“Looking is not the same as seeing, dead girl.
Sight, true sight, that is the essence of swordsmanship.”
– A Game of Thrones
***
The midday heat settled over the deck of the Black Betha, warming the planks beneath their feet and making the air shimmer.
Somewhere overhead the sails snapped in the wind, their thunderous flapping competing with the crash of the waves.
Arthur scarcely noticed any of it.
All his attention was fixed upon the wooden sword in his hands and the figure standing opposite him.
The second boatswain was more than a sailor.
Ray was a seasoned sellsword who had survived dozens of fights.
He moved smoothly, without wasted effort, as though he were dancing, and beneath that effortless grace lurked hidden strength.
Patience gleamed in his eyes, though there was amusement there as well.
He already knew how Arthur’s latest attempt would end.
Just as he knew every mistake the boy would make.
“Relax your hand…
not like that!” Ray suddenly barked.
In the next instant, the wooden sword flew from Arthur’s grip and clattered across the deck.
The boy stared blankly at his empty palm.
He had barely felt the weapon slipping from his fingers.
Ray sighed, shook his head, and bent down to retrieve the sword.
“Remember this.
The hilt is held between the four fingers of your right hand and the palm.
The thumb rests over the forefinger, or braces against the grip beneath the guard.”
He placed the sword back into Arthur’s hand, adjusting the boy’s grip with his own fingers and showing him the proper hold.
“When turning the blade, the sword rests in a ring formed by your thumb and forefinger.
Tighten your hand only at the moment of attack or defense.”
Ray stepped back and gestured for Arthur to repeat the movement.
“There.
Better already.”
Frowning in concentration, the cabin boy performed several simple strikes.
The weapon sat more comfortably in his hand now.
It no longer felt heavy and awkward.
Mattos had tried explaining it before, but Arthur had never truly understood.
The veteran mercenary explained it far better.
And demonstrated it far better.
“Now let’s try again.”
Ray raised his own practice sword and settled into a stance.
“Attack.”
Arthur lunged forward with a quick thrust.
Ray easily knocked it aside, but this time their blades did not immediately separate.
Arthur maintained his grip and followed with a second strike.
Wood cracked against wood.
Then a third blow.
A fourth.
Something shifted in Ray’s expression.
“Now that’s something…” he muttered as he dodged and parried.
Arthur’s strikes carried surprising force.
Yesterday the boy’s blows had barely been noticeable to the aging, though still sturdy, sailor.
Today…
Ray abruptly changed tactics and feigned a retreat, testing the boy’s reaction.
Without hesitation Arthur pressed forward, delivering a powerful overhead strike.
Ray parried.
Then suddenly felt his sword shudder beneath the impact, nearly torn from his grasp.
The boatswain let out a startled grunt as he deflected the blow.
Immediately afterward he put real strength behind his own strike, forcing Arthur back a step.
The boy winced.
Pain shot through his arm.
“Hold on, hold on…” Ray examined the cabin boy as though seeing him for the first time.
“What, did you spend the whole night rowing a galley by yourself?”
Still trying to catch his breath, Arthur merely shrugged.
After their first lesson, his new teacher had repeated so many times that Arthur lacked weight and strength in his strikes that, before going to sleep, the boy had spent a long while staring at the floating symbols.
Just as before, he had wished to improve his strength.
Fortunately, he had been given the chance.
Free Attribute Points: 1.
Allocate…
The message, just as it had in the cell, allowed him to grow stronger overnight.
Only now, unlike before, Arthur was certain of one thing.
This sorcery did not appear without reason.
It emerged whenever he killed someone.
It was certainly no gift of the Seven.
[ Name: Arthur Snow
Level: 3
Physical Strength: 3
Dexterity: 3
Health: 91/100
Intelligence: 2
Endurance: 3
Magic: 70/100
Magical Power: 1
Luck: 2 ]
Ray thoughtfully tapped the sword against his palm.
“Seven hells…
either you learn incredibly fast, or you’ve been fooling poor Ray.
