Lementhuvan

"No no no... it's not... you..." The master rubbed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, grimacing.  "You are wielding a sword, child. Think about that."

"Think about what?  It's just a sword."

"Indeed." The master rolled his eyes and sighed.  He stepped forward, and pointed to the student's feet. "It is just a sword. A simple piece of edged steel.  So, tell me, what makes it victorious in a fight?"

"Uhm... being... sharp? Sharper than the other guy's?"

"The wielder, idiot.  The one who bears it is what makes a blade powerful. By being observant, by being intuitive, by being practiced... and also, by being stable." The student cocked his head at the confusing statement, before realizing the master was pointing at his feet.  Before he could shift his footing the master moved with the speed of a whip, gently pressing against the student's chest and toppling him like a sack of potatoes.

"Ow."

"Oh please.  If you wish to learn how to use that thing, then you'll suffer worse than a few falls.  Now get on your feet so I can knock you down again, and again, and again until I don't.  We have plenty of daylight left, so you'll have plenty of time to learn."

"Oh, joy..." The student bemoaned, as he hefted himself to his feet, using the legendary blade he was bound to as leverage. "Another day of strange bruises."