The Five Essences of the Sword were simply shocking.
The entire technique Osirs had read felt almost too mystical, if that was the right word. But for now, it was the only way he could describe it.
The Five Essences of the Sword represented the fundamental core of swordsmanship. They were the five foundational attacks, each embodying a unique aspect of the sword path.
Fell Strike, Arc Sweep, Flow Strike, Slash Cross, and Piercing Stab. These five stances captured the essence of nearly all sword techniques.
Fell Strike was a powerful, single target attack that delivered devastating damage in one decisive blow.
Arc Sweep was a wide, arcing slash that could strike multiple enemies at once. It flowed from one foe to the next, increasing its momentum and damage as it progressed.
Flow Strike was a continuous, fluid series of strikes, an unrelenting multi hit technique that mirrored the crashing waves of the ocean.
Slash Cross was a dual hit attack, either performed with two weapons or through a double slash from a single blade, executed in a crossing motion to break an enemy's defense.
Piercing Stab differed from the others. It was a precise, focused thrust meant to strike at a vital point or a small target, an attack that required perfect control and timing.
These were the Five Essences of the Sword. And each one was a path unto itself.
Most swordsmen would choose to walk only one of them. Even mastering two was considered an exceptional feat. But all five?
Only true prodigies, those born to wield the sword, could even imagine attempting such a thing.
It sounded impossible. Unrealistic. A dream.
But according to the book, if one could master all five essences, they would be capable of standing toe to toe with a Spiritual Realm cultivator, while still in the Mortal Realm.
At first, Osirs had doubted that claim. But the deeper he read, the more he began to believe it.
After all, the very concept of the Five Essences was already something beyond reason.
If such a path truly existed… then perhaps the reward it promised wasn't a fantasy after all.
Osirs smiled up at the blue sky and quietly muttered under his breath.
"Maybe I should give it a try. After all, the God of Light gave me this. Maybe he thinks I'm more talented than the creator of the Five Essences of the Sword."
A glint of excitement flashed in his cross-shaped eyes as he reached out with his right hand and picked up the Blessed Sword of the God of Light that lay beside him.
Holding it in his hands, he began to swing it a few times, trying to get a feel for its weight and balance. But it quickly became clear, he couldn't wield it properly yet.
"It's really heavy," he thought, gritting his teeth as he swung the blade around him. Still, the more he practiced, the more he started to grow accustomed to the weight. While it was heavier than anything he had trained with before, it wasn't unbearable.
The blessed sword added significant power to each of his strikes, but it came at a cost. Its weight slowed his movements slightly. Until his body grew stronger, his speed would remain somewhat restricted.
Still, those drawbacks would disappear in time, as his stats and cultivation improved, the sword would no longer be a burden.
Osirs smiled bitterly at the thought, then closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. Slowly, he took a stance.
His knees bent, his shoulders dropped slightly forward, and his grip tightened around the sword's hilt.
He raised the blessed sword high above his head. Muscles tensed. He stepped forward and with all his strength, slammed the blade down in a crushing vertical strike.
But the moment the blade hit the ground, pain surged through his body. The backlash was too much for his current strength.
His hands trembled, and he lost his grip. The sword slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground with a dull thud.
"Ouch!" he muttered as a sharp pain flared in his upper torso. He winced and began to gently massage the sore area with one hand. After a few moments, the pain began to fade, and he let out a tired sigh.
"It seems my body still can't hold this heavy blessed sword in the proper stance."
Osirs felt a little disappointed. He had just attempted the Fell Strike, but his body wasn't yet strong enough to handle the technique with the blessed sword.
When he used his full strength, he couldn't maintain a proper grip and so the sword slipped from his hands.
"But if I train for a few more days, I can fix that. And if that's the case for the Fell Strike, then the same must be true for the other techniques. That means I need to strengthen my body again, this time specifically for the sword techniques."
With that thought, he let his blessed sword rest on the ground and picked up his other, lighter training sword. Then, he began to practice the five stances of the Five Essences of the Sword.
Time passed slowly as Osirs focused solely on the Fell Strike. He repeated the same movement over and over, gradually strengthening the muscles needed to execute it properly.
Sweat soaked his clothes, and his arms ached, but he didn't stop.
He trained until the seven suns began to sink below the horizon, giving way to the soft glow of the six moons rising above the world.
By then, Osirs was already walking home, cradling the small white fox in his arms. The last rays of light bathed the village in a warm golden hue.
At home, he grilled a piece of meat, finally allowing himself to rest and eat. As the scent of cooking filled the air, his thoughts drifted back to his fight with Soue.
Now that he had begun practicing seriously, Osirs could clearly see the flaws in his fighting style.
He hadn't used his sword techniques to their full potential. His movements lacked refinement. His attacks lacked precision.
And that wasn't something he could fix through repetition alone, he needed real combat experience to sharpen those instincts, to learn how to move and strike in the chaos of battle.
Still, the Five Essences of the Sword would at least improve the structure of his offense and defense.
With time, training, and experience, he would grow stronger.
A part of his flaws was already covered, and now he only needed one thing, Training.
Osirs just had to get used to fighting, real fighting.
By now, the meat had finished grilling, and it was ready for both him and the small white fox to eat.
Taking a bite, Osirs smiled faintly.
"Good," he said softly.
The small white fox glanced at him with a curious, almost puzzled expression, but Osirs didn't notice, nor did he care. His thoughts were already somewhere else, drifting toward the path ahead.
"Only training can fix my flaws."
At the same time, in the Godly Domain of Beginning and End, Oberon stood in the center of the grassy plain that stretched endlessly around him.
His hands moved in strange, flowing patterns, swinging in wide arcs, while his pure white robe swayed with each step he took.
But with every motion he made, something strange began to happen.
Thick, shimmering blue strings appeared in the air around his arms, manifesting out of nowhere as if pulled from another plane of existence.
They wrapped and danced with his movements, glowing softly against the serene backdrop of the domain.
The sight gave Oberon an otherworldly aura, one that defied explanation.
And unlike the usual stillness of his domain, this time it was filled with something wild.
Laughter. Loud, echoing laughter, bordering on madness.
"So that's it!" he roared, his voice nearly cracking with exhilaration. "I understand! HAHAHAHA!"