The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill-Chapter 101: The River’s Edge

The blade moved through the air in slow arcs, slicing sunlight into trembling ripples.

Jin’s boots ground against the cracked stones of the training yard, each step steady, measured. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t chasing speed or power.

This was about control.

His hands adjusted mid-swing, feeling the awkward weight of the broken katana, the way it tilted just slightly wrong without the missing piece of steel. He didn’t fight it. He folded it into the motion, let it guide the path of each cut instead of resisting.

The River’s Edge stance. The old Heian footwork.

They were still awkward, still stiff at the joints.

But he was getting closer.

He pivoted on the ball of his foot, blade sweeping low in a wide, deliberate arc. His breathing stayed slow, timed with every movement, not letting fatigue rush him ahead of his own rhythm.

The first few swings of the morning had been ugly—choppy, forced. But now the blade was starting to hum in his hands, low and quiet, almost hidden under the sound of his own heartbeat.

Still not perfect.

Still too much shoulder in the follow-through.

But better.

The broken katana vibrated faintly against his grip as he shifted back to center.

It had pulsed earlier—barely a flicker through the steel, like a heartbeat waking from a long sleep. Now, every few swings, he thought he could feel it again, ghosting up through the hilt into the bones of his fingers.

Not an instruction.

Not a command.

Just... a presence.

He reset his stance. Knees soft. Shoulders relaxed. Blade hidden low at his hip. Breath filling his chest in a slow, even tide.

Then he stepped.

Cut.

The katana hissed through empty air.

Better.

Still raw.

But better.

Sweat slid down the side of his face, trailing under his jaw, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His back ached. His legs burned. His palms were rough, the beginnings of blisters rising along the base of his thumbs where the leather wrap of the hilt bit into skin.

Good.

If it didn’t hurt, it wouldn’t mean anything.

Jin ran through the sequence again.

And again.

And again.

Each time a little cleaner.

Each time feeling the gap between thought and movement shrink by an inch.

He wasn’t fast.

He wasn’t strong.

Not yet.

But he was present.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t swinging because the world demanded it of him.

He was swinging because he chose to.

Another pivot-step, another cut. The blade sang a little now when it moved, a high note beneath the heavy slap of boots against stone.

He paused for a second, standing still in the center of the cracked courtyard.

The sun was high enough now to throw long, sharp shadows across the ground. The broken stone underfoot was warm through the soles of his boots.

Jin rolled his shoulders once, feeling the tightness in his muscles, the rawness settling in.

This was the kind of training no one could fake.

No system could shortcut.

Hours on the stones. Sweat soaking into worn leather. Breath dragging through aching ribs.

One cut after another after another until movement stopped being something you thought about and started being something you became.

He stepped again.

Cut again.

Held the position longer this time, feeling the strain build through his side as the weight of the sword demanded attention.

His footwork was still too rigid. His left elbow still flared slightly on the downswing.

Small flaws.

Obvious ones.

Ones he could fix.

Not today. Not all at once.

But over time.

Brick by brick. Swing by swing.

The katana shifted lightly in his grip as he relaxed, letting the blade dip just slightly toward the ground, tip hovering over the dust.

It felt different now.

Not just heavier.

More... aware.

He wasn’t imagining it.

The sword was responding, in its own way.

Not with words but with weight.

Presence.

Acknowledgment.

A tiny crack was forming in the wall that separated him from it.

He could feel it.

Jin exhaled a long breath and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, tasting salt and dust.

Then he reset his stance again, silent and focused.

He hadn’t even noticed the figure watching him from the edge of the training yard.

A quiet crunch of stone reached his ears.

Jin straightened slightly, not breaking form, his eyes shifting toward the edge of the yard.

Hanuel stood there, pole resting easily against one shoulder, his other hand tucked into the pocket of his loose training pants. The boy didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

The faint distortion of shadow around Hanuel’s boots caught Jin’s attention, a shimmer, almost invisible, a reminder that the younger fighter’s ability was never really dormant. Always coiled. Always waiting.

Jin relaxed his stance and let the tip of the broken katana drop toward the ground.

"Need something?" he asked, voice rough from the hours of training.

Hanuel smiled, a little hesitant but clear.

"If you’re not too tired," he said, "I was hoping to ask for a quick match."

Jin’s eyebrow lifted.

"A match?"

Hanuel nodded once, stepping further onto the stone courtyard, the pole in his hand gleaming under the sunlight.

"I’ve been working on a variation of Wuyuan Jie," he said, voice steady. "It’s... close to being perfected. But I need someone to help me see if it would be effective in a real fight. Someone skilled."

Jin huffed a short breath, half a laugh.

"You sure about that? I’m half-dead already."

Hanuel shrugged, the movement loose, easy. "Better training for me, right? If I can land it on you while you’re tired, it means I’m getting better."

The kid wasn’t wrong. Not to hype himself up too much, but he was vastly better than all the recruits.

Jin rolled his shoulder once, feeling the tight pull of muscle along his back. His body ached for a break. But his mind was sharp, and somewhere inside, the broken katana still pulsed faintly, steady as a heartbeat.

Pressure was part of the path.

If he couldn’t hold his rhythm under strain, he didn’t deserve to move forward.

He gave Hanuel a slow, approving nod.

"Alright. A few rounds."

The younger fighter smiled wider, not cocky, but eager, and swung the pole down into both hands, the motion smooth and precise. His stance dropped naturally, knees bent, weight centered.

Jin flipped the katana up lightly, catching it in a loose grip across his body.

No words were needed.

They both moved into position, facing each other across the battered stones.

The world narrowed around them.

Not tense.

Not dramatic.

Just two fighters.

Breath steady.

Feet planted.

Steel against shadow.