(Flashback) A Warrior's Path (Training)

[Shao]

Date: 3rd of Winter, 510 AV Location: the City of Lhavit Understand who you are: You are a warrior, in body and in mind. Your soul is but a blade, a noble weapon swung in Lhavit's defense. To protect is your duty. To do so with honor, is your challenge. His warm breath, exhaled out into biting cold of winter's steely grasp, spiraled forth in curly steam patterns before evaporating wholly, dissipating into total and complete nothingness as it was claimed by the chilly environment. Each time he breathed, his chest seemed to contract, and his muscles burned with exertion. The familiar feeling of fatigue was not alien to him. Hardly. His thighs were hurting so much that he became numb to the pain, but he couldn't stop running. No. As the instructors put it, once you stop, you let the fatigue catch up to you. You needed to build up a momentum. A constant, consistent pace that remains unbroken, that goes unblemished by the pain you feel in your muscles and the burning in your thighs. Keep the momentum. Uphold the speed. Never let up. Never give up. Keep going. Push on. You are your greatest enemy. You are your only barrier to greatness. Understand that pain is only weakness, leaving the body. Making you strong. A faint humming sound now resonated through the air. A blindfold worn around his eyes stripped Shao Jian of the ability to react to what he saw. Instead, he moved according to what he sensed. He started to up the pace, his muscles tightening as he ran ever-quicker. Faster. Faster. Faster. The first arrow fell short, skimmed the snowed surface, and scraped against the frosted pavement beneath, betraying its location - and giving some clue as to the location of the other projectiles headed his way. Shao slammed his foot on the pavement, then used it as momentum to launch himself high into the air in a tuck-jump, his knees held to his chest. The second arrow shot past him, from under his legs, slamming into the bark of a nearby tree with a low, keening whistle. He landed. The sound of the third and final fletched projectile was close. Too close. He shot out his left hand and snapped away with his fingers. The arrowtip sliced his thumb. The pain stung him. The other four fingers managed to clasp around the speeding arrow, stopping it dead in its tracks. He snapped the arrow's wooden body with a loud crrrckkk! sound. The broken arrow fell to the ground. He tilted his head slightly, listening for more. Everybody wants to give up. Everybody wants to fall out. Not everyone can push on and strive to break through the wall that stands against us. Those that do give up, they subject themselves to the mercy of the enemy. But we, who refuse to give in, become defenders, and the protectors of the weak. The soft sound of someone silently stepping onto the snowy floor. The weight of the footsteps. The sound of their purposefully-suppressed breathing. It told Shao Jian certain things. Like the fact they were weighed down by something, but without the sound of clanking armor, it meant they were most likely weighed down by weapons. Was there one, or was there many? He listened to the footsteps carefully, but it was hard to judge. The other was taking care to be as quiet as possible. Was he barefoot? It seemed so, from the low degree of noise he made. Or was it a she? He canted his head slightly. Listened for the breathing. To his left. Five meters or so away. A male. Lightly-dressed. The low humming of a deadly-sharp blade moving through air. From the sound of it - a katana. He reached for his sash, where a chain dangled, and removed it, tying the chain around his hands and letting the weight at one end of the chain dangle from his left hand. His right hand held onto a small length of the chain linked to a crude sickle. The opponent came closer. Wary, now that Shao Jian had drawn his weapon. Do not see as men do. See as Zintila does. With the clarity of motion. Hear as she does; listen for the song of life, and extinguish that melody with a choir of steel. The other charged. The footsteps were quick. Well-measured paces that only a highly-trained swordsman could pull off. The enemy covered the distance between the two of them in a matter of seconds, and swung. Shao Jian listened for the sound of the blade whistling through the air, then swung his left arm forward; the chain arced out, borne by the weight. He caught the weight with his right, linking it to the sickle. Tightened the grip. The chain tensed. The katana slammed into the chain with a loud clang!, and stopped dead in its tracks. Shao Jian's arm muscles burned with the effort of holding the chain upright against the enemy, who was considerably strong. He exhaled - took one step back. then loosened the chain suddenly, letting the katana fall through the weave, before tossing the weighted end back to his left hand, wrapping it around the katana. He pulled - hard. The katana flew free of the wielders grasp, and sprawled across the ground. The enemy seemed stunned. He took the chance. The sickle flew. A gasp of pain. It drew blood. He readied the weight, about to deal a killing blow- An unarmed opponent is no opponent. Unless they are trained in the ways of unarmed combat. Strike down no-one who bears no arms, and thus no ill-will. Listen for their hostility. If you listen, and hear only fear - show them Zintila's mercy. He tilted his head again. Unable to see. He listened. The breathing was haggard. Tired. The disarmed opponent was exhausted. He lowered the kusarigama in a show of mercy. The opponent paused. He heard the other nod, as his head dipped through the icy air of the temple courtyard they sparred in. Footsteps, as the other retreated. He waited. Was there more? Clapping. Singular. That was the sign. Shao Jian hung the kusarigama slowly, then removed the blindfold. The snowed-in courtyard of the old temple grounds came to him in a rush of color, and he staggered slightly as vision overwhelmed him. The old man in the blue-and-white robes nodded. No smiles. The mentor was always a stern one. He merely nodded. One of approval. Good work, that will be all, take a short break, we resume shortly. Shao Jian exhaled. A cup of hot tea would be welcome. And so he went to get some.