Swordplay
Xander was aggrieved.
Not scared. Not panicked either.
Just... immensely, bitterly annoyed.
His blood pooled beneath him across the pavement and filled the cracks in the concrete. Streetlights shone above him, making his blurring vision even worse. A few people stood some ways away, whispering, staring, and dialing numbers, but not quite getting closer.
He stared skyward and tried to breathe despite the burning in his chest. Not that it worked well.
Which was irritating.
Longswords. Shortswords. Sabers. Rapiers. Katanas. If it had an edge, he had trained with it. Years of footwork practice drilled into his very being. Callouses from blisters that had formed and healed countless times. Torn muscles. Blood seeping into practice mats.
He'd participated in tournaments across half the world. Won most of them. Too.
World titles.
Records.
Trophies.
The full package.
All that discipline. All that skill. All that talent.
And yet, here he was. Bleeding out in a sidewalk.
Because some idiot with a handgun pulled a trigger a few meters away.
There was no duel. No contest. Just a loud bang.
Xander let out a weak laugh, but it quickly turned into a wet cough as blood pooled in his mouth, staining his teeth red.
"So... that's it... huh?" He muttered faintly.
A lifetime of swordsmanship, defeated by a finger.
His vision started to dim around the edges, his body started to feel numb.
His hand blindly gripped the air beside him, as if his sword might miraculously appear. Not that it would do him any good.
As his vision faded to black, his final thought wasn't fear, but resentment.
'If only... there were a world where the blade truly mattered...'
Then darkness swallowed him.
***
Xander wasn't entirely sure what he expected after he died.
He didn't really believe in anything. So whether it was heaven, hell, or just returning to oblivion, none of them would have surprised him.
What he didn't expect, however, was to suddenly wake up again.
'... ugh.' Sunlight streamed through a window and shone on his face, causing his eyes to flutter open.
'Huh? Am I not dead?' He wondered vaguely as his eyes started to pry open.
He'd been shot. He knew that. The sensation of bleeding out, of the burn in his chest, was still fresh in his mind.
'Did someone get me to to a hospital, then?' He wondered as his vision fully adjusted to the scene before him. And yet, what he saw was nothing he expected.
Instead of a sterile room filled with nurses and medical equipment, he found himself seated at a simple yet clean wooden table.
Before him was a letter that had been unfolded, a stick roughly the length of his forearm, and a glass bottle with a unique design that had been tipped over, spilling a red liquid that dripped onto the floor.
Stunned, Xander looked around, and his eyes slowly widened.
'This... is not my room.' He thought as he took in the sights before him.
The room was large. A king sized bed with an adorned canopy over it, a dresser that reached the ceiling, floors covered in a soft velvet carpet, and a chandelier hung over everything.
It looked like a room from some sort of medieval setting, one for a noble, or perhaps royalty.
'Am I dreaming?' He wondered as he stared at his hands, and his eyes widened.
As a former master swordsman, Xander was very familiar with his hands. As such, one could imagine his shock when the rough, calloused limbs were smooth and pale, like they had never seen a day of hard work.
Confused and thoroughly baffled, Xander stood up and walked over to the full length mirror at the side of the room, and what he saw made him freeze.
Where he had expected to see a tall, well-built adult male with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. The person that stood before him couldn't be an inch over 5'5 with soft facial features and black hair that had been combed back.
His eyes were an unsettling green, and his attire was one of medieval-era nobility.
Xander leaned forward and touched 'his' face. Then he pinched hard and winced. He watched as the skin on his cheek turned red, and yet...
'I didn't wake up...' His breath hitched, and he abruptly backed away from the mirror.
Something was seriously, seriously wrong.
Swallowing thickly, he looked around the room, and his gaze soon landed on the letter that was on the table. He had the sudden urge to read it. So he did.
He walked up to the table and picked up the paper, only to be surprised when he saw symbols he didn't recognize.
His interest in swords made him look into the origins of all the blades he tried. As such, even if he didn't know all their languages, he at least knew what many looked like, and what he was staring at was something he'd never witnessed before.
But even more shocking was the fact that he could read it!
Taking a deep breath, Xander skimmed through the letter, and the more he read, the more confused he became.
He understood what was written, yet his brain couldn't quite accept the words.
'Rejection letter from Bellion Academy... Insufficient magical potential and abilities... recommendation to Avoma Military school... what...?' Then he read the last sentence, and it was as though he got struck by lightning.
'Written to Xander Lowell.'
The surname itself meant nothing to Xander. However, as soon as he saw it, it was as though something clicked in his brain, and then a deluge of memories rushed in.
The paper fell to the floor as Xander stumbled and caught himself on the desk, his eyes shut tightly as beings bulged across his head and face. Sweat dripping down his brow.
