I am the Villain

Sword Training

The clang of swords echoed through the training yard like music, sharp, rhythmic, deliberate. Luo Zelin moved with unhurried grace, his borrowed sword slicing the air in elegant arcs. Across from him, Shen Guang furrowed his brow, sweat glistening at his temples, trying to match the pace of his opponent.

And failing. Zelin spun, pivoted, and parried with uncanny ease. His blade traced patterns in the air that belonged to another era, precise, fluid, archaic. Not the rigid formations taught in modern sects, nor the defensive styles passed down in the Shen family's current curriculum.

These were strikes born from old blood. Footwork drawn from battlegrounds long buried. Shen Guang lunged. Zelin sidestepped, lifted his blade, and flicked his wrist, disarming Shen Guang with such speed that the man's sword flew across the courtyard and clattered against a pillar.

The match was over. Zelin hadn't broken a sweat. Shen Guang dropped to the ground, panting, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "You fight... like someone who's been wielding a sword for decades."

Zelin smiled awkwardly, running a hand through his damp hair. "Heh. Just made it up as I went."

"Made it up?" Shen Guang laughed, winded. "Then you must've been born with the memories of ghosts, Zelin. Those were ancient movements, older than even Master Xuanyi teaches."

Zelin shrugged. "Maybe I'm a genius."

Shen Guang chuckled and leaned back, resting on his elbows, studying him. "Maybe you are."

From the shadows of a nearby walkway, Shen Liang stood unseen. His sharp eyes tracked every step. Every movement. He'd been there since the duel began, hidden behind a screen of hanging wind chimes, watching his elder brother spar with the boy he'd come to loathe.

Luo Zelin. The same fool who scribbled lewd drawings in his scrolls. Who laughed too loud, disrespected every rule, and somehow found new and ridiculous ways to get punished daily. A thorn. A pest. But what Shen saw now... didn't match. Zelin hadn't tired. Not even slightly. Shen, still cursed to feel the same physical sensations as him, hadn't even broken a breath from the entire match. That was impossible.

Even Shen Guang looked exhausted. And those techniques... Shen recognized some of them. Barely. They were fragments of sword forms preserved in old scrolls locked deep in the pavilion, styles lost to time, once used by the ancient cultivators of the north. How did a lowborn orphan like Luo Zelin know them? Shen's expression darkened. It didn't add up. Zelin was supposed to be dense, irritating, half-useless. A disruptive i***t with no sense of decorum. But now he moved like an elite. It wasn't just the curse that tied their pain. Something else was here.

Shen stepped back into the corridor's shadow, his arms folded beneath his sleeves. He didn't like this. He didn't like any of it. More importantly, he didn't like how his family had opened their gates to this boy. The elders trusted him too easily. Shen Xuanyi spoke highly of him. And now even Shen Guang seemed impressed. And yet... Zelin had broken every rule in the southern temple. He'd been a menace since day one.

This wasn't a coincidence. This was a lie wrapped in skin. Shen turned and walked off, unnoticed. His steps were silent, his thoughts louder than thunder. "That fool... just who are you really, Luo Zelin?" But even as his suspicions rose, a new dread lingered at the edge of his mind.

If Zelin was hiding something... and they were cursed together... Then maybe, just maybe... He was cursed with something far more dangerous than a misbehaving i***t.