Chapter 19:The Weight of the Blade
It took Peter a good while to bring Selene to the point where she could perform a clean downward strike with her sword without any obvious mistakes.
Still, there was hesitation and inexperience in her movements. So, Peter decided to do what his own teacher had done years ago.
"Alright. Looks better now," Peter said, nodding. "Now, to drill it in—repeat that cut two hundred and fifty times."
Selene looked at him like he had lost his mind.
"Two hundred and fifty?!"
Peter shrugged. "You're getting off easy. you still have to learn other strikes and movements today. Normally, it would be twice that."
She stared at his back in disbelief as he returned to pitching the tent. Meanwhile, Peter smirked to himself, remembering his own reaction to the same command years ago. Then he called out,
"Alright, get to work. Not much sunlight left, and we've got a lot more to cover."
Once the tent was set up, Peter sat down near the campfire, directly across from Selene so he could keep an eye on her. He gave her a wave to begin.
With visible reluctance, Selene began her practice. The first few strikes were decent, but then Peter abruptly interrupted her.
"You're putting too much energy into it," he called out. "You're wasting stamina. If your opponent dodges, that sword's going to bury itself in the ground and leave you with one more problem to worry about."
"Remember—you don't have to slice them in half. A clean hit to the head is usually enough."
Selene mumbled something under her breath but adjusted, striking with noticeably less force. Peter ignored her grumble and shifted his focus to the stick he had picked up earlier.
It was just an ordinary stick, but Peter decided it was perfect for practicing something specific—channeling magic. Specifically, reinforcing an object using energy alone, much like Selene had done with her sword earlier by infusing it with ice. However, there was a key difference in Peter's approach.
He wanted to use only the raw energy—the force that allows elements to manifest—rather than the element itself. On the surface, it didn't seem too different, but there were important distinctions.
For example, if you reinforce a weapon with an element like darkness, it would visibly take on a black hue. Just like Selene's sword had become frosted over with ice, elemental enhancement was easy to spot.
But raw energy—often called spiritual energy—was far harder to see. You couldn't spot it with the naked eye, because the process happened inside the weapon's structure.
It was still possible to sense when someone enhanced a weapon with energy, but only by feeling the energy pulsing through the object. It was more difficult to learn than elemental enhancement, but also much subtler.
Peter continued observing Selene out of the corner of his eye while focusing on infusing energy into the stick. The first attempt failed—dark matter began forming along the stick, which was not what he intended. But what surprised him was how easily it had happened.
Momentarily distracted, he tried lengthening the stick. It worked—but only by a few centimeters. The added portion, made from condensed darkness, was clearly weaker than the original material. He noted the result and glanced back at Selene. Seeing no glaring errors, he resumed his experiment.
About ten minutes later, he finally succeeded. Outwardly, the stick looked unchanged, but Peter could feel the flow of energy within its inner structure. He grinned with satisfaction.
Then the stick snapped into several pieces with a loud crack.
Frowning, he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. His best guess was that the material had buckled under stress—either from too much energy or from unstable flow disrupting its composition.
He picked up another stick nearby and tried again, this time using a smaller amount of spiritual energy. It worked—he could feel a faint magical reinforcement. But once again, the stick shattered after a moment.
Peter sighed, frustrated. His control still wasn't good enough.
He was about to try again when Selene, exhausted, drove her sword into the ground and dropped onto the grass, breathing heavily.
It was only then that Peter realized he had completely forgotten to count how many strikes she had performed. He figured she must have hit at least two hundred—and if not, well… she got lucky.
He stood up, picked up her waterskin, and summoned his own sword before walking over.
"Take a break," Peter said. "Then I'll show you side cuts and basic defense—blocks and parries."
Selene nodded and took a small sip from her waterskin as Peter demonstrated several diagonal slashes from the left and right. He drove his sword into the ground afterward and added a few tips—
—how to engage her back muscles properly for stronger strikes capable of hurting armored enemies, and some advice on footwork and balance.
Selene absorbed the information silently, occasionally nodding in acknowledgment.
But as she prepared for her next set of strikes, her eyes wandered to the runes etched into the blade of Peter's sword.
"Your sword… Thaurmor, right? Interesting name."
Peter blinked, surprised. He hadn't told her the sword's name. For a moment, he was speechless. Then he asked,
"Yeah, that's the name. But… how do you know that? You can read Ether runes?"
Selene shook her head. "No, they're not Ether runes. The script on your blade comes from Earth—specifically from Eastern England and Norway. It's an extinct language, of course."
Peter was stunned. The runes didn't originate from Ether? His mentor had found this artifact in that realm. And now Selene was telling him the writing was terrestrial?
He was equally surprised by the fact that she could read a dead language. Intrigued, he asked,
"Okay… but how do you know ancient English dialects?"
Selene responded quickly.
"I went to an art school. My major was painting, but we had literature electives. One of the classic authors we studied used a blend of Old English and Old Norse in his fictional languages."
She gave a small shrug. "The course was fascinating enough that some of it stuck. For example, your sword's name could also be translated as 'Death to the Unclean' or 'He Who Ends the Corrupted,' depending on the etymology."
Peter was speechless again. He hadn't expected an answer like that. After a moment of silence, he changed the topic and encouraged Selene to resume training while there was still daylight left. Then he returned to the campfire.
He tried to go back to practicing energy reinforcement, but Selene's words left him too distracted. If the runes were from Earth rather than Ether… what did that mean?
He summoned the blade's inscription in his mind, hoping for insight.
[Name: Thaurmor]
[Rank: ???]
[Type: Weapon]
[Description]: "Forged from an unknown metal, the blade is capable of slaying that which is deemed immortal. An artifact that even beings of divine nature would not be ashamed to wield. According to legend, this sword was once carried by Death itself."
Just from the entry, it was obvious this weapon was powerful—legendary even. Some might wonder why any mentor would give such an artifact to a student.
There were two reasons.
First, Peter's teacher had collected a vast arsenal of relics and artifacts during his travels through Ether.
Second, the sword didn't like him.
The moment the mentor picked it up, the blade began slowly—yet constantly—damaging his arm at a cellular level. Sometimes it even caused burns.
Peter, however, could wield it without those effects. Their theory was that the sword rejected those with certain elemental affinities. In the mentor's case, it was air and decay.
By contrast, the sword seemed to accept those aligned with elements tied to death—like shadows, darkness, or necromantic aspects.
Peter had received shadow and darkness elements when he arrived in Ether. Whether by fate or the sword's long-term influence, they fit the theory perfectly.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound—a raven, the same one they had seen the day before, landed on a branch nearby.
At the sight, Peter felt a strange feeling in the back of his mind.
As if he had forgotten something—something about the ravens, something important.
But he couldn't remember what.