'Xander Lowell... Illegitimate son of the Lowell family... Subpar magical talent... Subpar political skills. Average in all aspects besides his looks. Is looked down upon by everyone... Was rejected entry into Bellion Magical Academy and was referred to Avoma Military school...' As the memories surged in, Xander unconsciously sorted through them as he started getting an idea of where he was and... who he was.
'After receiving the rejection letter, Xander started to drink and had a heart attack as his body couldn't handle the potency of the alcohol... How pitiful.' Xander exhaled as he straightened, his tense features relaxing as the surge of memories eased.
He took a breath and exhaled again, then he opened his eyes once more, but gone was the confusion and shock. Instead, there was an odd sharpness that was unbefitting of the young and delicate face.
'So I transmigrated, huh?' Xander mused silently. Surprisingly, the prospected wasn't as odd as he would have imagined. He stared at his hands again and clenched them.
'Xander Lowell. You life till your death was sad and unfortunate, and you died alone. But do not worry, I will make sure that from here on out, no one will look down on you again.' Xander vowed solemnly in his heart.
Then he sighed.
'I say that, but what exactly am I to do? From what the memories showed me as well as the letter, Xander has terrible magical talent. And it seems like magical talent is the biggest indicator of worth in this world.' He thought with slight frustration.
His gaze shifted to the stick—which he now knew was a wand—on his table, and he picked it up.
He studied it for a few seconds before pointing forward and closing his eyes.
Calling upon another memory, he changed softly.
"Torrents of the wind, heed my call. Unleash a gale that will blow away my enemies. Wind Magic: Gale."
As soon as he finished, he felt a warm current move through his body. From his chest into his arms, and finally into his wand.
He opened his eyes as a light green glow appeared at the tip of the wand, and then a faint breeze could be felt, gently rocking the curtains and loose items around the room before everything settled.
Seeing this, Xander smiled wryly. Under normal circumstances, the result should have been a powerful gust of wind messing up the room.
Even at lower levels, a spell like that should be enough to send an unprotected human tumbling like a sack of potatoes. Yet Xander could barely could barely move the curtains.
That said a lot.
Moreover...
'Phew.' Xander rested his hands on his knees and panted slightly, suddenly feeling slightly tired, but it wasn't just exhaustion. No, it felt more fundamental.
'Mana...' The driving force of all magic in the world. It's said to be the source of nature, and harnessing mana was the same as harnessing nature itself. The higher one's mana pool was, the more magic they could use.
And Xander had a pathetic amount of it.
Shaking his head, he forced himself to straighten as he brought his hand to his chin, thinking.
'Let's see. While it's unfortunate, my situation isn't completely hopeless. From what I saw in the memories of this body, this world doesn't seem to have much knowledge about things like science. Perhaps I could mix science and magic to give myself some sort of advantage.' He hummed, it seemed like a decent idea. And yet, Xander couldn't help but feel disappointed.
'I have a new opportunity... but does that mean I will have to abandon swords?' He thought, then he froze.
'Wait. Swords, magic...' His eyes widened as he suddenly remembered that the manor he was staying had a training field.
A training field where the low ranking soldiers of the family trained with swords!
Without thinking, he opened the door to his room and went out, almost running.
Another set of memories wanted to surface, but Xander ignored them as he wanted to see for his own eyes.
As he walked, he passed by numerous guards and maids, some of which whispered when they saw him pass by, but he paid them no heed.
Eventually, he reached an open courtyard, and what he saw made his heart leap for a moment.
There, several muscular men wielding swords and other weapons could be seen swinging at special dummies. Their swords were coated in various forms of magic. Wind to make a blade sharper, earth to make a hammer hit harder, and so on.
However, as he watched, his excitement suddenly started to dwindle as he noticed something... off.
'... The Lowell family is one of the stronger nobility families in the kingdom. Even their low ranking Knights who channel magic through weapons instead of casting are above average.' He finally let the memory wash over him, and his heart felt cold.
In this world, if one used a weapon, they could only become a low-ranking knight if they pursued the path of combat, because compared to casting, channeling magic through weapons was unwieldy, wasteful, and weak compared to casters.
It is also for this reason that it was only people with low mana quality and quantity became knights. Because weapons were the only things they could use.
Xander had low mana quality and quantity...
'That's why I'm being sent to a military school.' He realized and scrubbed a hand across his face.
Doubts started to creep into his mind, but he forcefully halted them because of the issue he noticed originally.
'... They aren't using sword forms. At all.' The more Xander watched, the more irritated he became.
Their swings were wild and left too many openings, there was no structure to them, their movements were too exaggerated, the only decent thing was their footwork, but even that wasn't as good as beginner level back on earth.
