The Small Tales of Yahmajô̗ Alą̧̄utl

Chapter 16: Chapter 15: Obey With Mercy, Part III

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Chapter 15: Chapter 14: Obey With Mercy, Part II

Chapter 17: Chapter 16: Finding Dignity, Part I

The one hour drew near its end, so Saya decided to head down to the first floor, where everyone was. While minding her balance on the steps, Kwazhak called out to her.

“...”

“Is something the matter?”

Saya broke out in fruity laughter. Kwazhak was covered in sand from head to toe, in his hair, all over his robe, and his face. He patted himself down.

“It seems one is in good health if you still engage in humorous thinking,” Kwazhak rubbed his black hair, full of tiny, itchy, pebbles.

“What happened to you?” She shook her head, coming to her senses, “You teleported right when Thiệu entered.”

“Well,” He took off the tie that held up his bun, and brushed the sand off by running his hand through the hair. “When someone casts Chuansong, if one does not picture their destination, then they will be transported to a random area in the vicinity. It appears I ended up somewhere in the middle of the marvelous Azu desert.”

Kwazhak finished cleaning his clothing to a decent level. Then he started descending the stairs.

“L already told me the plan, so we shall go.”

Once everyone was gathered at the end of the hour, L had them go through the far right door into the stadium again. Like his previous statement, for people who wanted to learn more about saharic arts, would go with L. For weapons and hand-to-hand combat, they would choose the Laoyuang prince. Saya decided to go with the latter.

The rude boy from earlier, Ashojan, was sitting on one of the benches. She sat down as well. She couldn’t help but stare at his saber-like blade he possessed. He wore a cloth around his mouth.

“What are you doing?” His razor tongue opened again.

“It’s the first time I’ve actually seen you with a sword. I’m looking forward to training with you,” Saya decided and held out her hand.

He pushed her hand away, “Don’t act like we’re familiars.”

“But we are. Remember the cloc-”

“Tch.”

Time had passed, and Kwazhak was finished advising Perez and Htet on fist combat.

“Persons with weapons, one has permission to be advised by me now,” He walked up to Saya and Ashojan who were sitting on a bench waiting with their swords.

“About time, tch,” Ashojan spat as he stood up. Both of them took their swords and followed Kwazhak.

The prince’s sword appeared out of thin air again. Saya wondered how it worked, but she guessed that it was a massively complicated sahar spell that she couldn’t grasp.

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“For the two swordsmen, I want to see your sword slashes,” Kwazhak continued, “Straight, left, right, and a shooting star.”

They unsheathed their weapons and did as they were told. To Saya, the first three cuts were easy, but she had trouble performing a shooting star. Her scimitar was heavy on the blade’s side, more than the scabbard. Kwazhak held up a finger after examining them.

“First, do you think that one’s slices could cut through tatami? Or a silk belt?” He went on, taking his sword. “When there is no object in the cutting zone, one has to imagine that there is something to slice through. Otherwise, one will be waving a stick in the air.”

Saya nodded, while Ashojan went with another ‘tch’. It felt like Saya's father was teaching her again. She couldn’t help but tighten her grip. Focusing on sword art was an escape from the events that unfolded today. Something that she enjoyed. Kwazhak held up two fingers.

“Second, Every slice has an arc. And inside that arc, is a point of contact. When one’s sword is released for a cut, one opens their body to extend their reach. The point of contact is when one starts cutting through the target. After it, is the actual slice. Pull through.”

Kwazhak took his sword, and flipped it to its blunt side. Then he practiced a cut through Saya’s neck. One stroke, two halves.

“This is the point of contact with this cut. If one decides to flap their arms with their blade the entire way through, it will not cut. As soon as one reaches the point of contact, pull it through with a technique, called geometrics. One should not swing it like a stick at that point. One should pull through the cut like a steak knife cutting meat. That is geometrics.”

He followed his imaginary cut, with the motion of dragging his blade through her. She felt the chilled, cool flat side of his sword on her skin. It gave her a nice tingling sensation.

One stroke, two halves. It was here where Kwazhak improved their cutting skills, breathing techniques, and how to deflect sahar spells with a weapon. From the basics of swordsmanship, it was like a cram school for aspiring swordsmen. One stroke, two halves.

“Miss Saya, you do not look well. Shall we stop for a break?”

She looked up as she brushed her hair away from her eyes, light headed. Saya seemed static, but she couldn’t believe it. Her? While learning about bladework? Words from Thiệu and Saya’s conversation were flooding her head. It was then, when she felt a hand touch her forehead. It was warm, and she couldn’t help but feel at ease.

“One seems to have an equitably elevated temperature,” Kwazhak took his hand off her head, before dusting it off. “You can take one’s leave to the right wing. One has no need to work in a such a condition.”

“... No, wait, I can still go. I’m fine,” She answered back, gripping her scimitar. But Kwazhak paid no heed to her.

“Even when one speaks a normative statement, I must take precautions,” He disregarded her words, “Shall I inform one’s status to your Obaa-san?”

“If Kwazhak wants you to rest then I don’t want to have my time wasted, so go back if he says it,” Ashojan scowled harshly. Kwazhak nodded in agreement.

“Although one must disagree with the delivery of tone, we must not waste time. One will feel worse staying here with physical exhaustion,” He urged, stretching his wrists.

Saya decided to do as she was told and left the stadium to go back. She paced the white tiled hallway, skipping from tile to tile, her sword rattling behind her. Saya was a bit annoyed.

“I could’ve gone on more,” She said to herself, pouting. Perhaps Kwazhak preferred to teach only one, Saya thought.

She opened the doors that lead into the right wing. To walk into something she didn’t expect.

