Magister Insanity

In the end, I had lost the spar and now lay sprawled on the floor, glaring at the ceiling above.

Truly, it was inevitable.

"Damnit! And just when I was about to mesmerize his patterns too!"

I grumbled bitterly, yet there was nothing I could do.

Was this the feeling of a sore loser?

A shadow suddenly passed over my eyes.

Glancing up, the sight of the Mirror Bond staring down at me with an inscrutable expression became clear. He looked almost... curious. In the next heartbeat, he extended his hand.

With a bitter chuckle, I let go of the sword, letting it clatter beside me, and took his hand.

Starfallen didn't yank me upright with brute force. Instead, he held me steadily, letting me rise at my own pace. When my feet finally touched the floor, I wavered slightly, but his grip kept me balanced.

"Um… thanks. You did really well, my dear junior. Though I'm sure I'll be feeling that cheap shot tomorrow. Or… is it already today?"

The Mirror Bond regarded me with a strange, silent expression. He seemed to be asking something without words. Through our connection, I already understood.

I shook my head in reply.

"Nope. No more sparring, at least for today. Besides…"

I glanced toward the window. The darkness of night was fading, and the first hints of the sun were beginning to pierce the sky.

A weary smile tugged at my lips.

"…I'm feeling sleepy."

† †

Over the next few days, I stuck to a strict routine that revolved around three things: refining my swordsmanship, poring over books in the library, and training with Starfallen at night.

Of the three, spending time in the quiet, peaceful library was by far the least tedious. In fact, I found myself genuinely enjoying it.

Thanks to the [Mirror Body] Sequence Ability, I could summon and dismiss my Mirror Bond at will. For all practical purposes, he had been the one attending my classes.

Really, what was the point of going to class myself when I could simply send my clone in my place?

Honestly, if most people had an ability like this, I'd bet a hundred percent of them would do the exact same thing… and probably even more.

The best part was that there was no discernible difference between the Mirror Bond and me, so no one would suspect a thing. I did wonder, however, if the Oni known as the Chained Seer might see through my reflection but I highly doubted it. Even so, avoiding that demonic species was the safer choice.

The downside, of course, was that with the Mirror Bond moving about during the day, I couldn't leave my room myself. To work around that, I simply slept and transferred my consciousness into Starfallen, taking control of my reflection manually.

It was no different from controlling my main body.

Quite remarkable, if I were to be honest.

Returning to the matter at hand, everything was progressing steadily, though my advancement in swordsmanship was far slower than I had anticipated.

During my free time, once classes had ended, I would dismiss the Mirror Bond and make my way to the training grounds, practicing with a training sword. No instructor was necessary. Armed with Kael's and Zephyr's memories, I already knew exactly what to do.

Mastering the Song of Requiem was no simple task. Its essence was far too intricate for a novice like me. Returning to the fundamentals was an unavoidable and necessary step.

After all, there was a high likelihood I could end up in a foreign land teeming with countless terrors. In such a place, wielding something that produced a loud noise like a gun would hardly be wise.

Close combat, in essence, was a necessity. My survival depended on it.

To begin with, what was the essence of swordsmanship?

The most common answers revolved around notions of skill, discipline, or elegance. Some would claim it was purely defensive maneuvers, while others insisted it was an artful performance, a dance of refined movements.

All of these were partially correct but also profoundly wrong.

The true essence of swordplay was… "murder."

Much like the modern weaponry wielded on Earth, every technique, stance and artful flourish in swordsmanship had its origins in violence. It was created for one purpose: to kill the enemy.

For example, the first modern firearm was created in China during the 9th century. Early gunpowder weapons, such as fire lances and hand cannons, were crude and often unreliable, but their purpose was unmistakable: to pierce armor, devastate formations, and instill fear. Even as the designs evolved over the centuries — through matchlocks, flintlocks, and eventually rifled barrels — the principle remained the same. Guns were instruments of war, tools to kill efficiently and at a distance, amplifying the lethality of their wielder.

