Without hesitation, I lunged forward, my movements swift and focused. The snow beneath my feet crunched as I closed the distance, intent on executing a precise strike. Yato, however, moved with an almost ethereal grace, effortlessly sidestepping my attack.
"Too slow," he remarked, his voice cutting through the air. "Speed alone won't bring death. Your strikes need purpose, a clear intent to overcome your opponent."
'Damnit if only I could mana right now but he forbids me to use it.'
I turned back and ran at him at full speed with Sin Of Sword in my hand.
Cling, Cling, Cling—!!
The entire snowy meadow resonated with the resounding clash of cold, hard steel as our weapons collided.
Though the sun hung high in the sky, the air was still an icy chill in the snowy southern mountains.
I used every ounce of my strength and unleashed an unrelenting barrage of sword slashes upon Yato, determined to push him out of the circle he drew on the ground.
Yet, with effortless and masterful movements, Yatoo redirected, parried, or blocked each of my sword strikes with his Katana.
It was frustrating—to channel every bit of strength I had in me into my slash, only for them not to end up connecting!
Finally, for the fifth time maybe, I ran out of patience.
Cling—!!
As soon as Yato deflected another one of my strikes, I flicked my right wrist twice and pulled my hidden blade before rushing in on him for close combat.
Since he had used his sword to push my sword away, he wouldn't have enough time to bring it back to position and strike me with it.
He is wide open right now!
With a swift flick of my wrist, the hidden blade emerged, catching Yato off guard amid his deflection. I closed the distance, aiming to exploit the momentary vulnerability and strike in close quarters.
He wanted me to know why he's my master, and I'm his disciple.
If he actually wanted to end that spar between us that day, he could've done it with a single swing of his sword.
I see it now. Even though I knew how strong his was from the Lucas memory, I can see it now with my own eyes...
From the very beginning, it should've been clear to me...
Yato and I are in entirely different leagues.
...Will there ever come a day when I can surpass him?
With a renewed understanding of the vast gap in skill between Yato and me, a mixture of determination and frustration fueled my movements. As the cold winds continued to whip through the snowy meadow, I braced myself for the ongoing clash of blades.
Yato, perceptive as ever, noticed the shift in my demeanor. "Your journey as a swordsman is not about immediate victory, Lucas. It's a gradual ascent, each encounter a step forward. Embrace the challenge, and let it shape your growth."
His words resonated with a truth that extended beyond the present skirmish. The hierarchy between master and disciple wasn't just a reflection of our current abilities; it was a marker of the path I had yet to tread.
The Sinister Of Sword in my grip pulsed with a subdued energy, a reminder of its forbidden enchantments and the depths of power it held. Even as I sparred with Yato, I couldn't help but wonder about the mysteries concealed within the Infernal Demonic Art.
In the midst of our exchange, Yato smoothly shifted from a defensive stance to an offensive one, each strike precise and calculated. It was a dance of blades, an intricate performance where every move had a purpose.
As we continued, Yato suddenly disengaged, creating a brief opening. Seizing the opportunity, I unleashed a series of rapid strikes, attempting to break through his guard. However, Yato effortlessly evaded and countered, leaving me once again on the defensive.
"Patience, Lucas. Impatience leads to vulnerability. Mastering the art of the sword requires composure and strategic thinking," Yato advised, his voice cutting through the rhythm of our clash.
I took a moment to absorb his wisdom, adjusting my stance and calming the impatience that had crept into my movements. The Sinister Of Sword felt like an extension of my very essence, and with a newfound focus, I prepared for the next exchange.
As the spar continued, the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the snowy terrain. Each clash of blades echoed through the mountains, a testament to the ongoing struggle for mastery.
Finally, Yato stepped back, signaling the end of our sparring session. The silence that followed was punctuated only by our steady breaths, a contrast to the intensity that had filled the meadow.