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Chapter 15: Chapter 14: Obey With Mercy, Part II

Chapter 17: Chapter 16: Finding Dignity, Part I

Chapter 16 Chapter 15: Obey With Mercy, Part III. The one hour drew near its end, so Saya decided to head down to the first floor, where everyone was. While minding her balance on the steps, Kwazhak called out to her. 
“...”
“Is something the matter?”
Saya broke out in fruity laughter. Kwazhak was covered in sand from head to toe, in his hair, all over his robe, and his face. He patted himself down.
“It seems one is in good health if you still engage in humorous thinking,” Kwazhak rubbed his black hair, full of tiny, itchy, pebbles. 
“What happened to you?” She shook her head, coming to her senses, “You teleported right when Thiệu entered.”
“Well,” He took off the tie that held up his bun, and brushed the sand off by running his hand through the hair. “When someone casts Chuansong, if one does not picture their destination, then they will be transported to a random area in the vicinity. It appears I ended up somewhere in the middle of the marvelous Azu desert.” 
Kwazhak finished cleaning his clothing to a decent level. Then he started descending the stairs.
“L already told me the plan, so we shall go.”
Once everyone was gathered at the end of the hour, L had them go through the far right door into the stadium again. Like his previous statement, for people who wanted to learn more about saharic arts, would go with L. For weapons and hand-to-hand combat, they would choose the Laoyuang prince. Saya decided to go with the latter. 
The rude boy from earlier, Ashojan, was sitting on one of the benches. She sat down as well. She couldn’t help but stare at his saber-like blade he possessed. He wore a cloth around his mouth. 
“What are you doing?” His razor tongue opened again. 
“It’s the first time I’ve actually seen you with a sword. I’m looking forward to training with you,” Saya decided and held out her hand. 
He pushed her hand away, “Don’t act like we’re familiars.”
“But we are. Remember the cloc-” 
“Tch.”
 
Time had passed, and Kwazhak was finished advising Perez and Htet on fist combat. 
“Persons with weapons, one has permission to be advised by me now,” He walked up to Saya and Ashojan who were sitting on a bench waiting with their swords. 
“About time, tch,” Ashojan spat as he stood up. Both of them took their swords and followed Kwazhak.
The prince’s sword appeared out of thin air again. Saya wondered how it worked, but she guessed that it was a massively complicated sahar spell that she couldn’t grasp. 
“For the two swordsmen, I want to see your sword slashes,” Kwazhak continued, “Straight, left, right, and a shooting star.”
They unsheathed their weapons and did as they were told. To Saya, the first three cuts were easy, but she had trouble performing a shooting star. Her scimitar was heavy on the blade’s side, more than the scabbard. Kwazhak held up a finger after examining them.
“First, do you think that one’s slices could cut through tatami? Or a silk belt?” He went on, taking his sword. “When there is no object in the cutting zone, one has to imagine that there is something to slice through. Otherwise, one will be waving a stick in the air.”
Saya nodded, while Ashojan went with another ‘tch’. It felt like Saya's father was teaching her again. She couldn’t help but tighten her grip. Focusing on sword art was an escape from the events that unfolded today. Something that she enjoyed. Kwazhak held up two fingers. 
“Second, Every slice has an arc. And inside that arc, is a point of contact. When one’s sword is released for a cut, one opens their body to extend their reach. The point of contact is when one starts cutting through the target. After it, is the actual slice. Pull through.”
Kwazhak took his sword, and flipped it to its blunt side. Then he practiced a cut through Saya’s neck. One stroke, two halves.
“This is the point of contact with this cut. If one decides to flap their arms with their blade the entire way through, it will not cut. As soon as one reaches the point of contact, pull it through with a technique, called geometrics. One should not swing it like a stick at that point. One should pull through the cut like a steak knife cutting meat. That is geometrics.”
He followed his imaginary cut, with the motion of dragging his blade through her. She felt the chilled, cool flat side of his sword on her skin. It gave her a nice tingling sensation.
One stroke, two halves. It was here where Kwazhak improved their cutting skills, breathing techniques, and how to deflect sahar spells with a weapon. From the basics of swordsmanship, it was like a cram school for aspiring swordsmen. One stroke, two halves.
“Miss Saya, you do not look well. Shall we stop for a break?”
 She looked up as she brushed her hair away from her eyes, light headed. Saya seemed static, but she couldn’t believe it. Her? While learning about bladework? Words from Thiệu and Saya’s conversation were flooding her head. It was then, when she felt a hand touch her forehead. It was warm, and she couldn’t help but feel at ease. 
“One seems to have an equitably elevated temperature,” Kwazhak took his hand off her head, before dusting it off. “You can take one’s leave to the right wing. One has no need to work in a such a condition.” 
“... No, wait, I can still go. I’m fine,” She answered back, gripping her scimitar. But Kwazhak paid no heed to her. 
“Even when one speaks a normative statement, I must take precautions,” He disregarded her words, “Shall I inform one’s status to your Obaa-san?”
“If Kwazhak wants you to rest then I don’t want to have my time wasted, so go back if he says it,” Ashojan scowled harshly. Kwazhak nodded in agreement. 
“Although one must disagree with the delivery of tone, we must not waste time. One will feel worse staying here with physical exhaustion,” He urged, stretching his wrists. 
Saya decided to do as she was told and left the stadium to go back. She paced the white tiled hallway, skipping from tile to tile, her sword rattling behind her. Saya was a bit annoyed.
“I could’ve gone on more,” She said to herself, pouting. Perhaps Kwazhak preferred to teach only one, Saya thought. 
She opened the doors that lead into the right wing. To walk into something she didn’t expect.
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