Every innovation, from the musket to the revolver, carried the singular intent of ending life.

Battles were fought, cities besieged, and empires toppled by these inventions.

The most primal instinct was survival through dominance, often achieved by extinguishing another's.

Swordsmanship, at its core, was no different. Like firearms, it had been refined, stylized, and ritualized over time, yet its heart was always the same: to find the gap in an opponent's defense and exploit it with lethal accuracy. Elegance, grace, and discipline were merely veneers; the sword existed to kill alone.

In that sense, whether by blade or by bullet, the essence of combat remained the same: to kill and mastery was measured by one's ability to take a life, or to avoid losing one's own.

For this reason, countless sword forms emerged from the chaos of battle. According to the annals of this world, five of these forms became the most widely practiced by various schools.

Form I: Shivara – A foundational, flowing style focusing on broad, sweeping and disarming strikes.

Form II: Makorin – A style resolved for one on one combat.

Form III: Atariel – An aggressive style emphasizing speed and mobility.

Form IV: Chii-Sho – A defensive-oriented style built on economy of motion.

Form V: Ginjo – The most popular style that possesses the qualities of the other sword arts.

Perhaps there might be more but these were the ones that were commonly known.

Of course, these forms had their weaknesses and shortcomings. For instance, Shivara left its practitioner vulnerable to fast, precise strikes. Atariel left openings during rapid transitions. Makorin could only be used in one-on-one combat. Chii-Sho's possessed almost no attacking capabilities. And Ginjo, while versatile, was nothing more than a jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none.

All things considered, one could truly achieve mastery in only a single form, while the others remained tools to be adapted and utilized as needed.

Kael had been a Form V practitioner, while Zephyr had specialized in Form III. By merging the experiences and memories of these two souls, I decided on which form I wanted to learn and master.

Form IV: Chii-Sho!

Not that I was implying the other forms were useless.

As I mentioned before, each form had its own strengths and weaknesses. However, Form IV felt like the perfect fit for me at this stage. More importantly, there simply wasn't time to master advanced techniques, so I had no choice but to focus on the fundamentals.

This was the right track.

As for training with Starfallen, it was far more complicated. Every time we sparred, I would be swiftly defeated — either by an attack I hadn't predicted or by the Mirror Bond suddenly altering his chain of strikes. Nothing was ever consistent.

However, after experiencing the Song of Requiem in close combat, its patterns slowly began to reveal themselves. During our sparring sessions, Starfallen primarily employed the seven-strike sequence. One might assume that such a technique would become repetitive, but that was far from the truth.

The seven flashes flowed with a natural, ever-shifting rhythm. Starfallen could alter the timing, angle, and intensity of each strike on a whim, meaning the sequence was never truly predictable.

For instance, the first strike usually targeted the head region, but the exact angle, speed, and follow-up were never the same twice. One moment it came straight down, like a guillotine; the next, it twisted mid-arc, forcing me to adjust instinctively.

The second strike often aimed at the torso, but its trajectory could swerve, feint, or linger just long enough to lure me into overcommitting. The third strike would flow to the arms, testing my defenses, while the fourth would suddenly sweep low, near the legs, keeping me off balance. The fifth and sixth strikes alternated unpredictably, probing for weaknesses, and the seventh strike… it was always the wildcard that could finish or create an opening, depending on how I reacted.

Each cycle of seven strikes was like a river that could suddenly change course. It was relentless, fluid, and terrifyingly precise. Even with the reinforcement of the Soul Devouring Shadow and the memories of Kael and Zephyr guiding my movements, I was pushed to my limits. Every block, dodge and slight adjustment required near-perfect timing.

It was tedious, but my technique was improving. My guard held firmer, my grip on the blade felt surer, and my counters carried more weight.

I was getting stronger... slowly, one step at a time.

Motivation was the key!