Another World Magician
Alt Korean Title: 속임수의 마법사 (The Magician of Deception)
Written by: [Xirus]
⚡ Chapter 7: The Fool's Blade
The mountain air bit at his lungs, crisp, sharp, and wild with the scent of pine needles, wet bark, and mossy stone. Every step up the narrow trail crunched with gravel and dead leaves beneath his worn boots. A squirrel darted out from a nearby bush and paused, staring at him like he was intruding.
"I know, I know... weird place for cardio," Elric muttered.
He clutched his coat tighter against the early spring chill. It was a simple tan jacket, a little too big for his lanky frame, stitched by his mother from leftover cloth. Underneath, he wore a sweat-drenched tunic, the hem stained with dirt and resin. His dark brown pants were tucked into shin-length leather boots, scuffed and weather-beaten. A plain iron sword hung in a cloth loop on his back, gifted, reluctantly, after weeks of pestering his father.
***
"You want to train? By yourself? With what?" his father had asked, arms crossed, one brow arching like it was trying to escape his forehead.
Elric stood at attention like a soldier reporting for duty, gripping a slightly splintered wooden stick in both hands.
"With this," he declared, dramatically lifting the stick over his head like it was Excalibur. "And eventually... with steel."
Garron stared.
Then blinked.
Then slowly turned to look at his wife, Lenna, as if to confirm that yes, this was their actual child.
"You're twelve," Garron deadpanned.
"I'm thirteen in… I don't know, three months maybe." While counting his fingers.
"That's still twelve."
Elric squinted. "Emotionally? I'm like... seventeen."
"Mentally, you're five," Garron muttered.
"Young mentality is good to grow up"
But Elric didn't give up. Not that day. Or the day after.
It began with polite requests.
"Father, I would like a sword."
"No."
Then formal petitions.
"Dearest and most respected baronet, Lord of Waisz estate,"Elric intoned with theatrical reverence, "I humbly request a sword for the purpose of self-training and future development"
"No."
Then came... the tears.
"Do you even love me?!" Elric making a pose as a woman abandoned by his man.
"Oh gods, not the fake tears again. You did that already two days ago."
"They're not fake! My eyes are sweating from the emotional pressure!"
Garron facepalmed so hard it echoed.
"Don't give me that look," he muttered, peeking through his fingers.
"I'm not giving you a look," Elric sniffed. "I'm giving you a narrative arc."
Garron rubbed his temples like he was summoning a migraine demon. "I'm starting to think I should've taught you sword discipline earlier. "
Undeterred, Elric walked to the corner of the room where a small, hand-drawn chart was taped to the wall. He squinted at it, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"Let's see… I already did the Polite Request, the Formal Petition, the Emotional Breakdown... did I do the Silent Stare of Disappointment yet?"
He turned around and gave his father an intense, wordless look, A look of guilt. A look like an orphan in a rainstorm. A dying puppy's last whimper.
Garron raised a brow.
"No."
Elric blinked. "No to the sword, or no to the stare?"
"Both"
Lenna poked her head in from the kitchen. "Garron, just give him something before he floods the house again."
"No! He'll stab his foot and I'll have to chop it off!"
"I won't stab anything important!" Elric interjected. "And I did research."
He unrolled a crinkled piece of paper with sketches of sword stances, very poorly drawn ones, with captions like "Killer Stab" and "Cool Hero Pose #3."
Garron pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You annoying little brat..." he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
And yet...
The next day, he handed Elric an old iron training sword.
It wasn't too sharp, but it was heavy. Dense. Slightly chipped. The handle was wrapped in faded leather that smelled like must and pine tar. The balance was off. The blade had seen better centuries.
To Elric, it felt like a legendary relic.
He cradled it like it was made of starlight.
"Don't swing it indoors," Garron grumbled. "Don't cut trees. Don't point it at your mother. And do not practice near the barn. The goat's still traumatized from last time."
"I won't!" Elric chirped. "I promise! I'll train safely, responsibly, and become a master of the blade in like, three months!"
Garron groaned.
As Elric turned to leave, bouncing on his heels, Garron let out a long, heartfelt sigh, the kind that carried the weight of all the world's parental fatigue.
And then, under his breath:
"Who does he take after...?" he murmured, though he already knew.
He didn't mean to say it aloud. But Lenna caught it anyway.
