Birth of the Demonic Sword Chapter 5 - 05. Training

Noah's daily routine pressed on. His lengthy black hair continued to lengthen, leading his mother to frequently brush it for him. Lily persisted in overseeing the first floor of the guest building, sneaking off to meet Rhys late into the night. She repeatedly implored him to aid their son more, detailing Noah's keen interest in cultivation and martial arts, yet Rhys steadfastly rejected her pleas, sheltering behind the main family's rigid regulations.

"I can't help him at all, Lily. The rules stand firm: his status limits him to low-level techniques, and even those require merits earned in the family guards plus completed missions. Send him over there and let's see what happens."

Lily's expression soured upon hearing this. In reality, Noah had stopped haunting the library after age 8, preferring instead to head to the guards' building for menial tasks in trade for scraps of combat advice.

With the most desperate tone Lily could summon, she questioned Rhys:

"Our boy is clever; he's already realized the library holds nothing useful on cultivation and turned to the guards in hopes of gaining something worthwhile. He's just 10 years old now—he needs to be 13 for official entry—but he's slaved away with chores for them these past two years just for a slight edge! Can't you offer him something? You did so for your other two sons—"

SMACK!!!!!

A sharp slap struck Lily's left cheek. She let out a soft cry before steadying herself into a half-kneel, head bowed low, the tang of blood filling her mouth.

"Know your place! Recall that I permitted the birth of that bastard only because you soothe the sorrow from my late wife's passing. Never liken the children Rebecca bore me to the spawn of a filthy whore again. Forget not that I alone permit you both to breathe."

Shaking slightly, Lily replied:

"Forgive me, my lord!"

Then she dropped fully to her knees, forehead pressed to the floor.

"Tsk, rise now and atone for riling me up."

.

.

.

Meanwhile, in the guards' building, a boy around 10 or 11 hefted two hefty water buckets toward a cluster of sun-baked, perspiring guards.

This boy was none other than Noah, toiling through chores for the guards.

Realizing books yielded no progress toward cultivation techniques, he sought alternative paths to claim them. Short of burglarizing the inner building—which was out of the question—his sole route lay in joining the family guards, amassing merits for inner circle access. His tutor berated him for hours before relenting and retreating to the inner area, while his mother merely embraced him and whispered:

"Stay safe."

Though Noah caught a flicker of dismay in Lily's gaze, he pressed forward with his choice. Surrendering to a futile existence held no appeal now that power's glimmer beckoned beyond mediocrity.

'She truly cherishes me. All these years, she still endures that man—likely for my benefit, tolerating his cruelty.'

Of late, returning to their quarters revealed fresh bruises marring his mother's form, yet Lily's smile never faltered when facing him.

'I ought to push harder this lifetime. True happiness seems impossible without shielding her to the utmost.'

A faint grin lit Noah's face amid these reflections. Regrettably, a guard's shout shattered it:

"Hey, bastard spawn, why the stupid grin while lugging our water?"

He jolted alert and rushed the buckets to the guards.

"Apologies, esteemed sirs. Hope your session went smoothly. Care to unwind by griping on the workout's brutality, toughest stances, how to—"

"Shut it! The fool you last tricked got latrine duty from the captain for three months. No tips for you, but if you crave our standard aid, plenty will volunteer."

The guard cut off Noah's ploy before it bloomed. He spoke true: over two years, Noah had wheedled techniques by feigning wide-eyed awe to weary, isolated guards. He targeted the shunned or harassed ones, bonding over bastard status, then begged demos of forms to 'admire' and lift their spirits.

Yet in the past year, the guards' superiors spotted his scheme and disciplined the loose-lipped ones. They spared him as a mere child, bastard or not, bearing main family blood.

The 'standard aid' meant guards pummeling Noah to the dirt as 'combat practice'.

Notably, this practice stemmed from Noah after scams dried up. His prior life offered scant fight savvy, demanding catch-up.

"No choice then. Round two it is—should prove entertaining."

The guards whooped at Noah's retort, diving into hand games to pick the fortunate punisher for the brazen whelp.

Meanwhile, Noah fetched a short saber from the training weapons store out of routine.

The guards' building boasted a vast central courtyard for ample, secluded drilling. Noah gained entry via early feigned purity and tireless chore work.

The storeroom hugged the yard's edge; soon he returned saber in hand—a blunt steel short blade. The guards now expected this left-handed lad's deft handling.

"HAHAHA! My turn today, kid—still fuming from last time!"

The guard apart from the pack towered at 1.80 meters with brawny build. Bald-headed, sporting a wild curly beard, hairy chest, and rippling muscles, his bare torso screamed ideal warrior.

"Aw, Micky, merely a sword form—and poorly executed at that!"

Irritation flared in Micky at the taunt as he advanced on Noah.

"Weapons make it unfair against a child, so I'll stick to arm guards. I know you're drilling the Ice-Fire revolving technique—no mercy expected."

Micky charged, arms crossed guarding head and torso.

Noah adopted a sword-style stance, poised for the moment, weight forward on his lead leg, primed to burst.

At one-and-a-half meters' gap, Noah dashed low, evading the rush and vanishing from view—half the guard's stature aiding.

Mid-stride, he slashed diagonally at the guard's right leg.

CLANG!

Metal clashed as an arm guard blocked the path. The guard foresaw it.

Unhesitating, he lunged, shoulder dipped to smash Noah.

Defying predictions, Noah didn't evade but flicked his left wrist oddly. The saber vanished briefly, resurfacing at Micky's throat undetected.

'Nailed it in live action at last—time to take the fall.'

With that, Noah released the blade, accepting the chest-crushing impact.

He soared two meters before crashing down, then knelt coughing blood.

"Count yourself fortunate I held back; full force would've sidelined you six months at least."

Micky crowed, thrilled at besting a 10-year-old.

"You're incredibly mighty, Micky—now I'll head home to recover. Your power packs a punch."

Noah rose and hastened away. At the gate, guards' laughter rang, pierced by a furious bellow echoing his name...

In a guards' building chamber, two silhouettes watched the courtyard scene through a window, where guards jeered a bald comrade.

"Your thoughts on him?"

One figure queried the other.

"He plainly claimed the bout yet feigned defeat. Mindful of his family standing, he keeps a low profile while chasing strength relentlessly. Undeniably a prodigy—the tales rang true. Never imagined he'd master the snake-wrist technique in under two years..."