Ailment

The townsfolk found me battered, bruised and bleeding out. I can’t remember much as it was all so blurry for me.

But I do remember waking up briefly at the doctors office in town with my grandmother in tears watching over me.

The next time I woke up briefly, I glimpsed my grandmother washing blood off her knuckles, whether that was my blood or not, I’ll never know.

I spent my days lifeless in bed, in the guest room in grandmum’s house. All I could see was my family, all that replayed in my head was the tragedy that unfolded before my eyes.

My family was gone.

I used to think that because I looked big and strong, I never actually needed to be strong. Oh how I regretted not asking my father for lessons.

If I was stronger, maybe, just maybe I would've been able to defend my family, or at the very least defend my sister.

And so, one season passed.

And then another.

And then another.

And then another.

Until we came full circle.

For my eighteenth birthday, my grandmother, decided that she could no longer bear to see me suffering in that bed, replaying those memories of death over and over again.

“Starting tomorrow, I shall be training you. You need to protect yourself my grandson, for I need not tell you of how cruel this world is.”

And for the first time in a long time I felt something, whether it was a desire, or hope, I cannot remember, but I know I felt something, and is that nay significant enough?

“Really grandmother?”

“Yes, but don’t call me grandmother during training. Refer to me only as teacher, because that’s what I’ll be during that time.”

“So I shouldn’t call you grandma anymore?”

“Sorry, let me rephrase. Don’t call me grandmother when we are training. Only then should you refer to me as teacher.”

“Thank you Grandma.”

“I just don’t want to lose anyone else.”

And neither did I.

She leaned in for a hug, and for the first time in a while, I cried.

-

In the morning, grandma came to wake me up. She had something she needed to show me.

I followed her downstairs where she lifted the kitchen rug, revealing a hidden cache of swords of all makes and sizes.

“Grandma…?”

“Worry not about these dull things, I could never give any of these to my beloved grandson.”

As she rumaged through this truly remarkable cache of weapons, I thought to myself what kind of person my grandmother was in her youth, for her to have acquired such vast quantities of weapons.

Just then, she stopped, and pulled from beneath the swords a heavy brass case, to which she opened and revealed a gleaming claymore with a stunning green, and brown handle that had accents of red and a gleaming pearl in the middle.

“This was my sword back in my adventuring days.” she said as she swung it around. “However it seems a bit dull.”

So she walked off to sharpen it.

I couldn’t help but wonder how she could wield such a long and heavy sword as a claymore with her small stature. And as if she could read minds, she said this.

“You might be wondering how little old me can wield a sword that’s almost half as long as you right? Well, those who master the way of the sword can wield any make of sword seamlessly regardless of trivial things such as size and weight.”

I bit the bullet and told her how absurd that was.

She only laughed.

“Child, have you heard of Karma?”

“No grandmother.”

“Well that’s to be expected, the art of Karma is one that is dying anyhow. Nonetheless, I will explain to you the art of Karma.”

She explained to me that Karma is the fundamental life force of the world, and that every living being, from the bugs of the earth to the birds of the sky possessed Karma, however all Karma in its base form is neutral. If you somehow manage to utilize your Karma, it can drive you down two paths, the path of the Just and of the Demon. The former is dependent on your abundance of good deeds with Karma, and the latter is dependent on your abundance of evil deeds with Karma.

“So why is Karma a dying art grandmoth- I mean teacher.”

“I’m glad you consider it training, but I must say that the reason it is a dying art is quite stupid. Long ago, everyone could practice Karma freely, but that led to the great Heavenly Demonic War, where one side of the royalty tried to overthrow the other.”

“Why have I never heard of this?”

“Because the royalty went on a kingdom wide purge, cleansing those who practiced Karma without license, and went on to destroy many historical texts even vaguely referencing Karma. And thus it became forbidden to mention that war at all.”

“So who can practice Karma?”

“Those who the Church Sanctions, the Holy Guard, the Protectorate, basically just anyone affiliated with the royalty, the government and the church. No one else.”

It was then that I began to realize how much I did not know about the world, and at the same time, my curiosity on what kind of person my grandmother was only grew.

-

We then moved on outside in the backyard, where Grandma began to demonstrate how to hold a sword,

“You have to loosen your shoulders! Be flexible, stop stiffening up! If you were learning the sword in my day they’d probably chop your limbs off because what are you doing?”

She had a completely different demeanor as a teacher, it was actually scary.

I grasped the concept of holding a sword, along with the basics of the different offensive and defensive stances in swordplay.

“That’s enough for today grandson, let’s get inside.”

She prepared a wondrous meal of roasted lamb with a barley loaf, and there was something about it that reminded me of my mom.

I didn’t even notice it but I began to cry.

“What are you crying for now?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that this reminds me of mums cooking.”

She pulled her chair closer towards me and said, “Well who do you think taught your mother to cook like this?” she said, chuckling.

“Really? So why couldn’t dad cook like this either?”

“Because that good-for-nothing, well he was that in his early days anyway, was always out chasing those poor girls with his foul smell. It always baffles me how he wedded someone as multifaceted as Gunny.”

We both let off a laugh, but I glanced at her, and for a split moment a face akin to that of sadness broke its way out on Grandmom’s face.

She excused herself, and I finished my meal.

-

And so as the days past, I not only grew better at my stances, but at wielding the sword herself. My Grandma taught me that you are to never think of the sword as a tool, but as an extension of your body. Being disarmed should be akin to losing a limb itself.

And so the days went on with training, training and more training.

It seemed to me that Grandmother was getting happier each day, and that motivated me to train harder, to become better for her, to avenge my family, and save my sister.

-

It had so begun that I was returning from the markets late one night, when I witnessed the mugging of a girl that looked not much younger than me.

After some back and forth, I decided to intervene.

“Huh?” one of the thieves went.

“Who’s this bastard?” another went.

“Leave the girl alone!” I said, with a roar I never knew I had in me.

They only laughed.

“I’m serious!”

“This guy must have a death wish, I’m gonna teach him to walk on by next time.”

And so the thief charged in, but his swordplay and footing was absolute rubbish, making it incredibly easy for me to disrupt his balance, disarm, and render him unconscious.

The other thief fled

“Where did such a master come from?”

“Quick wrap your face with this!” the lady went.

“Huh?”

“Vigilante’s always wear masks. If you’re gonna save me then do it properly!”

And so with that, it came to be that I became a vigilante who wore a red scarf as a mask.

Just Great.