Fighting in the Woods

[You successfully completed a Basic Swordsmanship training session and gained 2 experience points.]

[Basic Swordsmanship has reached max level.]

Roland wiped the sweat from his forehead and stared at the words floating before him, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

Unlike Forging Skill, which required level three to reach its limit, perhaps Basic Swordsmanship was simply too rudimentary, and thus capped at level two.

With the boost from the [Battle Readiness] trait, a single day of grueling practice had brought him to the pinnacle of this skill.

"Though it's maxed out, it's still only the most basic swordsmanship."

Roland lightly swung his wooden sword, feeling the changes brought by max-level Basic Swordsmanship.

"With my current skill, I'm probably only a little better than militiamen who've received basic training. Still, at least I can defend myself now."

Just as he was immersed in the realization brought by his breakthrough in swordsmanship, heavy footsteps sounded behind him.

When he turned around, Sean was approaching with two gray coarse-cloth robes and two sheathed iron swords in his arms.

"Buddy! I got everything just like you asked!"

After taking them, Roland swiftly pulled on a robe and hung the iron sword at his waist.

The wide hem perfectly concealed the outline of the weapon, which was exactly the effect he wanted.

This village near Black Fir Forest was a mixed bag, and mercenaries drawn by money often passed through.

An iron sword worth a considerable sum was enough to make desperate men take risks.

Wrapping it in coarse cloth before had ultimately been too unsafe. This ordinary-looking outfit now allowed him to draw his weapon at any time without inviting unnecessary trouble.

"Did you say goodbye to your family?"

"I told my father, but Uncle Peyton still hasn't returned. Though that's normal. He often doesn't come home at night."

The two chatted as they walked along the village road, soon leaving the village behind.

Winter sunlight filtered through bare branches, casting mottled shadows across the muddy path.

Not far behind them, a figure quietly emerged.

"Looks like it's him."

Sam narrowed his eyes and repeatedly compared the portrait to the boy's profile ahead before instinctively touching the money pouch at his waist.

"As long as I finish this job, together with the savings I've built up over the years, it should be enough to buy the herbs I need. Then..."

At that thought, his breathing quickened involuntarily as he slowly followed after them.

On the tree-lined path leading to the Baron's Manor, Sean enthusiastically spoke of all his plans after enlisting, while Roland responded now and then as he silently considered his own plans.

"Since Basic Swordsmanship has already been trained to its limit, perhaps I should consider learning other skills."

"But learning at the Training Ground costs far too much. Even if I pass the assessment and become a Blacksmith Apprentice, it'll be difficult to save that many coins in a short time."

He rubbed the sword hilt, feeling somewhat regretful.

"Unfortunately, learning from Peyton costs five silver coins, and I don't have that much money right now. As for forging more weapons to give away... Mister Hawk probably won't agree."

"And I can't neglect Strength Training either. I need to hurry up with transferring to Blacksmith..."

As he pondered this, Roland's ears twitched slightly.

The crisp snap of a dead branch suddenly came from behind them.

Apart from their regular footsteps, there was clearly a third set of footsteps, deliberately softened.

Pretending to adjust his collar, he used the moment he turned to glance back from the corner of his eye.

A tall figure was following them unhurriedly about twenty paces behind.

"Sean."

Roland suddenly pressed a hand onto his companion's shoulder, lowering his voice to cut off his endless chatter.

"I think someone's following us."

Sean reflexively started to turn around, but Roland grabbed his wrist.

"Don't look back."

Sean could only stare stiffly ahead, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief.

"You're too nervous, buddy. There are always plenty of people on this road."

Roland quickened his pace without changing expression, his lips barely moving.

"Listen. Just in case, we'll do this."

After a brief, hurried whisper, the two suddenly sped up. With a turn, they slipped into the dense woods beside the road.

Sam, following from afar, froze briefly before quickly catching up.

As he pushed aside the tangled branches, a voice suddenly sounded beside his ear.

"Sir, are you following us?"

Roland stared intently at the lanky man before him, his brow gradually furrowing.

He seemed to have seen this face somewhere before.

"You actually noticed me?"

Sam grinned, not the least bit flustered.

"Pretty alert for a brat."

He casually brushed the bits of leaves from his clothes, speaking as lightly as if discussing the weather.

"Since you've found me out, I'll be straight with you. Someone paid for one of your arms."

Sam drew the two rusted daggers from his waist, twirling them constantly between his fingers.

"Will you do it yourself, or should I do it for you?"

In that instant, Roland had a rough idea of who was behind this.

After all, since arriving in this world, he had never made enemies with anyone but Marco.

"Accept your fate. It's only an arm. It's not like it'll kill you."

Seeing Roland standing rigidly in place, Sam could not help but sneer.

"Clever enough, perhaps, but he's still just a scared little brat. This job really is easy."

Thinking this, he slowly pressed forward.

At that moment, Roland suddenly shouted.

"Sean!"

The instant Sam's ears caught that shout, he felt a chill rise behind his head.

The instincts he had honed through years of bloody combat made him roll sharply to the side.

"Bang!"

An iron sword crashed down where he had been standing moments ago, sending grass clippings flying.

"Damn it!"

Sam spat, his pupils shrinking.

"These two brats actually have weapons!"

Ignoring the shock on the man's face, Sean struck first, gripping his sword with both hands and swinging it down like a Battle Axe.

Sam immediately raised his daggers to block.

In the next instant, a fierce numbness shot through the web between his thumb and forefinger.

"Not bad strength, but unfortunately..."

The mercenary sneered, preparing to sidestep away.

"With such wild, unstructured chopping, you wouldn't last three breaths on a battlefield!"

At that very moment, a flash of cold light entered the corner of his eye.

"Slash!"

Roland's blade flashed as it struck suddenly from the side, instantly carving a sizable wound into Sam's right arm.

"You little bastard!"

Blinding pain made the viciousness in Sam's eyes surge. He spun and kicked backward fiercely, forcing Roland away before his dagger darted toward Sean's wrist like a venomous snake.

Sean hurriedly drew back his sword to block, but Sam suddenly twisted his wrist and trapped the iron sword.

With a vicious knee strike, Sean grunted and dropped to his knees, his iron sword flying from his hand and burying itself in the rotting leaves.

"Your turn, smart guy."

Sam shook his bleeding arm, the stabbing pain making his temples throb.

In that lightning-fast instant, Roland's sword tip was already three inches from his brow.

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

A string of sparks burst through the forest.

Strange. This man's strength seems about the same as mine?

Even as he thought this, Roland's movements did not pause in the slightest. Every strike precisely targeted vital points like the throat and heart.

How is this brat's swordsmanship so skilled?

The more Sam fought, the more shocked he became.

Blood continuously poured from the wound on his right arm with every clash, while his daggers groaned under the iron sword's pressure, forcing him back again and again.

"Damn it."

Blood loss caused the edges of Sam's vision to darken. When his back slammed into an oak tree, he finally erupted in fury.

"I have to end this quickly!"

With that thought, he deliberately revealed an opening.

When Roland thrust his sword straight at him, Sam suddenly lunged forward.

His dagger became a flash of cold light, aimed straight at the boy's heart.

"Clang!"

At the crisp sound, Sam's eyes widened.

The dagger tip had struck hard metal.

But warm liquid was pouring from his throat.

"You..."

Sam clutched his spurting throat and fell to his knees, struggling to look at the boy before him.

The smell of damp earth suddenly became overwhelming.

He remembered the first wild wolf he had hunted in the forest of his homeland twenty years ago.

That beast's eyes had been just like Roland's pupils now—black and gleaming.