Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 511: Path of the Saber (2)

Kyrian took a deep breath, feeling the cool afternoon air fill his lungs. The scent of the tree’s leaves, the murmur of the water, and the silence of the courtyard, everything contributed to an atmosphere of concentration.

With a simple wave of his hand, he retrieved an old-looking book from his spatial ring.

The Basic Saber Manual.

Its cover was made of leather darkened by time, bearing marks of use that showed many hands had already turned its pages. The edges were slightly worn, and the title, engraved in ancient characters, had nearly faded away.

The pages had a yellowish tint but remained in good condition, carefully maintained and preserved. There were no spiritual formations, no protective seals, not even elaborate illustrations. Only a few simple figures demonstrating stances and plenty of text written in firm, clear handwriting.

It was an extremely ordinary manual. There were no hidden secrets, no legendary techniques preserved within its pages. Only the fundamentals, the very foundation of the basics.

Even so, Kyrian did not dare underestimate it.

The greatest constructions always began with their foundations. A powerful technique was useless without a solid base. A devastating strike was empty without understanding the movements that composed it.

He opened the first page.

In the very first lines, he found a sentence written in firm handwriting, as though the author wanted that teaching to be the first thing every reader saw.

"Before learning to cut down your enemy, learn why the saber was created to cut."

The sentence was simple, yet it carried a depth that Kyrian immediately recognized.

His eyes slowly traveled across the pages.

Although he could memorize everything in just a few moments thanks to his special abilities, he chose to understand every sentence. Memorization was useful, but comprehension was essential.

The manual did not teach complicated movements. It did not speak of devastating strikes or legendary techniques. It spoke only of the foundation.

Of stance, the proper position of the feet, body alignment, and weight distribution.

Of breathing, how to synchronize each breath with every movement, how to use the air to strengthen every strike.

Of the proper way to grip the hilt, the pressure of the fingers, the position of the hands, and the angle of the wrists.

Of transferring strength through the feet, waist, shoulders, and arms, how the force from the ground traveled through the body into the blade.

It explained that every slash should originate from the entire body, not merely from the arms.

A saber strike, the manual stated, was an extension of the body’s natural movement.

If the feet were positioned incorrectly, the strike would be weak. If the waist did not rotate, the strike would lose power. If the shoulders were tense, the strike would become slow.

At the end of the book, there was only one technique. A single technique, described in just a few pages.

Mountain-Cleaving Slash.

The text stated that once someone completely mastered that single strike, they could finally claim to have entered the path of the saber. Not that they had mastered the path, but that they had taken their first true step.

Kyrian closed his eyes.

The information naturally organized itself within his mind. Every sentence found its place. Every concept connected to the previous one, forming a web of knowledge that stretched in every direction.

His experience with the sword allowed him to quickly identify the similarities, the importance of stance, the need to breathe in the proper rhythm, and the connection between the body and the weapon.

But it also highlighted profound differences.

’The sword seeks precision and elegance.’ He thought, comparing the two arts.

’Every movement must be exact, economical, and controlled. The sword dances, and its dance is an art.’

’The saber seeks supremacy, dominance, and destruction.’ The difference was subtle, yet fundamental.

The sword relied on economy of movement. Every gesture should be minimal, and every step carefully calculated. The goal was to accomplish the most with the least.

At least, that was Kyrian’s understanding of the sword. Everyone possessed their own understanding, and no one could truly say whether it was right or wrong.

The saber embraced the weight of the weapon itself. It did not fight against gravity but used it as an ally. Every strike was heavier, more powerful, and more decisive.

The sword sought control, control over the opponent, control over the rhythm, control over the outcome.

The saber sought dominance, dominance over space, dominance over the battlefield, and dominance over the enemy.

When he opened his eyes again, understanding shone within them.

Kyrian slowly rose to his feet, his muscles relaxed and ready. The courtyard was silent, the golden afternoon light creating patterns of shadow and sunlight across the stone floor.

A flash of light passed over his spatial ring. The next instant, the Peak Spiritual Saber appeared in his hands.

The blade caught the light of the setting sun, gleaming with a deep, dark hue. The silver veins running through the metal seemed to move, as though the weapon itself were alive.

Its weight felt pleasant, heavier than any sword he had ever wielded, yet not uncomfortable. The balance was perfect, and the hilt fit naturally in his hands.

Even while motionless, the saber radiated a sense of aggression. It was not a passive weapon, a tool waiting to be used. It was an active presence, something eager to move.

Kyrian assumed the stance described on the first page of the manual.

His feet were shoulder-width apart, distributing his weight evenly.

His knees were slightly bent, allowing for swift movement.

His hips were relaxed, ready to rotate.

Both hands gripped the hilt firmly, his dominant hand near the guard, the other lower down, stabilizing the motion.

He breathed slowly, feeling the air flow in and out of his lungs. His connection to the weapon was different from what he felt with the sword, more intense, more direct.

Then he unleashed the first slash.

The blade cut through the air with elegance, tracing a smooth and controlled arc.

Beautiful, controlled, and precise.

But... wrong.

Kyrian remained motionless for several seconds, the saber still extended, his eyes fixed on the point where the blade had passed. He immediately sensed what he had done wrong.

"That’s a sword strike..." he murmured, slowly lowering the saber.