Last time your strikes were softer than a maiden’s.
Now…” He snorted.
“Now you’d pass for a drunken sailor.”
Arthur offered only a strained smile.
“I was tired yesterday.
I train a lot, actually.”
The boatswain narrowed his eyes skeptically but asked no further questions.
Instead, he resumed his stance.
“Well then, I’ll have to work you harder.
Since we’ve got such a talent on our hands.” He grinned.
“Get ready.
Now we’ll teach you how real fighting works.”
The lesson continued, though the mood had changed.
Ray no longer held back, testing how far the boy could go.
With every exchange Arthur felt his muscles tightening.
Sweat trickled down his temples.
Ray moved swiftly, with the grace of a hunting cat.
His wooden sword hissed through the air like a bird of prey diving for the kill.
True, he still exposed openings deliberately, allowing the boy opportunities to strike.
But now he had to parry those strikes seriously.
“All right, cabin boy.
Listen carefully!”
Ray knocked aside another attack, one far more confident than before.
“If you want to weaken a blow, meet it close.”
He stepped forward sharply.
Instantly Arthur’s attempt at a block became nearly useless.
The boatswain effortlessly swept the boy’s weapon aside, broke through his guard, and lightly tapped him in the ribs, demonstrating just how vulnerable such a position was.
“The farther away your opponent’s weapon is, the faster the tip moves and the harder it hits.
Catch it near the hilt and the strike loses power.
So don’t always retreat.”
Arthur nodded, committing the lesson to memory.
Instead of waiting, Arthur stepped forward and intercepted the strike closer to the man’s wrist.
This time Ray could not simply brush aside the defense.
His attack died before it properly began.
“That’s it,” the boatswain said with a nod.
“Now for the next lesson.”
He opened the distance and stood casually, twirling the sword in one hand.
“Fight me, not the sword in my hand.”
His voice grew harder.
“Today you’re lucky.
It won’t always be so.
Most beginners make the same mistake.
They watch the enemy’s weapon instead of the man holding it.”
“But it’s the sword that kills, not the man,” Arthur objected.
Ray burst into laughter.
He raised his left hand suddenly, drawing Arthur’s attention.
Then, without warning, swung toward the boy’s chest.
Arthur barely managed to bring up his sword.
He would have earned a nasty bruise had Ray not stopped the practice blade an inch from his chest.
“Oh, is that so?” the man asked mockingly.
“Then why didn’t you react?”
Arthur froze.
He realized he truly had been watching the sword instead of the movements of his opponent’s body.
Distracted by the raised hand, he had been unable to respond in time.
“If you’d been watching my whole body instead of just the blade or my hands, you’d have seen it coming,” Ray continued, lowering the weapon.
“Shoulders, hips, stance.
All of it reveals intent.
Sometimes a man makes a false attack or distracts you, while the real strike comes from elsewhere.
Don’t fall for it.”
Arthur took a deep breath.
“All right.”
“And one last thing.”
Ray’s voice turned stern.
“In a real fight, don’t think about looking impressive.
Don’t think about parrying if you have another choice.
This isn’t a tourney where ladies wait to admire pretty swordplay.
Your strength lies in speed and surprise.”
He thrust suddenly.
Remembering the lesson, Arthur did not block.
Instead he sprang backward, then immediately closed the distance and counterattacked.
Ray barely deflected the blow.
His eyebrows rose in surprise.
“That’s it.” He grinned.
“You’re beginning to understand.”
They exchanged several more strikes before the mercenary abruptly raised a hand.
“Enough for today.”
He tossed the practice sword toward the boy while studying him carefully.
In Ray’s opinion, Arthur was progressing far faster than expected, absorbing every lesson with startling speed.
“Now practice your figure eights, the way I taught you.”
Arthur reached for the wooden sword.
The boatswain smacked him lightly on the back of the head.
“Not with that stick, you fool.
With your own weapon.”
A/N:
While everyone else is waiting for updates, com / Captain_Lag (remove the spaces)