The wondering man and the fighter

So
There once was a wondering soldier who would fight any battle for gold.
He would scour the lands looking for any fight that could earn him even the smallest gold piece.
He fought with a 9 inch dagger forged with ice cold steel and a hilt made out of heaven-oak said to have fallen out of the sky on the summer zenith.
He was good at his job and he knew it.
A solitary man who knew his own way.
He carved his path through history not knowing his age or his destiny.
Never thinking about what came next because he never knew nor cared.
Through the ages he got better and wiser without realising and without putting any practice into his thought.
Just by experiencing he became a scholar so learned that others would come to him with questions for him to reply always with something like this “As a rock experiences it’s defeat, it becomes smaller. But as it rolls down a hill it brings much force, When it travels a kilometer it meets many friends and when it becomes composed so will everything else.”
One day a young woman was searching for a wooden staff to practice a new fighting style that a foreigner had been teaching her neighbours.
She was always listening in and she loved it all but never got the chance to fight because she didnt have the tool!
So wondering along the great forest with her little dog she stumbled upon the old wise man walking towards the town carring his dagger ready for a new job.
Awed at such a unique weapon she asked “where did you get that dagger!?”surprised at such an uncouth question the wise man simply said “a friend”
“Oh” replied the woman “can i meet your friend?”
“He’s far away” said the wise man
“I’d still like to meet him”
“Well you have met me”
“So? You’re just an old man with a dagger”
“Is that all you see?” Said the man
“Its not what I want to see” said the woman “I’m looking for a great wooden branch to create a staff”
“What’s wrong with that one?” Said the man pointing at the closest sturdiest branch”
It was about 5 foot long and a little bit bent.
The girl; annoyed said “does that look like a great branch to you?”
“No but its not the weapon the fighter holds its how the fighter holds it.”
“You are looking for trouble old man” replied the fighter.
“Precisely so” said the man “but not your kind of trouble.
If you find a better branch let me know. But I think that would do the trick”
The girl frustrated at the old mans arrogance climbed up the tree and cut the branch down, as it fell she shouted “You better run, I’m going to beat you with your favourite stick.”
Amused the man scoffed “I have not run from anything in my life, let alone a novice with a stick”
The fighter screamed and jumped out of the tree, grabbing the stick as she rolled out of the fall.
Swinging it as soon as she gained her stance.
The wanderer simply parried with his tiny dagger.
And she swung and he parried over and over again. Till eventually, the fighter covered with nicks, bleeding all over and with arms as heavy as lead conceded.
The wanderer amused accepted her defeat but on his terms.
“One gold piece” he said.
“I have none but these clothes and my dog.” Said the fighter.
“That’s not true” replied the wanderer “you have that beautiful staff”
It seemed the brilliant properties of the wandering mans dagger had shaped the fighters branch into a smooth almost translucent staff that seemed to resonate fire.
” I want you to go into the nearest village with me and earn that gold piece”
The fighter agreed leaving any doubt behind of the old mans clarity.
The end

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