I’m not suited for aura after all,” he mused, already thinking of skipping tomorrow’s aura training.

And for now... that was enough.

END ~