Strena The Name Of The Sword Part Four

The Grip Of The Sword


Strena, just after the moment that she woke up, cleaned her sword. She looked all over looking for any sign of any rust or scarring. Seeing that there were none she smiled. In fact looking at it it looked quite new, yet something told her that it was far older than she could ever know. She knew that she could not quite tell how old by looking at it.

She then put on her clothes and then walked over to the courtyard. She swung her sword in a circle. She did it again and again. Soon she was circling to the left and the right. She did this again and again, getting faster and faster as she swung on and on. When her arms were awake she knew that it was time to move on.

She lowered herself into her fighting stance. She swung it horizontally from right to left and right and left again and again. She then drove it down and curled her hand and swung it vertically. Then diagonally, going down from left to right keeping a firm grip on her sword. She swung right to left. She then did the same but swinging up rather than down.

As she continued training, she fell into a trance. She swung it again and again. Her mind became silent as she continued again and again. After a while, she felt her arms start to ache. Yet she continued to train. Then she felt tiredness come over her. Yet she felt something compelling her to continue. She swung and swung and swung until her arms started to shake. Yet she still felt something within her compelling her to continue. She started to feel hungry but she did nothing to address it. She did not even stop when her hunger became painful.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked back to see Zaryb. Her eyes were zoned out. She was drenched in sweat and was panting. 

He smiled as he pulled out his knife. He went to stab her but she quickly blocked it,faster than she ought to. He then pressed the knife in. She could feel his power and strength. She could feel that it was greater than hers as he pressed against her power. Yet she could still feel something compel her to continue. She felt a strange strength keeping her in place and her hand steady.

He kicked her in the stomach. She flew back. She skidded as she landed. Yet she used the momentum to propel herself forward and landed on her feet. She looked at him. Not wanting to end this, she charged at him. She swung the sword at him to the right,he blocked. To the left he blocked. Down, he blocked. Up, he blocked. She went to strike him again and again and he blocked each and everyone. 

She soon felt her frustration build as she swung it again and again and he blocked her again and again. She could not even get her blade anywhere near his face! As she continued to swing again and again she felt the frustration turn to anger. She drove the strikes down faster and harder and harder. She put in more and more power into each swing.

She just wanted to hurt him. Just once, she wanted to hurt him, just as he had hurt her all these long years. She could feel the tears building in her eyes as she struck him again and again. She tried to stop them from falling as she did not want to look weak. Yet as she continued she could no longer hold them back. She was almost being suffocated by them.

Soon she was shaking in anger and her tears of anger and frustration flower like rain. The blade lit up again and it became brighter and brighter. Then her blade cut through the blade like butter. She then was able to strike the cheek opposite his scar. She felt something cut inside her and she dropped the sword. She collapsed as she shook like a leaf and she felt as cold as ice. Her arms and legs painfully, twitched uncontrollably. 

Then all went black.

"Good work!"

What?

"Good work. It took your predecessor over ten years to make me light up like that! You were able to do it within two!"

What are you talking about?

"I am the sword."

Can I have…

She soon fell into a dream. She soon saw battle in front of her. She recognized a man and the demon that he was fighting. 

The man had short black hair that had a purple shine to it. His eyes were deep crimson and his skin was as pale as paper. His ears were pointed like an elf. He was dressed in strange purple and orange and green armour. This was none other than Phorap The Mad. 

The demon was none other than the demon king Wolfox himself! He went to strike the winning blow. Then he put a flask to his wounds and, after filling it, he sealed it with a cork.

"What is it Philosopher? Are you not going to kill me?" He sneered.

"No. You are to be killed by another, at another time."

"But not by you?"

He smiled lightheartedly as he shook his head.

"Then why did you challenge me boy?"

He smiled widely as he showed him the flask and shook it.

"And what will you do with it?"

"Mix it with the scales of the Dragon King, you know he was the one that restored my stolen youth."

"Oh, and why would you do that?"

"To make a blade."

"What kind?"

"One that is needed."

"And will you name it?"

"Yes."

"And what will you name it?"

He opened his mouth to speak but her eyes opened before she could catch the name. She looked at the plane brown bed that she was in, she had new clothes on now. She looked to her right, where Zaryb was sitting. He was looking directly at her.

"I know what that sword is and where to look to find his name."

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