"Hmm... I don't know," she mused from across the room, not looking up from her stitching. "Maybe some guy I knew who used to sneak out at night with a wooden stick, yelling about 'sword aura' and falling into the river."
"That was one time!"
She smiled. "Twice, actually. You forgot about the winter incident."
Garron turned red.
Behind the door, Elric's ears twitched as he paused mid-step.
He grinned.
So he did take after someone.
He walked down the path to the forest, sword on his back, grin on his face, wind brushing through his hair like nature herself was cheering him on.
The iron blade clanged faintly with each step, a comforting rhythm.
He looked up at the sky.
Sunlight pierced through the trees in golden shards. The smell of damp earth and budding leaves filled the air. Birds flitted between branches, chirping like gossiping villagers. Somewhere, a woodpecker tapped in rhythm, almost like a slow applause.
Elric couldn't stop smiling.
He held the sword strap tighter.
"That's right," he whispered to himself. "I begged for this. I earned it."
He spun on his heel once, letting the blade sway on his back.
"Time to make my ancestors proud."
Then he took one heroic step forward,
And immediately caught his foot on an exposed root.
There was a brief moment of weightless, tragic silence.
"GAH... !"
He face-planted directly into a prickly bush, his arms flailing as leaves and twigs launched into the air like confetti from a failed magic trick.
For a few seconds, only the birds responded, chirping indignantly as if offended by his clumsy entrance.
Elric groaned, wiggling free from the greenery with twigs in his hair and what he hoped wasn't an ant in his sleeve.
He sat up slowly, brushing dirt off his face with the defeated dignity of a man who had just tried to duel fate and lost to landscaping.
He looked around.
Nobody.
Not a single witness.
He exhaled in deep relief. "Good. My legend live... untainted."
The bush rustled behind him.
He whipped his head around.
"...You saw nothing," he muttered at it, pointing a finger like a stern parent scolding a misbehaving shrub.
The bush, of course, said nothing.
But if it could talk, Elric was pretty sure it would be laughing.
***
For days now, he'd felt it, that presence. Like eyes in the trees. He couldn't explain it. It wasn't magic. More like... that primal tingle in your neck when someone stands too close in a quiet room.
So today, he'd changed his routine.
"Let's see whoever you are follow me now", he thought, wiping sweat from his brow. "If you're going to stalk me, you better earn it." While looking behind to see if someone following him.
Different path. Higher elevation. Deeper into the forest than usual. If someone was following him, they'd have to hike through thorny brush, rocky paths, and two very grumpy squirrels.
He reached a familiar clearing and exhaled. The grass was damp but soft, and old pine trees loomed like sentinels. One of them bore the scars of repeated sword strikes, his personal practice dummy.
"Alright," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "No watchers. No excuses."
He dropped his gear and fell to the ground.
Push-ups first.
"One... two... three...!"
His arms trembled.
"Four... five... Okay, okay, ow, "
By the eighth, he collapsed face-first onto the grass.
"Urgh... okay. Slightly jacked," he wheezed. "Tier Zero Muscles... achieved."
He lay there for a moment, staring at the shifting clouds through pine branches. A bird called out somewhere, then flew off.
It had become a routine.
Jog up the mountain. Work out till failure. Fantasize about awaken aura through sheer will. Rinse. Repeat.
Yet...
"No lightning bolts. No sparkly transformation. No aura. No narrator whispering, 'And thus, his true power awakened!'" he sighed, kicking a pinecone. "I've been scammed."
He sat up and reached for his iron sword, its surface dull and pitted with age.
"Hmph... swordsmanship doesn't sound to bad," he muttered. "Might as well get good at something."
***
[Earth, Seoul]
A few years after Kim Jiwon finally managed to rent a room of his own.
The dim glow of the laptop bathed the room in soft blue light, casting shadows across empty ramen cups and scattered notes. Pitter-patter. Rain tapped gently against the window as he leaned in, eyes glued to the screen.
One video showed a kung fu master gliding across the floor, hands blurring with speed. Another featured a kendo match, CLACK!, wooden swords striking with preternatural precision. Another still was an old wuxia film, warriors floating in midair, swords slicing through stone like tofu.
He squinted.
"There's no way this is just muscle and training..." he muttered, flipping a pen between his fingers.
