The Shadow of Great Britain

429: Chapter 242: Reed-Style Sword Technique (4K4) 429: Chapter 242: Reed-Style Sword Technique (4K4) London, Bayswater district, 36 Lancaster Gate.

Arthur, holding a cup of tea in his left hand and cradling a thick, archaic tome with yellowed pages in his right, was completely engrossed in his reading.

Perhaps because he was so absorbed, Arthur had no idea how much time had passed, maintaining his pose until the steam from the teacup had dissipated without him taking a single sip.

“Hmm…”

Arthur frowned as he gulped down a mouthful of the cold tea, then placed the porcelain cup down and looked up at the ceiling as if pondering something.

The Red Devil, who was enjoying reading fan letters, couldn’t help but adjust his glasses upon seeing Arthur’s expression, “What’s the matter with you?

Did you eat something wrong at lunch?

Constipated?

If that’s the case, I suggest you use the intestinal treatment device advertised in the newspapers, I left the tube next to the kitchen.”

“Next to the kitchen?”

At this remark, Arthur’s hand, reaching for a fruit platter, couldn’t help but pause.

He spoke up, “Agares, can’t you keep that thing further away?

I’d rather not sample someone else’s intestinal flora.”

The Red Devil leaned back to swig a mouthful of barley beer from the table, wiped his lips, and belched contentedly, “I can’t be bothered with many things; lately, I haven’t been touching anything from the kitchen anyway.”

Arthur just glanced at the beer can and said, “Ha, and you think your beer is so clean?”

Agares nodded nonchalantly, “Of course, that taste, strong enough!”

“Alright then, since you say so, I won’t go into the details of its production environment.

I just have to hope they didn’t add any unexpected little surprises to it besides the hops.”

Arthur said this, then picked up the book again to continue reading, but the more he read, the more his brow furrowed.

Seeing him like this, Agares finally couldn’t resist asking, “What on earth is the matter with you?

Is there something special about that book?

Isn’t it just an ordinary manual on martial techniques?”

Arthur shook his finger and replied, “This is no ordinary manual on martial techniques, but an antique volume specially sourced for me by Lionel.”

Arthur patted the leather cover of the book towards the Red Devil, “See this?

‘Paradoxes of Defense,’ its author is the famous 16th-century British fencing master George Silver.

You, a learned devil, must have heard of Silverflow Swordsmanship.”

“Ah, that guy.

Of course, I know him, a notorious critic from the 16th century.

I remember this guy seemed to detest the swift rapier, right?

The Italian fencing technique you usually use was precisely the kind he harshly criticized,” the Red Devil casually tossed aside the reader’s letters back into the box and continued to inquire, “But with the great battle forthcoming, why aren’t you diligently reviewing your Fiore Style, and instead have taken to your local Silverflow Swordsmanship?

With all due respect, Silverflow Swordsmanship isn’t nearly as sharp and stylish as the Fiore Style, its advantage lies in being solid and easy to learn.”

Arthur set the book down on the table, cradling the tea cup to warm his hands, “Actually, I had no intention of changing my fighting style, but Lionel told me that they’ve set up promotional slogans with strong English and French elements like ‘The Hundred Years’ War’ and ‘Wellington vs.

Napoleon.’ So he hoped that when I face the Paris Sword Saint Francois Bertrand, I would use more of Britain’s traditional martial arts.

That’s why he went to great lengths to procure an original ‘Paradoxes of Defense’ for me.”

The Red Devil stroked his chin and said, “It’s obvious that little Jew is quite keen on making money.

So why are you shaking your head while looking at this book?”

Arthur began, “Because I’ve just realized, as you’ve said, that Master George Silver was indeed an underestimated British critic.

His book, although half of it introduces his martial concepts and techniques, the other half is mostly used to sarcastically criticize the swift rapier from Italy and to boast about the English Shortsword.”

Agares, now intrigued, asked, “What exactly did he say in the book?”

Arthur, somewhat speechlessly, flipped to the section he had marked and began to break it down to the Red Devil.

“He raised the following questions.

First, can the swift rapier pierce armor?

Second, can the swift rapier save Rome?

Third, can the swift rapier help us win the Hundred Years’ War?

Fourth, can the swift rapier sever pikes on the battlefield, with the spirit of entering battle with no thoughts of survival?

Fifth, the young men of all Britain are now addicted to the flashy techniques of the swift rapier, deeply poisoned by Apennine vanity, engaging in duels to the death over honor and revenge, walk around the streets of London, and they’re all missing arms and legs—how can we build a beautiful England like that?

Sixth, the swift rapier overly emphasizes offense and neglects solid defense, which contravenes the true essence of swordsmanship, namely the idea that killing others is in order to protect oneself.

If in the battle one also loses an arm, what is the point of such a victory?

Seventh, the variety of techniques for the swift rapier is so complex that many spend their lifetimes mastering only a few.

Additionally, the technical requirements for the user are too high; we could cultivate a large number of English Shortsword experts in ten years, but it might not be possible to produce a Fiore master even in thirty years.

And even if we do raise a Fiore master after thirty years, do you plan to send such a person, now old with strength and speed in decline, to a duel?”