Altaïr lay flat on the floor, gasping for breath.
By this point, "bruised and battered" hardly did his condition justice. "Beaten to a pulp" might have been more accurate. For the moment, getting up was out of the question; even rolling over was a struggle.
Isis knelt beside him with worry written all over her face, shooting her mother a reproachful look.
Gordon, who had watched the spectacle with his arms crossed, sucked air through his teeth in sympathy, as though his own teeth hurt.
He had certainly thought about finding an opportunity to teach the kid a lesson, and when his wife picked up the wooden sword, he had admittedly been rather excited.
He knew his wife's skill with a sword all too well. To put it plainly, whether he dared raise his voice around her depended entirely on whether she had a wooden stick, or anything else she could use as a sword, within reach.
There was an insurmountable wall between fighting bare-handed and fighting with a weapon.
But he swore he had never imagined the kid would end up this badly beaten. Even on a hunting ground, he would have counted as carted in that condition.
There was no need to go that far, dear...
Yet Hayata was the most helpless of them all.
Truth be told, she rather liked her daughter's boyfriend. He was exceptionally skilled, well-mannered, and anyone could see how much he cared for Isis.
Most importantly, their relationship had not sprung up overnight. It had grown naturally after years of hunting together, getting to know each other, and gradually learning how to work in harmony.
Even before becoming a couple, they had been partners who could entrust their backs to each other without reservation. A relationship built on that foundation was naturally stable.
Not to mention that Altaïr was also her junior fellow disciple under the same master, which made her even fonder of him.
Even her husband only harbored a little resentment toward the boy, rather than any real dissatisfaction.
She truly had not meant to beat him this badly. She had carefully controlled her strength with every swing, ensuring that the wooden blade struck only flesh and never bone.
But the kid simply would not stop coming at her.
How many times had she driven him back? At least ten.
If he had merely been a 1★ or 2★ beginner, she could have led him in circles with her sword without leaving so much as a bruise.
But he was an accomplished swordsman who had truly set foot on the path of the sword, someone who would be considered formidable anywhere. Although a clear gap still separated them, he was an opponent she had to take seriously.
That opening thrust, was it called "Instant Slash"? Its speed had even startled her, and her sword aura had condensed before she realized it.
Avoiding broken bones was the greatest mercy she could show him without embarrassing herself.
"Isis, go fetch Lady Shalan so she can treat and bandage him." Hayata put away the wooden sword, gave her daughter the instruction, and walked over to Altaïr.
"Remarkable swordsmanship. When I was your age, I was nowhere near as skilled as you."
Altaïr forced a faint smile from where he lay but lacked the strength to answer. The sword had caught him across the face as well, leaving one cheek badly swollen.
"Your physical strength is well above average, but it isn't what sets you apart. Your fighting spirit and sword aura, however, are exceptional. You're the same type as me.
"When you condense your sword aura to its limit, or when the pressure of death pushes you, you experience bouts of abnormal excitement and lose control of your emotions, don't you?
"Your blood suddenly surges, and you feel like fighting a Monster to the death."
Altaïr nodded with difficulty.
"Don't worry. That's quite normal. Many Long Sword users who focus on cultivating their sword aura encounter this problem to varying degrees. I went through it myself years ago.
"As your understanding of 'Spirit' deepens and your mind grows more resilient, the problem will resolve itself naturally."
She paused, then continued, "A Long Sword user's sword aura, a Great Sword user's fighting spirit, and the blood energy of a Dual Blades user's Demon Mode all arise from the same source. They are simply different expressions of the body's energy.
"They only developed into distinct forms because they are used in different ways.
"But perhaps because you switch between them so often, and even use them at the same time, your sword aura feels... more complex."
"Mm," Gordon said from the side. "Her sword aura is stable and highly condensed. It clings to the blade almost like a solid substance, forming a second edge that is extraordinarily thin and sharp.
