Gon's Harem System
Chapter 125: His training begins

Chapter 125: His training begins

The swordmaster continued cheerily, his squeaky voice cutting through the stillness.

"Gon, I saw you throughout the tournament. You were nothing short of interesting and entertaining." He took a few steps forward, his faded gray tunic rustling softly as he moved closer to Gon.

The boy straightened instinctively, unsure whether the comment was praise or prelude to criticism.

The old man’s eyes, sharp despite his age, seemed to peer straight through him, as though reading every doubt etched into Gon’s tense expression.

The swordmaster paused just a foot away, his long, scruffy white goatee twitching as he smiled faintly.

"But," he added, his tone shifting to one of gentle admonishment, "it is obvious to any trained eye, you do not know how to use a sword." The words landed like a stone in Gon’s gut, heavy and unyielding.

He opened his mouth to protest, but the swordmaster had already turned away, looping back toward the spot where his own sword rested on the ground.

In a fluid movement that seemed to defy time itself, the old man bent down, grasped the hilt, and unsheathed the blade in one seamless motion.

Gon blinked, his breath catching in his throat.

It was almost as if the actions had happened simultaneously, he was sure he couldn’t have counted the seconds between the man picking the sword from the ground and unsheathing it.

The blade gleamed faintly in the dimming light, a perfect extension of the swordmaster’s arm, as though it had always belonged there.

Gon’s jaw slackened, his earlier frustration forgotten as he stared in awe.

A quick glance at Milo revealed a mirrored expression of shock on the other boy’s face, his usual smirk replaced by wide-eyed astonishment.

For once, Milo seemed at a loss for words, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched the swordmaster with uncharacteristic focus.

The old man chuckled, the sound high and rasping, when he noticed Gon and Milo’s dumbfounded faces.

"The sword is not a weapon," he said, his tone taking on a sagely weight as he raised the blade to inspect its edge.

"It is an extension of your arm. You must treat it that way, or else the sword will not respect you." He lowered the blade slightly, his eyes locking onto Gon’s with an intensity that made the boy shift uncomfortably.

Then, without warning, the swordmaster began to demonstrate.

He sliced through the air with precision, each movement deliberate and controlled, the blade singing faintly as it parted the wind.

He pivoted on his heel, keeping the sword high and at alert, his body moving in perfect harmony with the weapon.

Every step, every swing, was a testament to years of mastery, decades of understanding the bond between man and blade.

Gon watched, mesmerized, as the old man flowed through the forms like water over stone, effortless and unyielding.

When the demonstration ended, the swordmaster planted the tip of the blade into the ground and leaned on it lightly, a wide smile breaking across his face.

The smile revealed a cracked front tooth, adding a touch of rugged charm to his weathered features.

"Now," he said, his voice bright with expectation as he gestured toward Gon, "you try."

"Me?" Gon asked, confusion knitting his brow as he pointed to himself.

He had expected the master to guide him through the moves step by step, not simply toss him into the fray.

His heart thudded in his chest, a mix of nerves and uncertainty swirling in his gut.

He glanced at the blunted training sword in his hand, its weight suddenly feeling foreign and unwieldy.

"Chop chop," the swordmaster said, his tone playful but firm as he waved a hand toward the darkening sky.

"The sun isn’t getting any brighter." There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, as though he knew exactly how rattled Gon was and relished the opportunity to push him further.

Gon swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword.

He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping, praying, that the system would guide him through the moves flawlessly.

He’d heard stories of warriors blessed by instinct or magic, their bodies moving with precision beyond their own understanding.

Maybe, just maybe, he could tap into something like that.

With a deep breath, he steadied himself, imagining the swordmaster’s fluid motions in his mind’s eye.

Then he began to move, and it was all wrong.

His first swing was too wide, the blade wobbling awkwardly as it cut through the air.

His footing faltered as he tried to pivot, nearly tripping over his own boots in the process.

The sword felt heavy and unresponsive in his hands, like a stubborn beast refusing to obey.

Each movement was clumsy, disjointed, a far cry from the swordmaster’s effortless grace.

By the time he stumbled to a stop, his face was flushed with exertion and embarrassment, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

He didn’t dare look at Milo, who stood behind him.

He could already imagine the mocking smirk on the other boy’s face, the sharp quip waiting on his tongue.

Gon’s ears burned at the thought, his pride stinging more than his aching muscles.

Instead, he turned to the swordmaster, his expression a mix of defiance and sheepishness as he awaited the inevitable criticism.

The old man’s smile widened, his cracked tooth catching the last rays of sunlight.

"Good," he said simply, his tone warm and approving.

"Now you know what not to do."

Gon blinked, caught off guard by the response.

He had expected a lecture, a detailed breakdown of every mistake he’d made.

But the swordmaster’s words were deceptively simple, and as they sank in, a spark of understanding flickered in Gon’s mind.

The old man could have told him exactly what to do, could have guided him through each step and started training from there.

But real training, Gon realized, didn’t just stem from learning what to do.

It stemmed from understanding what not to do as well.

The swordmaster clapped his hands together, the sharp sound jolting Gon from his thoughts.

"Again," the old man said, his voice brimming with encouragement.

"This time, feel the sword. Let it move with you."

Gon nodded slowly, his grip on the hilt steadying as a new determination settled over him.

He glanced briefly at Milo, who, surprisingly, offered no snide remark, only a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Maybe there was hope for their partnership yet.

Turning back to the swordmaster, Gon raised his blade once more, ready to try again.