A Life of Attributes Starting as a Nobleman in the Republic of China Era

Chen Che twirled his staff behind his back and asked, "Oh? What's wrong, Third Brother?"

"Young Master used to practice stance training and unarmed combat skills, which can be strengthened and improved through actual combat," Chen San said with his hands behind his back.

"But when practicing with weapons, the first thing to do is to make the weapon an extension of your body. If you rely solely on actual combat training, you will inevitably encounter various blind spots."

"Young Master." Chen San pulled out the short blade he never parted with from his waist. "Use 'Staff Two' to attack me."

Chen Che nodded, stepped forward, raised his tactical baton high, and a cold light poured down on Chen San's head, as if the air itself had been torn in two.

Without even looking, Chen San swung his sword to meet the attack.

The pitch-black staff crashed down, leaving a trail of afterimages as it tore through the air, just as a gleaming blade of light shot upwards like a venomous snake. Black and white, one above and one below, clashed violently in mid-air.

"Clang!!" A deafening clang of metal clashing rang out as Chen Che's tactical baton slipped from his hand, tumbling through the air before landing some distance below the arena.

"Young Master, my apologies." Chen San cupped his hands in apology and tried to climb off the stage to retrieve his tactical baton.

Chen Che sidestepped and jumped off the stage before Chen San: "Third Brother, if you really care about me, then from now on, there should be no master-servant distinction between us on the stage."

Chen Che picked up the tactical baton and returned to the ring, where a shallow chip appeared on the steel-forged baton.

"The key to our relationship, young master and I, is 'blood exchange,' and young master is exceptionally talented, with strength and speed surpassing mine," Chen San said. "However, your control over weapons is only at the beginner level."

"I understand what you mean." Chen Che nodded. "Then how should I practice?"

"Swing," Chen San said in a deep voice, "Simple and repetitive swings, from various angles, making the weapon an extension of the wrist."

Chen Che looked thoughtfully at the shallow notch on the stick, his fingertips gently tracing the crack in the metal.

"Swing." He repeated the word, then suddenly laughed. "Third Brother, do you mean I should practice on the wooden dummy for hours on end like those junior disciples who've just started?"

"Yes," Chen San replied succinctly and directly. "Young Master has exceptional talent, breaking through the 'Blood Exchange' stage in just three months. However, the lack of fundamental skills still needs to be addressed."

"This is not only a weapon, but it will also greatly benefit the young master's future martial arts progress."

Chen Che was silent for a moment, then asked, "Shall I begin now?"

"Let's begin."

Chen Che swung his tactical baton a few times in the air, then suddenly asked, "Third Brother, how long did you practice with the short sword back then?"

Chen San rarely showed a smile: "Three years." He then added, "Back then, I was just doing it foolishly, and the key was only in 'skin training.' Young Master definitely won't need that long now."

"Three years..." Chen Che took a deep breath, his feet shoulder-width apart, left hand holding a bow and right hand holding an arrow, each hand holding a tactical stick.

Chen San stepped back a few paces, stood with his sword in his arms, and calmly watched the sweating boy.

Thrust, chop, sweep, and flick – these are the four basic movements.

The stick flashed repeatedly, and returning to the ready position seemed not difficult.

By the fiftieth repetition, breathing began to become disconnected from the movements, and the strike, which should have been executed in one smooth motion, became slightly delayed.

"Slow down," Chen San's voice suddenly rang out.

Chen Che paused slightly, fine beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. He took a deep breath and slowed his movements.

The fifty-first time.

This time, the trajectory of the stick's movement was clearly visible. It no longer pursued the momentum of tearing through the air, but rather made every inch of movement perfectly coordinate the muscles and breathing.

Night fell. The top floor of the Peace Hotel remained brightly lit.

The 137th time.

Chen Che's shirt was soaked through, clinging to his back and outlining the undulating lines of his exertion. Beads of sweat slid down his brow bone and into his eyes, stinging painfully, but he didn't have time to wipe them away.

The three hundredth time.

Chen Che entered a state of flow. His eyes were only on the swirling shadows of the staff in front of him, and his ears were only on the faint whistling sound of the staff cutting through the air.

a bit.

Another one.

One more time.

When he reached the five hundredth blow, he suddenly realized that his body seemed to have "remembered" something.

An indescribable tacit understanding. The tactical baton was no longer an inanimate object held in his hand; it began to respond to Chen Che's movements.

With each swing, the force travels from his waist and abdomen to his shoulders and back, flows down his arms to his wrists, and finally surges into the shaft of the stick. At that moment, he can vaguely feel the tip of the stick trembling slightly, as if telling him: this strike is off by three points, the next strike should be pulled back to the left.

Almost a thousand times.

My arms were numb. After my muscles were exhausted to the extreme, my movements became a simple, mechanical repetition, with each movement supported only by inertia.

Chen Che's vision began to blur.

Only the sound of the stick cutting through the air is real.

whistling.

pause.

It roared again.

Five hours passed, and the sky began to lighten with the first light of dawn.

A thousand swings.

Chen San walked to the center of the arena and stood three feet in front of Chen Che.

"Young Master, take a rest." He was deeply proud of Chen Che. "We'll practice again tomorrow."

Chen Che's stick stopped in mid-air.

He snapped out of his strange concentration.

His hands, gripping the stick, trembled violently, and the area between his thumb and forefinger turned bluish-purple. He looked down at his hands as if he were seeing them for the first time.

He smiled, and as his lips twitched, even more beads of sweat appeared. "We'll continue practicing tomorrow."

......

Martial artists don't need much sleep, especially since Chen Che had already broken through the "blood exchange" barrier. He woke up at eight in the morning, having only slept for two or three hours.

He had an incredibly vivid dream in which he was sweating profusely as he practiced the basics of double sticks, and he didn't know how many times he swung them in the air.

When he woke up, Chen Che stared blankly at the pair of tactical telescopic batons placed next to his pillow, feeling as if he were looking at a friend of many years.

However, when I opened the system panel, there was still no entry for the "Nameless Staff Technique".

Chen San said he had practiced his swordsmanship for three years to become proficient.

His [Enlightenment] talent can increase the speed at which skill proficiency increases by 30%.

Moreover, the Nameless Staff Technique is a self-created martial art based on the Wind God Guiding Technique. Since you already have the foundation of the Wind God Guiding Technique, you should be able to learn it more efficiently.

In addition, his own attribute panel shows advantages in health, speed, stamina, and spirit, giving him a comprehensive advantage.

Chen Che hopes to master the [Nameless Stick Technique] to a "slightly proficient" level within a week.

More importantly, Chen Che's current stance training and skill techniques are both at a maximum intensity of 5 stars.

The Nameless Staff Technique is a self-created martial art, and it's so difficult to learn. Could it be even stronger than the Wind God's Guidance? Chen Che's heart was filled with anticipation.

"Ring ring, ring ring." The telephone in the living room rang.