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“Pick up your blade.”
Exhaustion wracked his bones. He felt tired.
“Yes, general.”
Which spar was this? The second? Why was he already tired?
“You aren’t focused on the battle. Why?”
Why? He asked himself that question. He knew.
The blisters that barely healed overnight.
The scars, poorly bandaged over.
The desperate swinging of a sword. So many swords. He cleaned them up after, of course. But he still used several swords last night. Broke a couple too. He could only hope the general didn’t notice them.
“… You are exhausted. Again.”
Disappointment. Golden eyes looking down on him. Again.
“I can still- “
“You are in no condition to train. Go back into the house.”
The generals home. Not his.
“Yanqing, I know you’ve been training in the night.”
Shame.
“I have told you it is fine; you do not have to train as you do. That amount of training is not for a child. Not for you.”
But he was not a child. Not anymore. He had no choice chose to become a blade. That is all he needs to be. A blade for a father? general.
And no blade could go without sharpening.
A dull blade was useless, after all.
He went to step forward. The general’s orders took precedence after all.
The floor is getting closer. That’s not good.
Ah. He was falling.
Not good at all.
He was getting rusty.