?The first light of dawn was already creeping over the horizon, painting the openings that acted as windows with weak light. The trophy swords along the wall were cast in the morning light. On the floor, Phantom stirred in her rough sleeping mat.

  ?The distinct, sharp schhing of Matthew re-sheathing his shortsword for the tenth time that morning was her true alarm. She got out of bed and stretched off the drowsiness before walking outside to meet Matthew. They stood a few feet apart, each holding a thick fighting stick. The air was cool and still. Phantom rushed in, executing a low, fast slide on the damp earth, aiming to strike Matthew's legs. The move was quick, designed to bring him down with brute speed. Just as she was about to make contact, Matthew didn't parry; he simply redirected the threat. His stick became a seamless extension of his arm, finding the exact pivot point on her own stick and forcing it down and wide. He hopped cleanly over the attack, his movement embodying the fluid, flowing current of a stream. Phantom came sliding to a stop just behind Matthew, sending a puff of fine dirt into the air. She quickly turned around about to follow up with another attack, but Matthew already had the tip of his stick pointed inches from her nose. He hadn't wasted a single step or breath. "Fifty seven to zero." Matthew taunted, a neutral look on his face.

  ?The week established the daily pattern: wake up, spar, hunt boars, return to the small cabin. Each day, Phantom would add more tusks to her stash after a boar kill.

  ?After the first week, Matthew strapped on an empty canvas pack. "We're low on rations and need more supplies. Time for a supply run, I try to get enough to only visit once a month."

  ?As they approached the main gates of the city, Phantom noticed a distinct shift in the atmosphere. People weren't just nodding respectfully at Matthew; they were pausing their work, their eyes wide. She caught the low, reverent murmur of a shopkeeper: "The Flowing Blade Saint himself is in town."

  ?After picking up their market order, Matthew informed her they had to report to the Guard's Captain.

  ?They found the Captain of the Guard in a small, cramped room. The space felt suffocatingly tight, as if it wasn't originally intended for its current use. The room was dominated by the man who sat behind the small, cluttered wooden table. He was much larger than the average person, a muscular man, a veritable wall of muscle and bone, much taller than Matthew. Phantom immediately noticed his angry, defensive posture and the unusually coarse, dark hair that seemed to defy gravity. The room smelled stale, of cheap parchment and old fear.

  ?"Captain Nolan," Matthew greeted him with a neutral nod. "Just checking in and reporting twenty more boar kills for the patrol logs."

  ?Nolan’s face flushed slightly, his jaw tight. His large, calloused hands were clenched into fists resting on the desktop. "Twenty more boars. Yes. Thank you, Saint. Your efficiency is noted, though my own teams are quite capable," Nolan said, his voice a gravelly rumble too loud for the small office. He deliberately picked up the ledger and slammed it shut, the sound a sharp, aggressive punctuation. "We will handle the tracking and verifying of your kills, if you please. Just tell us when you find something useful."

  ?Phantom's eyes shifted to the immense war hammer, she would later know as Starfall, rested heavily on the floor, balanced perfectly on its head like a captured piece of the cosmos. It was a weapon that required incredible, unnatural strength merely to lift, let alone use with the speed required for an aggressive fighting style. The impact block was not metal, but a rectangular slab of dark, near-black stone, which had been meticulously ground and polished. It was not uniformly matte; instead, its surface held faint, erratic swirls of deep iron gray and scattered micro-glints of metallic ore, giving it the appearance of a fragmented meteorite smoothed by countless labor and tremendous heat. The edges were mostly blunt, yet honed each side into a crushing geometry. Rising from this heavy, celestial mass was the handle of Ancient Elvenwood. It had the slight, ivory hue and subtle grain of wood, yet its strength was clearly boosted by arcane enchantments. Magically imbued, the handle possessed a vital resilience, allowing it to bend without snapping, making the wood able to bend slightly at high speeds. Because the Captain was able to swing it at insane speeds, he needed this kind of handle for the way he used the hammer. The slight bend amplified the force of his blows, since he didn't have to worry about the handle snapping. Near the base, where a thick, oil-darkened leather wrap provided grip, the wood was etched with faint, swirling sigils of stabilization. Starfall dominated what was left of the space, not with glittering gold, but with the silent, formidable presence of a star pulled down to earth, poised to crash again and again at the captain's command.

  ?After their brief, tense exchange, Matthew practically dragged Phantom out of the office. Phantom could see the two didn't get along. Matthew, small and calm like pond water. Then Nolan, a towering figure who seemed angry at everything.

  ?Once they were clear of the city walls, Phantom immediately spoke. "What was that? People were whispering about the 'Flowing Blade Saint,' and that Captain acted like we insulted his family."

  ?Matthew let out a long sigh, stopping by a thick oak tree. "The Captain is... proud, and he doesn't exactly like me. I refused to teach him my sword style because he is too hot-headed. He still tries to mimic my style with his hammer he calls Starfall. It's made from a fallen star, they were unable to shape it much. So he ended up making it into a hammer. I think he named his style 'Rock Slide.' And yes, I am one of the four elemental blade saints." He ran a hand through his hair. "I am technically an elemental Saint. I still hold the title. But a few years ago, I was in an intense fight that almost killed me. I lost my affinity for water—the ability that made the 'Flowing Blade' technique truly fluid and unstoppable. It felt like the very lightness left my bones; every movement now requires conscious effort where it used to be effortless, a cruel, heavy memory. I loved fighting using water and my blade, flowing through the battlefield like the current around pebbles. Nothing would be left standing that I didn't wish to."

