Vampire Progenitor of the Immortal World

Chapter 40: Chapter 40 : The Weapon in His Hand

By the time Ethan left the market, the decision had already been made. He would not take the investigation. The notice had offered enough money to make a poor man curious, but curiosity was not a good reason to place himself in the middle of a conflict he did not understand. Whatever was happening between those settlements could wait until he was stronger, better informed, or desperate enough to accept the risk. He was none of those things.

The merchant’s notice was different. A short journey. A defined destination. A clear task. Payment upon completion. Simple.

Ethan found the merchant before the afternoon had fully settled over the market. The man was in his forties, broad around the middle, with a weathered face and the practical manner of someone who had spent more years counting goods than worrying about appearances. He was preparing a small group of carts when Ethan approached.

"You took the notice?"

Ethan held out the folded paper.

"I want to know the conditions first."

The merchant looked at him for a moment, then gave a short laugh.

"At least you’re honest."

"Being unclear about the work benefits neither of us."

That earned him a longer look. The merchant eventually explained the arrangement. They were transporting ordinary goods to another settlement several days away. Ethan would travel with them, help where necessary, and receive his payment upon arrival. The road was not considered particularly dangerous, though travelers were expected to keep their eyes open.

Nothing about it sounded unusual.

Ethan accepted.

By the following morning, he was on the road. The settlement gradually disappeared behind him. Houses became scattered structures. Structures became fields. Fields eventually gave way to long stretches of open country broken by clusters of trees and low hills.

The earth beneath the horse’s hooves changed as they traveled. Near the settlement, the road had been packed hard by years of wheels and feet, its surface pale beneath the morning sun. Farther out, reddish-brown soil appeared between patches of grass. In some places the earth was almost orange, while elsewhere darker soil showed through where water had recently gathered.

Ethan found himself watching the ground more than he expected. A traveler learned to notice such things. Soft earth could slow a cart. Loose stones could injure a horse. Fresh tracks could reveal that someone had passed recently. A change in vegetation could tell him that the land ahead was wetter or drier than the ground behind. None of it was cultivation knowledge. It was simply useful.

The merchant’s group moved at an unhurried pace. There were three carts, several workers, and two men who appeared to have experience traveling the road. Ethan kept mostly to himself.

During the first few hours, he observed. During the next few, he thought. By midday, his thoughts returned to the weapon at his waist.

The dao was not particularly ornate. That had been intentional. He had no desire to attract attention with something expensive-looking when he could purchase something reliable and ordinary. It was a tool before it was anything else.

But there was a problem.

He knew how to carry it. He did not know how to use it properly.

His first battle had made that painfully obvious. Ethan had strength now. More than an ordinary man. His body could endure things it once could not. But strength did not tell him where to place his feet. It did not teach him how far an opponent could reach. It did not tell him when to attack or when to withdraw. And it certainly did not make him skilled with a blade.

At the next rest stop, Ethan dismounted. The group settled beneath a wide tree beside the road. Someone began preparing food while another checked the horses. The merchant sat against one of the carts, eating dried meat and speaking with his workers.

A man Ethan had noticed earlier was standing several paces away. He was lean, perhaps in his thirties, and carried an old sword at his side. Nothing about him suggested extraordinary cultivation. His clothes were worn from travel, and his hands were rough.

But the way he stood caught Ethan’s attention. Relaxed. Balanced. Even while speaking to someone beside him, his weight seemed distributed in a way that allowed him to move immediately.

Ethan looked down at his own feet.

Then back at the man.

The difference was irritating. Not because the other man had mocked him. He hadn’t. It was simply evidence of something Ethan disliked admitting.

He was untrained.

The man noticed him looking.

"Something wrong?"

Ethan considered pretending otherwise. There was little point.

"I have a question."

The man raised an eyebrow.

"I recently started carrying a weapon."

"I noticed."

Ethan glanced at the sword.

"I don’t know much about using one."

The man’s expression changed slightly.

"That’s usually something people realize after they get hurt."

Ethan’s fingers tightened briefly around the edge of his sleeve.

"That is why I’m asking now."

The man gave a quiet laugh.

"Fair enough."

Ethan sat opposite him.

"If someone has strength but no experience, what should he learn first?"

The man did not answer immediately. Instead, he pointed toward Ethan’s feet.

"Stand."

Ethan rose.

"Your stance."

Ethan looked down.

"What’s wrong with it?"

"Everything."

The answer was so blunt that Ethan almost smiled. The man stepped closer.

"You’re standing as though you’re waiting for someone to tell you what happens next. A weapon doesn’t care how strong you are if your body isn’t ready to move."

He demonstrated. Nothing flashy. Just a slight adjustment of his feet. A shift of weight. A change in the position of his shoulders.

"Balance first," he said. "Then distance. If you don’t understand distance, you’re already in trouble before you swing."

Ethan copied him. The first attempt felt unnatural. The second was slightly better. The man corrected his footing again.

"Don’t lock your knees."

Ethan adjusted.

"Relax your shoulders."

He did.

"You’re gripping too hard."

Ethan loosened his hand.

"Why?"

"Because you’re trying to control the weapon."

The man looked at him.

"You don’t control a blade by squeezing it to death."

Ethan absorbed that silently.

They continued. There were no grand techniques. No mysterious movements. No secret art. Just fundamentals. How to stand. How to move. How to keep enough distance to react. How to draw without disturbing his balance. How to make a simple controlled cut rather than throwing his entire body into it. How to return to a defensive position afterward. How to avoid wasting movement.

It was surprisingly tiring. Not physically. Mentally.

Ethan had always considered strength the most obvious advantage his cultivation gave him. Now he was beginning to understand another problem. If his body was stronger than his technique, then poor technique could waste that strength. A powerful movement in the wrong direction was still wrong.

By the time the merchant called them to resume the journey, Ethan’s mind was already arranging everything he had learned into categories. He waited until they were moving again before taking out his journal. He wrote while riding slowly.

Weapon practice.

Then beneath it:

Strength does not replace technique.

He paused.

Added another line...

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