Beside him lay a notebook, boldly titled: 『Unveil the Trick』
Pages overflowed with diagrams, theories, and wild guesses.
"What if this is all just... sleight of hand? Misdirection? What kind of trick is this?"
His research turned from casual curiosity to mild obsession. He devoured historical fencing manuals. Watched Japanese kenjutsu footage. Dug into old Italian rapier treatises. Frame-by-frame breakdowns of martial arts choreography.
Then he saw it: Zucken, a feint from the German longsword tradition. A fake strike, redirected mid-swing to provoke a parry and punish the opening. Deception written in motion.
"So it's not magic," he whispered. "It looks supernatural… but it's just timing. Leverage. And dramatic cinematography."
He rewound. Studied the footwork. The angle. The tiny twitch before the feint.
No spells.
Just trickery.
He saw the same pattern everywhere, faked stances, delayed strikes, broken rhythms, false cues. It wasn't about overpowering your opponent, it was about outthinking them. Outsmarting their instincts.
Out of habit, he mimicked the movements in front of his mirror. At first, just for understanding. Then, a little more. Tweaking his grip. Adjusting posture. Refining how to hide his intention.
"It's all a bluff," he wrote that night. "A beautiful bluff, written in motion."
***
Back to Present
Elric picked up the training sword and slowly assumed a guard stance. His feet shifted into a light Mezza Volta step. His wrist twisted into a subtle Zucken feint.
He moved like a dancer with stage fright.
"Fool's Blade," he whispered, smirking. "That'll be my own swordsmanship style."
Its philosophy was simple: trick their instincts. Invite their pride. Punish their reflexes. Redirect their strength against them.
"Let's see... fake left," he muttered, executing a Makko Giri. "Redirect with a twist... Krumphau in reverse, gotcha, imaginary idiot!"
Thump! He stumbled over a tree root.
"Oof! Okay, maybe too much twist."
Still, he stood and chuckled, shaking it off.
He slid into Katsugi Waza, the blade hanging lazily over his shoulder, body loose...
Then, snap!, slashed forward with startling speed.
"Surprise, idiot!" he shouted, grinning. "You thought I was tired. fool!"
His imaginary opponent didn't respond.
"Oh right. Alone. As always."
Whooosh. A gust swept past, rustling the trees.
"Wait..." He paused. "Is it just me, or has this forest gotten too quiet? Where are the birds? The squirrels?"
No chirping. No rustling. Not even bugs.
The air was too still.
"Okay, okay... chill. It's not like someone's watching me again. I overcame that paranoia today, remember?" he muttered, striking a pine tree. Thwack.
"Well, it's not like something bad's gonna happen, right?"
"Helppp...!!!"
"Help!! Somebody, please!"
A high-pitched scream shattered the silence.
Elric froze. "Is it sleep deprivation? I have been skipping a lot of… "
"Helpp!!! Elric!!!"
His breath caught. That voice echoed through the trees.
"Nope. Not sleep deprivation. That was real."
He bolted toward the sound, feet pounding against dirt and leaves. Branches scratched his arms as he crashed through the underbrush.
"HEL-RIIIIIIC!!"
His heart skipped.
That voice.
He burst into a clearing, and there she was.
A dark-brown-haired girl. Small. Familiar.
"Helina Beatrice?" he whispered. "What the hell...?"
A burly, ragged man was hauling her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"What is this, an actual bandit? Alone? Where's the rest of your cosplay troupe?!"
The man turned, startled.
Elric ducked behind a tree, mind racing like a caffeinated squirrel.
"Okay okay okay, THINK. How the hell do I save her?!"
Then he saw it, this is his usual training spot. The pine tree. Sap-covered bark. Resin bubbles thick and sticky , especially after last night's rain. The pile up resin hidden underneath the dried leaves.
"Right," he whispered, conjuring a flickering flame. "Let's put on a show."
Flick. A spark lit.
Then another.
And another.
He cast a basic fire spell ,half a dozen tiny fireball lit up.
Then spun them. Fwhip. Fwhip. Fwhip. A ring of glowing motes shimmered in the air like a miniature magic circle.
"Showtime," he muttered.
He stepped out, hand raised with a fake magic circle that he 'casted'.
"Put her down," he said, calm voice belying his bluff.
