Chapter 20: The Thoughtful Warrior
As Richard's tenth birthday approached, a conviction crystallized in his mind. He had meticulously calculated that the swiftest path to nobility lay in military conquests. However, by dedicating himself relentlessly to economic flourishing and essential sanitation infrastructure to ensure the well-being of his family, Richard found himself postponing this imperative aspect. Like a patient chess player, he pondered every move on the strategy board, knowing that any carelessness could compromise not only his future but that of his new family.
Swordsmanship was an indispensable skill in this new world, on Earth, his pistol and the dexterity with which he wielded it were sufficient to ensure his defense, but in this alternate reality, such skills were of little value. Determined, Richard decided he would craft a wooden sword on this day, not a mere replica, but an extension of his own being. He would employ the knowledge acquired in his past life and the countless fencing styles he had studied, synthesizing them into a lethal art form that even the most seasoned warriors would hesitate to face. In his heart, he sought not only mastery in combat but a tool that would ensure the achievement of his goals.
On a lightly cloudy day, as the sky painted a canvas of grayish hues that seemed to reflect the shade of his own musings, Richard walked with his usual serenity among the trees near his home. His calm gaze concealed the meticulous assessment of every branch he encountered, searching for one that matched the rigidity and precision of his decisions. After about forty minutes, his keen eyes identified the perfect candidate: a branch equivalent in length to his arm, sturdy and robust, as if it were waiting for him. In that moment, Richard knew he held not just a piece of wood but the raw material for an instrument that, under his skill, would become as vital as the bonds of blood that connected him to his family.
With the branch securely in his control, Richard returned home, his steps measured, the embodiment of a perfect balance between the haste of a warrior and the patience of a strategist. Spotting his father near the small warehouse that housed the tools, his voice maintained its usual tone: "Father, I need a machete. I want to make a sword for training." There was no hesitation in his request, only the crystal-clear clarity of a frozen lake in his assertiveness. Robert, sensing the unwavering determination of his son, simply nodded, saying, "It's inside." There were no questions; he understood the depth of Richard's resolve, knowing that, as in all his endeavors, he was there not only in search of a weapon but a symbol of protection and the unbreakable love he held for his family.
Inside the small warehouse, the diffused light created a sanctuary of shadows and memories. Richard located the machete with ease, its worn handle hanging between two faithful nails on the aged wooden wall. With a firm gesture, he took it in his hands, feeling the weight of the iron like an oath. Outside, he chose a sturdy log, used for cutting firewood, as a base. Every movement of his was deliberate; the blade began to dance on the wood, peeling away layers with the same precision as he unveiled his strategies. The act of carving became a meditation, a connection between matter and spirit, between warrior and protector, between son and family.
In front of the log, Richard contemplated the future of that piece of wood with the same intensity as he planned his battles. Logic pointed to a double-edged sword, practical and lethal. However, a deeper flame burned within him, one not fueled by reason but by passion. The katana, a symbol of honor and skill in the games he loved so much on Earth, resonated with the beating of his youthful heart. With eyes that reflected the calm of a lake under the moonlight, he began sculpting the katana, a blade that would be more than a mere combat tool, it would be the physical expression of his dearest memories.
While Richard was focused on carving, three pairs of eyes were closely watching every move he made, not a single wood chip escaped their observation. The gazes belonged to three children of Richard's age, all mesmerized by the meticulous dance of Richard's hands on the wood. It was an almost ceremonial sight, seeing the young man so absorbed in creating his sword. The children shared absolute silence, aware of Richard's intense and calculating nature, but also fearing they might disturb him.
Completely oblivious to the trio of spectators, Richard spent about two hours carving the katana into the wood. His involvement was so deep that notions of time and space seemed to dissolve around him. The result turned out even better than he had imagined; his grip was firm, and the weight was realistically suited to Richard's childlike body, perfectly balanced for his stature and strength. The wooden katana was not just an object; it was a pledge of loyalty, an extension of his soul that he would one day wield not only to protect those he loved but to carve his destiny in the world. Every detail of the blade reflected his dedication and unshakable affection for his family; every curve and angle were echoes of his identity: a thoughtful warrior, a natural protector, a man with the will to conquer the world.
After admiring the katana for a while, Richard began to put into practice what he had meticulously planned. In his previous life on Earth, he was versed in various martial arts, encompassing both swordsmanship and unarmed combat techniques. Now, he was about to synthesize this vast array of knowledge into a unique, unprecedented technique in this era that reflected his calm and deadly fighting style. This technique would be his signature, an unmistakable legacy of his existence, and the safeguard of his family in times of adversity. With the wooden katana in hand, he began merging movements, his serene expression hiding the storm of focus and determination that raged within him.
With unwavering determination, Richard began practicing the initial movements, initially clumsy, but each gesture carried relentless resolve. The simplicity of the initial strikes gradually transformed into a ballet of complex and calculated movements. By nightfall, Richard's profile stood out against the twilight, his silhouette bathed in sweat, revealing the intensity of his training. Every muscle in his body yearned for rest after hours of uninterrupted exercise. Margaret, his mother, emerged in the shadow of the house's doorway, her gentle voice breaking Richard's fierce concentration: "Richard, dinner is ready; go take a shower so we can eat." With an exhausted sigh, he nodded in agreement, leaving the katana resting by his side. In that moment, a mental notification sounded, a milestone of his dedication: "New Skill Acquired! As this skill does not exist, please name it."
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
CreativeCJ
CreativeCJ I don't have anything special to say about this chapter, just that something incredible is unfolding right before us.
If you're enjoying it, don't forget to comment and add it to your collection. ;)
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