Chapter 7
The Lever and the Fulcrum
The favor of Ser Joric was a double-edged sword. While it granted Kaelen access to the coveted Breath of the Wild training, it also painted a target on Renly's back. The resentment festering in Corin, the squire from the minor noble house, was now a palpable thing, a cold glare that followed Kaelen across the courtyard.
Corin's family, the Hawthorns, had not produced a Knight in two generations. Their bloodline, a faint "Oak-Skin" ability that granted minor toughness, was fading. To Corin, Renly was not just a low-born upstart; he was a symbol of everything his family feared—irrelevance. Every extra moment Joric spent with Renly was a personal insult.
Kaelen, aware of the tension, used his free time strategically. While other squires rested or gambled, he would retreat to a quiet corner of the library, a privilege his position under Joric now afforded. He wasn't searching for histories or bestiaries. He was cross-referencing combat manuals and anatomical scrolls.
His Federation education gave him a fundamental understanding of physics and biomechanics that this world lacked. They understood "strength" and "speed," but not the precise principles of leverage, center of mass, and kinetic chains. In his mind, he began deconstructing the knightly sword forms, analyzing them not as traditions, but as inefficient mechanical systems.
He practiced in secret, adjusting Renly's stances by millimeters, shifting his weight distribution to optimize balance. He wasn't trying to invent a new style; he was trying to create a more efficient version of the existing one, purging wasted motion.
The confrontation came during a routine sparring session supervised by Joric. The air was thick with the sound of clattering wood and grunts of effort. Kaelen was paired with Corin.
As they squared off, Kaelen noticed a subtle, triumphant gleam in Corin's eye. When he gripped his practice sword, he felt it immediately. The leather wrapping on the hilt was loose, slick with something greasy—likely rendered from the kitchens. A simple, effective sabotage.
"Begin!" Joric called.
Corin lunged immediately, his practice sword a blur of aggression. He was stronger, and his bloodline, however faint, gave him a slight edge in durability. Kaelen, with his compromised grip, could only parry and retreat, the sword threatening to twist out of his hand with every block. The other squires gathered, sensing blood.
"Fight back, Renly!" Corin taunted, pressing his advantage. "Or are you only good at breathing?"
Kaelen ignored him, his mind racing. A direct contest of strength was suicide. He had to use the environment and Corin's own momentum. He gave ground, leading Corin on a circular path across the uneven cobblestones of the courtyard.
He saw his opportunity. Corin, overconfident, committed to a powerful overhead chop, a move designed to break a guard through sheer force. It was a move full of theatrical bravado but terrible balance.
Instead of raising his own sword to block, Kaelen took a single, precise step inward and to the side. He didn't meet force with force. He redirected it.
As Corin's sword descended, Kaelen used his own poorly-gripped weapon not to strike, but to hook Corin's descending wrist. It was a minimal, almost delicate motion. He pulled down and guided the momentum, while his lead foot swept behind Corin's planted leg.
It was the principle of the lever. Corin's body was the beam, his own over-committed strength was the effort, and Kaelen's guiding hook and foot were the fulcrum.
With a startled yelp, Corin's charge was transformed into a headlong stumble. His feet flew out from under him, and he crashed heavily onto the cobblestones, his practice sword clattering away. The fight had ended not with a mighty blow, but with a precise and calculated disruption of equilibrium.
Silence descended upon the courtyard, broken only by Corin's winded groans.
Kaelen stood over him, his own slippery sword still in hand. He hadn't even needed to throw a proper strike.
Ser Joric stepped forward, his expression unreadable. He looked from the fallen Corin to Kaelen, whose breathing was steady, his stance perfectly balanced.
"That was not a knight's move," Joric stated, his voice low.
"No, Ser," Kaelen admitted, using Renly's voice. "It was a move that worked."
A long pause hung in the air. Then, a faint, grim smile touched Joric's lips. "The wild does not always charge like a boar. Sometimes, it is the root that trips you, or the wind that changes direction." He gestured for Corin to be helped up. "Remember this, all of you. A clever mind is a sharper weapon than a strong arm. Corin sought to break a sword. Renly sought to break a stance. Which is easier?"
He turned his back on the group, but as he walked away, he threw a final comment over his shoulder, meant only for Kaelen. "The Breath fuels the body. But it seems your mind needs no such teaching. Do not forget to train both."
As the crowd dispersed, Kaelen felt a surge of triumph, not for beating Corin, but for the validation of his method. He had successfully integrated his otherworldly knowledge. He was no longer just wearing Renly's skin; he was truly becoming a hybrid of two worlds, and the synergy was starting to show