Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 61: Weapon Art

Sylric leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand through his already disheveled hair as he let out a slow yawn. His posture was loose, almost lazy, but his voice remained sharp.

"Right… let’s talk about affinity utilization," he mumbled, flipping idly through a stack of papers.

"You’ve all seen enough today to know magic isn’t just about throwing fireballs or swinging a weapon harder."

He barely glanced up as he continued.

"Take Cassian, for example. Crystals and…stuff, right?" He waved a hand vaguely, as if the topic bored him. "You think you saw him using his affinity? Realistically, that was just a taste. You can’t really tell unless you’ve seen it up close—and even then, it’s like watching a snail crawl. Slow, but it gets where it’s going."

A student raised an eyebrow as she lifted her hand. "You mean he was holding back?"

Sylric finally looked up, blinking as though the effort physically pained him. "Yeah, sure. Holding back. But that’s not the point. The point is, he was using his affinity in a way that makes everything look effortless. The way he stopped Jack’s fire with those crystals? That wasn’t raw power. That was control."

Another yawn. He looked ready to pass out. "And that’s what most of you need to focus on. Not strength. Control."

Lindarion leaned forward slightly, his attention sharpening despite Sylric’s lethargy. "So it’s about knowing when and how to apply it?"

Sylric nodded absently, his head tilting as if he might fall asleep at any moment. "Yes… The real key is not just throwing your affinity out when you need it, but to—" he made a vague motion with his hand, "—feel it. Like it’s part of you. You don’t just build a wall of crystal. You guide it. Make it work for you."

Vivienne straightened, her gaze flicking from Lindarion back to Sylric. "But how do you even start? How do you feel your magic?"

Sylric let out a slow exhale, his eyes half-lidded. "You practice. You throw magic at a wall a thousand times until you figure out what works and what doesn’t. But if you force it, you’ll burn out. And trust me, you don’t want to burn out."

Lindarion’s fingers twitched slightly as he raised his hand again. "So, it’s not just about controlling the affinity, but controlling yourself?"

For the first time, Sylric’s gaze sharpened, his usual sleepy detachment slipping for just a moment. "Exactly. If you’re not in control of yourself, you won’t be in control of your magic. And if you’re not controlling your magic…" He smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Well, then you’re just a walking disaster waiting to happen."

He stretched, letting out a lazy groan. "Anyway, that’s the gist. Feel your affinity, control it. The rest follows."

With that, he slumped back, arms draping over the sides of the chair. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a nap. Think about all that affinity stuff on your own."

Lindarion resisted the urge to sigh. Seriously?

Elara snorted, amused by Sylric’s attitude, while Vivienne muttered under her breath, "Well, that was… enlightening."

Lindarion said nothing, but his mind was already working through the concept. Feel the affinity. Control it.

It sounded simple. But something told him it wouldn’t be.

—

Lindarion followed his classmates down the hall, the hum of conversation and the soft shuffle of feet the only sounds accompanying them.

He could feel the weight of the day catching up to him, but this next class was different—one he was actually looking forward to.

Weapon arts.

The door was slightly ajar when they arrived. Inside, an elven woman stood with an air of quiet confidence.

She was tall, blonde, and moved with a grace that was effortless yet deliberate. Her long hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, and her bright blue eyes carried the sharpness of someone who had lived by the blade.

’She’s from my country.’

Lindarion studied her as she adjusted the straps of two finely crafted swords resting on a nearby table. The weapons were perfectly balanced, not just in weight, but in how they seemed to belong to her.

As the students entered, her gaze flicked toward them, measuring, assessing.

"Ah, you’re all here." Her voice was calm but carried an authority that demanded attention. "I am Lady Elandria, and I will be instructing you in the foundations of weapon arts."

Lindarion didn’t miss how her gaze lingered on two students in particular—Cassian and himself.

’She’s looking at us?’

He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Lady Elandria stepped forward, her posture poised but relaxed. "Today, we focus on foundational stances and footwork. Weapon arts are more than simply wielding a sword. They are about understanding your body and the energy of your weapon. Without a solid foundation, no strike will have true power."