The man blinked as he saw the magic circle. Then scoffed. "You a mage, boy?"
"I'm the kind of mage who turns kidnappers into roast duck."
The sparks spun faster, glowing brighter.
The bandit flinched.
Elric hurled a fireball, small, precise, into a pile of dried leaves and resin.
POP-BOOM! A small explosion burst at the bandit's feet, sending sparks flying.
"GAH, !" The man stumbled, dropping Helina.
Elric rushed forward, grabbed her hand, and yanked her behind him.
"Run! Now!"
She nodded, sobbing.
The bandit snarled, wild-eyed. "You little... !"
***
Elric's lips curled into a lazy smirk.
"Oh no," he said, feigning concern. "Did I forget to look scared?"
He moved.
"Makko Giri. Straight down the line. Classical. Predictable.
But I'm not here to hit with it. Just to play with his expectations."
He raised his blade high, cutting down the center with a clean, vertical slash, deliberate and flashy.
The bandit grunted, locking onto the strike. He threw his sword up to block, fast and hard.
"Perfect," Elric thought, a sly grin forming.
Now comes the real fun.
He twisted his wrist and rolled his blade along the bandit's, feeling the bind.
"Winden, a German longsword technique. Wind the blade around your opponent's, maintain pressure, find the opening."
It was subtle. A blade-dance. One misstep and you lose control.
Elric imagined his sword as a silk ribbon slipping around rough stone.
With practiced ease, he slipped off the guard and sliced a shallow cut across the man's shoulder.
"GRAAH, !"
The bandit stumbled back, growling.
"One cut, and already rattled? Tch. He's not used to fighting someone who use brain."
Elric strolled sideways, sword resting lazily on his shoulder.
"Let's reel him in. One more dance, big guy."
He raised his blade again, dramatic, theatrical.
Katsugi Waza, a centuries-old kenjutsu feint. The bait-and-switch.
Let him fall for it again.
The bandit sneered through the pain.
"Same damn move again?
He's a show-off. Arrogant.
Thinks he's already won."
He raised his sword high to parry it this time,
, and Elric snapped the blade sideways, a diagonal blur.
SLASH. Deep into the bandit's thigh.
"AAAAARGH!!"
The bandit collapsed to one knee.
Elric spun behind him, voice sing-song.
"Oops. That wasn't the same move, was it?"
Never do the same thing twice, unless it makes the third one lethal.
He slid his foot back, calmly.
"In traversa," he whispered.
A perfect Italian sidestep, angled, not backward. He slipped off the centerline, just enough to vanish from his opponent's focus.
Not retreating. Just relocating.
Invite the charge. Make him think you've given ground.
Let him lunge at where you were.
Let him chase a ghost.
The bandit locked on.
"There! He's backing off! I've got him, "
"RAAAAAH!!"
He charged.
But Elric didn't flinch.
He sidestepped with dancer's grace.
Kaeshi Waza.
Men-kaeshi-dō, counter the head, strike the body.
As the bandit's sword came crashing down, Elric angled away and deflected, not with strength, but with precision.
Then, his wrists twisted. His blade curved and slashed across the man's torso in a clean, horizontal arc.
"ARGHHH!!" the bandit roared, then turned tail and fled.
Elric didn't chase. He just sighed.
"Next time," he called after him, flicking blood from the blade,
"Try thinking before charging. Good thing that was just a training sword."
***
Helina peeked out from behind him, eyes wide.
"That was amazing," she whispered. "Are you a real magician?" as she recalling the magic circle Elric casted.
Elric puffed out his chest. "Of course. I'm... a real magician, you dumb girl."
She blinked, confused, then turned away.
The moment she wasn't looking, Elric doubled over.
"Ooooh my god... I'm gonna die... my lungs are on fire..."
Rumble... Thunder growled in the distance.
Cloud began to drift. Breeze sweep gently touching their skin. Cool and soft on his skin.
He looked down. Helina hand clung to his , trembling.
He smiled gently, patting her head.
"You're safe now. Let's get you home."
As they walked down the mountain, Elric felt the weight of the training sword on his back.
Fool's Blade.
It wasn't magic. It wasn't aura.
But it was deceptive swordplay.
"Maybe I'm not suited for aura after all," he mused, already thinking of skipping tomorrow's aura training.
And for now... that was enough.