Chapter 29: Lessons from a Drunkard
Five days had passed since Velren's trip to Elyndra.
Now, beneath the soft glow of the morning sun, he stood near the garden, tightening his grip around the hilt of his katana. His arms ached, and his body was drenched in sweat, yet he did not falter. Before him, Gramps sat leisurely on his wooden bench, drinking from his usual bottle of booze, watching with his ever-critical eyes.
Velren exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance. With a deep breath, he brought the katana above his head and swung downward in a clean arc.
Again.
And again.
For five days, this had been his routine.
The old man had given him a task—to master the weapon completely. The training regimen was relentless: five thousand downward slashes, five thousand sideways cuts, five thousand diagonal swings. And that was only the first part. The goal was not only to train his muscles but to carve the very motion into his bones.
Gramps had even allowed him to neglect his usual daily chores and hunting, all so he could fully immerse himself in this training.
Another swing cut through the air.
"Wrong," Gramps suddenly called out.
Velren's eye twitched. He reset his stance, inhaled, and swung again.