Lindarion straightened instinctively, years of training kicking in. He exchanged a glance with Luneth, who was already eyeing a nearby spear with interest. Vivienne, as usual, looked indifferent—but Lindarion knew she wouldn’t slack off in a class like this.

Lady Elandria motioned to the weapons lined against the wall. "Choose one, or use your own." She paused. "Pick something that feels right to you."

Lindarion tightened his grip on his sword. He already knew. The weapon felt like an extension of himself—balanced, familiar, alive in his hand.

As the others made their selections, Lady Elandria stepped forward. "We begin with stances."

Her movements were fluid as she demonstrated, feet positioned with precision, weight evenly distributed. "This is a neutral stance. The foundation for all forms. Your weapon is ready, but not committed. Balance is key."

Lindarion shifted his stance, mirroring her. His feet moved without hesitation, his posture firm.

Elandria’s sharp gaze flicked to him.

’He’s experienced.’

"Good," she said, before moving on. "Now, the forward guard."

She shifted, her front foot taking the lead, sword raising with a smooth, controlled motion. "This is an offensive stance. It allows for quick strikes, but still maintains balance."

Lindarion followed suit, feeling the familiar tension in his body. But as he moved, he recalled Sylric’s words from earlier.

Feel the affinity. Be one with it. Was basically the same with swords.

The concept made sense now. Magic and swordplay weren’t so different. Both required control—of the energy, the motion, and ultimately, of oneself.

Lady Elandria moved through the class, correcting postures, adjusting grips. When she reached Vivienne, she murmured, "Your body must be fluid, like water. Rigid stances are weak stances."

Vivienne narrowed her eyes slightly, adjusting her footing.

"Now, footwork," Elandria continued. "Without proper footwork, your strikes will be slow. You will lose control."

Lindarion took his first step, shifting his weight, his movements smooth. Too smooth. The years of fencing didn’t fail me, at least.

As they continued, the motions became more natural. He wasn’t just stepping—he was flowing.

By the time the lesson ended, Lindarion wasn’t even tired. If anything, he felt exhilarated.

Lady Elandria gave them all a measured look. "Tomorrow, we will begin offensive moves. And perhaps… sparring."

Lindarion exhaled, gripping his sword.

For the first time in a while, he knew he was on the right path.

Lindarion exited the training hall, his sword still in hand as he absentmindedly wiped the blade with a cloth. His classmates dispersed in different directions, some chatting excitedly about the lesson, others lost in their own thoughts.

The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and burning torches that lined the academy’s corridors. His muscles still held the ghost of movement from the drills—his body thrived on the repetition, on the discipline of control.

As he turned toward the dormitories, a quiet voice stopped him.

"Um… Lindarion Sunblade right…?"

Lindarion turned his head slightly. Cassian stood a few paces behind him, looking like he was debating whether or not to approach.

His posture was tense—shoulders slightly hunched, hands fidgeting at the edges of his sleeves.

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Lindarion arched an eyebrow. Cassian didn’t seem like the type to start conversations. In fact, he seemed more comfortable with his crystals than with people.

"You need something?" Lindarion asked, keeping his tone neutral.

Cassian hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His green hair caught the glow of the torches, and his violet eyes flickered downward before glancing back up.

"I—um. I saw you in class today. With your a-amazing sword."

Lindarion waited.

Cassian cleared his throat and quickly added, "You were good." Then, as if realizing how abrupt that sounded, he ducked his head slightly and murmured, "Really good."

Lindarion blinked, taken aback. Cassian seemed to be many things—reserved, soft-spoken, perpetually lost in thought—but not particularly vocal about his opinions.

"I’ve had training," Lindarion said simply. He studied Cassian for a moment, noting how his fingers twitched slightly, like he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure how.

Cassian inhaled, as if bracing himself. "You… you move differently than the others. It’s like…" He frowned, searching for the right words.

"Like you already know what the outcome will be before you even take a step…like you already know the perfect way to move…if that makes sense."

That was an interesting observation. Lindarion had never thought about it that way, but Cassian wasn’t wrong. His movements weren’t just learned—they were instinctual, the result of years of experience…training.

"…I suppose that’s the goal," Lindarion replied. "Control, precision. Knowing exactly what to do before the movement even starts."