With measured movements, he lifted his sword and swung it in a graceful arc.
The Flowing Blossom Sword Technique was built upon fluidity, each strike meant to resemble the soft yet relentless descent of flower petals in the wind.
It was a technique that sacrificed raw force for continuous motion, where one strike seamlessly transitioned into the next, leaving no openings for an opponent to exploit.
At first, he hesitated. The Flowing Blossom Sword Technique emphasized harmony, balance, and the gentle redirection of force—an approach completely opposite to the Chaos Qi he would wield in the future. As the Chaos Demon Sword Technique rely on Chaos Qi, an energy of destruction.
If he continued to refine his mastery of this technique now, would it later conflict with his cultivation of Chaos? Would he be able to transition from one to the other without backlash?
The thought lingered in his mind like a whisper of doubt. Yet, Leon dismissed it.
Strength was strength. Whether he wielded Chaos Qi, Demonic Qi, or the refined, soft Qi of the orthodox sects, it didn't matter.
In this new world, he needed a foothold. He needed a foundation to rebuild his power, and for that, he would not be picky about the methods he used.
Leon exhaled slowly, pushing those thoughts aside. He had already made his decision.
The blade moved again. This time, there was no hesitation.
His footwork shifted with fluid grace, his weight distributing effortlessly between steps as he let his sword follow the natural rhythm of his movements.
His strikes were light, deliberate, yet they carried an undeniable sharpness.
This was the hallmark of Mount Hua's swordsmanship—unbroken flow, relentless like the wind, adaptable like water.
It was a dance of steel, where speed, precision, and control reigned supreme over brute strength.
Even without powerful Qi to reinforce his strikes, the technique alone made every motion feel like a work of art.
Each cut traced invisible patterns in the night air, as though weaving an unseen tapestry of blades.
It was not a simple act of swinging a sword—every movement had a purpose. Every step, every shift in weight, every flick of his wrist was calculated. There was no wasted motion, no unnecessary exertion.
And yet, despite its beauty, the technique was far from soft.
If one looked closely, beneath the elegance of each motion, there was a hidden edge—like a concealed dagger beneath flowing silk.
Leon's blade swept outward in a wide arc before seamlessly reversing, cutting back with greater force, as if the falling petals had suddenly turned into a violent storm.
The strike transitioned into another, then another, each blending perfectly into the next. In battle, there would be no pause, no gaps for an enemy to exploit.
His breath synchronized with his movement. His senses sharpened, drowning out the distant chirping of insects and the rustling of the trees.
At this moment, there was only him, his sword, and the moonlight reflecting off its surface. And the silent observer nearb.
----
From a distance, hidden in the shadows near the edge of the village, Lira's gaze lingered on this unknown swordsman.
At first, she had been merely curious. A lone figure in the woods at this time of night was unusual. But as she observed his movements, her curiosity deepened into fascination.
His swordplay was strange—elegant, fluid, unlike any technique she had seen before.
It lacked the rigid structure of the kingdom's military styles, nor did it bear resemblance to the noble fencing techniques practiced by knights. It was not the heavy, overpowering style of mercenaries, nor the rough, practical cuts of a common warrior.
But, it was.....different
It was as if his body was weightless, his steps effortless. His sword flowed like a river, moving in an unbroken rhythm that seemed almost hypnotic to watch.
Lira had seen countless swordsmen before, had watched warriors in battle, knights in training, and mercenaries in duels. She had studied their movements, learned to read their strengths and weaknesses. But never had she seen a technique quite like this.
Was it some foreign sword art from distant lands? Or was it a lost technique, forgotten in the annals of history?
She continued to observe, analyzing every motion.
His body, though lean, did not seem particularly strong. His strikes were not backed by overwhelming power, yet every movement felt sharp, deliberate. There was an undeniable skill in the way he wielded the blade—something that only came from years, perhaps even decades, of refinement.
But that didn't make sense. He was young. Too young to have mastered a technique so polished.
And then there was his footwork.
It was subtle, yet profound. Each step was perfectly timed, as though he were not just practicing, but fighting against an invisible opponent. His body shifted naturally, instinctively avoiding nonexistent attacks. It was as if he had fought thousands of battles before—each step carrying the confidence of someone who had danced with death countless times.
