Nero tried again. A series of practiced movements that should have been smooth.
Instead, his form was sent all over the place and he lost balance.
He planted the spear in the ground and stepped back, scowling.
Why did it feel so wrong?
It was clear something was off here.
He picked up Gungnir again and closed his eyes.
This time, instead of forcing the movement, hetrued to envision the soul of the weapon. Why did it resist those movements?
What was its true nature? How could he achieve resonance?
He shifted his stance, adjusted his grip and moved slowly through the basic form.
The spear's weight began to fluctuate.
It was not subtle as well. Some times, it felt heavier than all the burdens he had to bear. At other times, it was as light as a feather.
Nero froze.
'It's like it has a mind of its own.'
Nero let out a breath.
'This is going to take time.'
He spent the next hour drilling back the basics into his body— Thrusts, sweeps, blocks and parries...