'Is this a damn joke?' Xander clenched his fists. There was nothing he hated more than terrible swordplay. To be specific, terrible swordplay that wasn't being fixed.
Because from what he could tell, these people weren't trying to fix their forms or anything. They just kept swinging harder and faster like it would make them better, and from the looks of things, they genuinely believed that to be the case!
'These guys... It's like they've never seen proper sword play before...!' Xander blinked at the thought as a realization hit him.
Right... they HAD never seen proper swordplay before. In fact, they most certainly believed that this was proper swordplay. Good swordplay, even.
That was due to a fundamental flaw in this world's reasoning.
'Magic has existed since the dawn of time here. And here, casting is the 'proper' way to do magic. It's safer, too. In comparison, channeling magic through weapons is unreliable and wasteful as well as dangerous. As a result, no one ever bothered to figure out how to make it effective. No one ever bothered to invent proper sword forms to match. What I'm seeing now is probably how ancient humans of this world also using magic through weapons...' He rubbed his temples, feeling a slight headache.
'Still, does that even matter? Good or bad swordplay. The fact that my mana is terrible still limits me.' And yet, as he watched the—quite frankly—pathetic use of swords by those using them, Xander could hold back any longer.
With a determined look, he walked forward towards the training area.
It didn't take long for the training knights to notice him, making most of them pause what they were doing.
"Isn't that Lord Xander? Why is he coming this way?"
"No clue. Also, is it me or does he look kinda mad?"
"Shit! Did someone piss him off?! Quick! Before all of us get punished!" This sent everyone scrambling, yet no one could figure out what had set off the young noble.
Seeing this, Xander slowed his approach and clarity washed over him.
'Calm down. If you suddenly grab a sword from one of them and use it perfectly when you have never wielded one before, that will cause many problems.' Reining in his temper, Xander forced himself to take a deep breath.
When he finally reached, he looked at the burly men who were watching him warily, and he couldn't help but find the scene amusing.
'An illegitimate noble is still a noble, I guess.' With a hum, he asked calmly.
"Can any of you give me a practice sword?" Hearing this, all of them froze, their brains not quite computing.
Seeing this, Xander sighed as he already imagined the cliche conversation that would follow. So he hardened his expression and said more forcefully.
"Did I tell you to act as statues? Get me a practice sword." He ordered, and this snapped them out of their stupor as one of them immediately went over to a weapon's rack while the rest murmured curiously.
The one who left soon came back with a blunt metal sword that fit Xander's frame.
Xander took it and tested the weight.
'A standard longsword. The weight is a bit off, but it's manageable.' He thought and turned to the people still staring at him.
"Carry on." He said and walked to a far corner of the field.
The knights shared looks with each other before slowly returning to their training, deciding not to question the oddity.
When no one was looking at him, Xander sighed and looked at the sword before frowning slightly.
'This body is weak.' He realized. Despite the sword matching his size, he could still feel the weight. But instead of feeling discouraged, he felt a little nostalgic.
'It's been so long since I felt this way.' He thought as he held the hilt with both hands and entered a stance. Maintaining his center of gravity and keeping the tip of the blade within his line of sight.
Then he started to move.
His movements were slow and clumsy at first. But in a few moments, he soon adapted to his own body as he made calm and practiced swings.
Unlike the wild swings he witnessed earlier, his were more thoughtful.
One must think of swinging a sword like it's a whip. When on exerts force with their body, it enters the hilt and travels down the blade, moving faster and faster until it reaches the tip and releases maximum power.
That's why the tips of blades are thinner than their bases. It's also the reason that, on earth, most media portrays swordplay incorrectly. It's not about getting as big of a swing as possible, instead, it's about proper sword forms and structure.
Something Xander understood perfectly.
He performed accurate thrusts, slashes, and parries.
It didn't take long for his arms to start aching as sweat dripped down his body and soaked his shirt, but he didn't stop.
Because despite the mounting exhaustion, it felt natural.
He was like a fish in water, moving how he was meant to, and he didn't even know when he started smiling.
That's when he had an urge.
Without thinking, he controlled his meager mana, and to his shock, it moved in a way completely unlike before.
Before, it had been slow and arduous, and when it reached his wand, the result had been poor.
But now, as he moved, his Mana moved with him, and when he guided it, it flowed cleanly. Like the paths had been lubricated, allowing it to flow freely.
In moments, it reach his sword, and Xander performed one final downward swing with deadly precision.
He could not have guessed the result.
His Mana gathered at the tip of the blade as he swung, and a thin crescent of incandescent light erupted from the blade.
It buried itself into the ground and created a deep, slim scar that was a few meters long, smoke wafting from it.
Xander stared, his eyes wide as he looked at the result.
That... was not something that could be caused by meager Mana.
At least, not according to his memories.