Who was he?
Lira frowned, trying to recall if she had ever seen him before. His appearance was not particularly remarkable—black hair, dark eyes, dressed in simple clothing. Yet, there was something undeniably distinct about him.
She continued to watch for a long while, silently committing his movements to memory.
Finally, she turned away.
There was no need to linger further. Whoever he was, he was not an immediate threat. And if he was, she would find out soon enough.
Without looking back, she walked toward the camp.
As she disappeared from sight, Leon abruptly stopped mid-swing. His blade stilled, his gaze shifting to the direction where she had once stood.
A cold glint flickered in his eyes.
"Interesting."
His voice was barely above a whisper, but the night carried it like a ghostly murmur.
A thought formed in his mind.
But just as quickly as it came, he dismissed it.
Lowering his sword, he exhaled and sheathed it with a soft click, the sound lost within the whispers of the wind. With nothing left to do, he turned away from the forest and made his way back to the village.
---
Back at the camp, Lira walked into her tent, pausing for a moment as she gathered her thoughts.
The day had been long—filled with meetings, discussions, and preparations for the looming threat of the Shadow Wolves. And yet, as she reflected on the events of the day, her mind kept drifting back to the swordsman in the woods.
She had never seen him before.
Or had she?
There was something oddly familiar about him. A resemblance to someone she had seen long ago... but she couldn't quite place it.
She shook her head.
No, it couldn't be.
The person she was thinking of had been expelled from his noble family—cast out, exiled, forbidden from ever stepping foot on their land again. He had disappeared, lost to obscurity. There was no reason for him to be here, in this remote village.
And yet, something about that swordsman unsettled her.
Lira sighed, pushing the thought aside.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. For now, she needed rest.
Lying down, exhaustion finally took hold, and she drifted into sleep, the image of a lone figure under the moonlight lingering in the back of her mind.
----- Morning
The next early morning, Leon, who was immersed with training last night didn't get much sleep.
But it didn't matter, with the help of the Qi in his dantian, he can stay awake for a day or two without being tired.
Leon stood near the edge of the village, gazing at the morning sun that cast golden hues over the landscape.
His mind lingered on the training from the night before—the Flowing Blossom Sword Technique, the way his body adapted to its rhythm, and most importantly, the presence that had been watching him.
He knew from the start that someone is watching him, but he didn't give it a damn, he just wants to train his body and make it stronger.
He exhaled softly, feeling the cool morning air against his skin. The Qi in his dantian pulsed gently, rejuvenating his body despite the lack of sleep.
It was one of the many advantages he had gained through his training and gathering the Qi—his endurance, resilience, and heightened senses placed him leagues above normal knight swordsmen.
Leon sheathed his sword and began walking toward the village square, his mind already contemplating his next move.
As he wonders around the village, he saw some familiar figures, the elders of the village, the children's who play in the morning, and the local villagers, as well as the street vendors.
All of them were recognized by Leon, so it was easy for him to remember them.
Leon then walked straight to the Inn, and upon entering he notices Mira serving food to the people in the inn.
It was her daily job, as her mother is more focused on managing the inn and taking care of their father.
----•[First Person/Leon]
'Now that I think about it I haven't seen his father.' Leon thought to himself as he walk straight to the counter 'All I know is that her father is a blacksmith and one of the best sword maker of the village, and he is suffering on an illness but didn't have enough money to treat him'
Well I can give them some of my gold coins, but that will leave me with less coins, because as far as I know, this world is controlled by rich, noble's and those with powers.
Leon sat on the stool and ordered a bread and a milk (Yup a Milk) for breakfast.
And his ordered was delivered, while eating he remembers to ask Elena, "Elena you said your husband is a one of the best sword maker in the village, do you think I can commission on him?" Though he knew that her husband is ill, he couldn't remove the thought of holding a sword again, and even though he have a sword right now, this sword is of low quality.
He wouldn't even be able to unleashed his current full power with this low quality sword. So he needed a good sword that can withstand the power of Qi, making it useful in a fight.