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  ?He gave a dry laugh. "Now I’m just a guy with good form. I stick to simpler tasks for villages because I'm operating on half of my skill, not the power that granted me the title Flowing Blade Saint. The title feels like a constant reminder of what I once was, what I'll never be again. That's why I avoid people as much as I can and live in log bases I make wherever I go."

  ?Phantom was stunned. "A Saint taught me how to use a sword. I thought you were just some hunter." The thought was staggering. Matthew just smiles before adding. "If only you were a water or wind user, you could see this style in its full glory." They returned to the cabin in silence, the new knowledge adding a heavy weight to her daily training. Knowing that she was sparring someone so well known for his technique. Now it made sense why she was never able to win. Matthew's thoughts were stuck thinking about his glory days, leaving him with a sense of longing for his lost power.

  ?The daily routine became sacred. The only thing that changed was Phantom’s proficiency, and each week she would try a different blade type during the duels. The sparring counter, however, remained resolutely in Matthew's favor.

  ?Matthew 682: Phantom 0

  ?Matthew congratulated her one morning as they gathered their gear. "Your use of the longsword is genuinely impressive. You've adapted my technique to the longer reach perfectly."

  ?"I figure if I have the resources, I might as well try all the weapon types you have," Phantom replied, shrugging off the praise. The truth was, she found the shortsword and longsword were the only two that truly resonated with her growing sense of balance and flow. She often stared at the greatsword, knowing Matthew was right: she had the strength, but the momentum was still a different issue entirely. The blade was so large and the handle wasn't much bigger than a normal sword. The weapon felt unbalanced and clunky to her. Matthew smiles before playfully reminding Phantom. "I don't care that you practice with them, but be careful not to break them. Each sword may not be strong but it's a piece of my history. Those are the very blades I used to learn how to use them with my sword style." Matthew looks down slightly as he thinks about the years he spent with each of those swords learning the weaknesses of each one.

  ?Since Phantom could now handle herself, they changed their hunting strategy. "We'll split up from now on. We can cover more ground and speed up this process, remember to keep an eye out for any signs of where these boars are coming from." Matthew directed.

  ?At the beginning of the next month, they made their obligatory trip to the city. While waiting near the market, they overheard a couple of nervous city guards arguing.

  "It's been six people this month! Six! And the Captain just tells us they're deserters," one whispered fiercely.

  "Deserters don't just leave half-packed lunches behind, man. Something wicked is happening," the other replied.

  Phantom and Matthew exchanged a silent, worried glance. They made their brief, uneventful report to Captain Nolan, who dismissed them angrily. "Stop worrying about the boars! My men can handle them without you two. Why don't you move along to a new town already." Matthew shakes his head disappointed in the captain's short-sighted arrogance.

  ?The following day, after their early spar, they split up for the hunt. Phantom, navigating a dense thicket of spruce, suddenly stopped, her senses screaming. The smell of copper and rot was heavy in the air.

  She found it in a small clearing: a nearly-faded blood circle surrounded by crude, fresh carvings on the nearby trees. Phantom had no idea what it was and hoped Matthew would know.

  Phantom immediately raced back toward where Matthew was hunting. "Matthew! We need to stop hunting boars—we have a bigger problem!"

  He followed her back to the site, his face grim as he examined the scene. "This wasn't from a boar fight," he confirmed, his voice low. "This is a ritual site. It's called a sanguine sacrifice. For a single person, someone could summon any number of beasts. Depending on the victim's amount of power. They are trading missing people for an accelerated, unnatural breeding cycle. The number of new boars has been too high... this explains the exponential growth and seemingly never ending amount of boars."

  The threat was now more evident than ever, and was more than simple boars destroying farmland.

  They moved with renewed caution, tracking the largest hoof-prints they could find. They followed them to a ravine—massive, unnaturally deep prints leading to the edge of it.

  As they peered into the ravine, they saw it. A boar so enormous its tusks seemed longer than Phantom’s arms. It was dark brown, coated in dried mud, and radiated raw power. This was no weak beast; this was clearly the source, a Sovereign-class Boar.

  The Sovereign’s head snapped up, its small eyes instantly locking onto the two observers. It snorted a cloud of steam, then let out a battle cry that rattled the leaves on the trees above. Before either of them could draw their swords, the boar leaped out of the ravine. As it soared out of the ravine it made an attempt to slice Matthew with its razor sharp tusks. Matthew casually directed the tusk to the side away from Phantom and put his sword away. As soon as the boar landed it rushes off into the trees. Its speed way faster than expected for something of its size.

  "Did you see the size of that thing?" Phantom breathed, her hand frozen on her hilt.

  Matthew nodded. "That was no natural beast. We need to go back. If this is a Sovereign-class threat, we need to bring the Captain and his full force to fight this thing. This makes more sense than the minotaur theory I had. At least until you think about the sacrifices to create more boars. I've never heard of a beast doing sacrifices before."