"Yours is more like a gale swirling around the blade. It erupts on contact with astonishing force, but it is chaotic."
Hayata took over again. "The path of the sword has no end. No one can judge whether your sword aura is good or bad. You will have to explore it yourself and ultimately discover the way of using it that suits you best.
"My teacher told me you created a sword technique called 'Spirit Release Unsurpassed Slash,' correct? A move like that suits you perfectly.
"Don't let the thinking of those who came before constrain you. They merely started down the path earlier; that doesn't mean they have traveled farther."
Altaïr nodded again.
Lady Hayata's guidance felt less like instruction than encouragement. She wanted him to keep experimenting and forge a path of his own.
Just then, Isis returned with Lady Shalan.
The Felyne circled Altaïr, who lay motionless on the floor, then prodded him a few times with one paw. "Meow? Did someone grab you by the ankles and swing you around like a Great Sword until you beat a Deviljho to death, meow?"
Shalan was joking, of course. As a top-tier healing Felyne, how could she fail to recognize how Altaïr had sustained those injuries?
She casually scattered a few handfuls of Lifepowder over him, pried open his mouth, and poured in a Potion.
"Nothing serious, meow. Put him in bed and let him rest for a day, and he'll be fine, meow."
Isis had intended to carry Altaïr to bed herself. Given his current condition, carrying him on her back was clearly out of the question, so she planned to carry him bridal-style...
Gordon saw what she was about to do and promptly took over.
As his girlfriend's father carried him back inside in both arms, Altaïr felt like a dish being brought to the table.
Amos was not surprised in the slightest by Altaïr's condition. He had even made the bed in advance.
Gordon set him down with unexpected gentleness, surprising Altaïr, who had braced himself for a second round of pain.
Before he could dwell on it, Shalan hurried over, poured a bottle of Nutrients down his throat, and fed him some Sleep Herb extract. He soon drifted into a heavy sleep.
—--
When he opened his eyes again, faint light was already filtering through the window.
Altaïr's eyelid twitched. Lady Shalan had apparently given him a little too much Sleep Herb extract; he had slept straight through from the afternoon until the early hours of the following morning.
Thanks to the medicine and a full night's rest, the terrible pain that had made his body feel as though it were falling apart had almost completely vanished. A few spots still ached, but they no longer hindered his movements. Lady Hayata truly had known exactly how much force to use.
More importantly, had he really slept through the dinner that was bound to be unbearably awkward?
Thank you, Lady Shalan!
Altaïr sat up. The room was quite familiar to him.
Whenever he stayed with Isis's family, this was where he slept.
Unlike before, when it had contained nothing but a bed, the room now held an item box, an equipment rack, and various pieces of furniture.
A decorative vase stood on the nightstand, and a carpet had been laid beneath the bed. Someone had clearly taken care in furnishing the room. Though it was not especially spacious, it felt warm and comfortable.
The armor he had removed in the Training Area had also been tidied away and hung on a mannequin. Beside it was a cat bed made from a soft cushion, where Sajji lay curled up, fast asleep.
All of it made Altaïr feel that he had been accepted as a member of the family.
I made it through...
Joy welled up inside him, and a smile spread unconsciously across his face.
He touched the corner of his mouth and realized he was smiling. Covering his face with both hands, he rubbed it vigorously before rising from the bed.
He decided to make everyone a proper breakfast and earn a few points.
He opened the door and slipped quietly into the hallway, only to nearly bump into Gordon, who was walking past with a yawn and seemed to have just woken up.
The two stared at each other in silence for a second. Just as Altaïr was about to greet him, Gordon spoke first. "You're up, kid?
"Perfect. Come spot me."
Puzzled, Altaïr followed Gordon to the Training Area. Gordon picked up a thick metal bar, then loaded both ends with an astonishing number of enormous weight plates.
Altaïr now understood what Gordon wanted from him, but... Was he serious with that much weight? Should I go get Isis instead?