The Bathhouse Attendant Who Gave You a New Lease on Life

He stared at the pale blue screen before him as if it were a talking potato freshly dug out of the ground.

"Attribute Panel..." Xia Lin rolled the words around in his mouth, feeling that familiar swelling ache in his head stir again.

This thing seemed far more mentally taxing than [Item Appraisal].

He tried to focus and silently recited, "Basic Swordsmanship."

The screen flickered faintly, and more detailed information appeared behind the line [Basic Swordsmanship 0/100].

[Basic Swordsmanship: lv.0 (0/100). Master basic slashing and thrusting movements. Evaluation: The starting point of all combat techniques. A solid foundation cannot be built without sweat. Work hard, kid.]

Then let's give it a try.

Xia Lin took a deep breath and tried to assume the first basic stance.

He spread his feet slightly wider than shoulder-width apart, left foot forward, toes pointing toward the imaginary enemy ahead.

His right foot was set back and slightly to the right, heel raised a little. His center of gravity leaned forward slightly, stable yet flexible.

He gripped the hilt with both hands and raised the shortsword above his right shoulder. The pommel was near his head, the blade hung naturally downward, and the tip pointed forward and slightly down, like the slanted ridge of a roof.

Old Green called this the "Sun Stance," a high starting stance suited for launching swift, powerful slashes.

He struggled to maintain the posture, feeling the tension in his arms, shoulders, and back muscles.

[Basic Swordsmanship Proficiency +1]

A line of small text flashed across his vision and vanished in an instant.

"Heh, it actually works!" Xia Lin's eyes lit up.

Next, he began practicing thrusts.

Starting from the "Sun Stance," he pushed off with his rear foot, shifted his weight forward, took a small step with his front foot, and fully extended his arms. Keeping his wrists steady, he sent the sword point straight ahead with as little wobble as possible, stabbing into the empty air before him.

Once the movement was complete, he quickly withdrew his arms and feet, returning to a guarded stance.

This movement demanded coordination and proper power transfer. It was far from as simple as it looked.

Xia Lin repeated it over and over. Sometimes he used too much force and made the sword tip wobble; other times, his feet could not keep up with his arms.

[Basic Swordsmanship Proficiency +1]

Then came slashing.

He tried the most basic downward slash from the "Sun Stance."

He twisted his waist and hips, driving his shoulders and arms. The shortsword whistled through the air as it chopped straight down from above, as though splitting the air in front of him apart.

He focused on keeping the blade properly aligned, avoiding any tilt that would scatter the force.

[Basic Swordsmanship Proficiency +1]

He also worked footwork into the practice.

Simple advancing steps, retreating steps, and lateral slides.

He tried to maintain the "Sun Stance" while moving, or immediately transition into a thrust or slash after finishing a step.

His coordination seemed especially clumsy during those dynamic transitions.

The sun slowly climbed into the sky, and the sunlight changed from mild to scorching.

Sweat soaked through the lining of his worn leather armor, sticking clammy against his skin. His muscles felt like rubber bands stretched again and again, sore and ready to snap.

Stance holding, thrusting, slashing, footwork... he practiced those monotonous basics over and over.

[Basic Swordsmanship Proficiency +1]...[Basic Swordsmanship Proficiency +1]...

That prompt appeared in his vision with extreme stinginess, each appearance seeming like a mockery of his sweat.

He gritted his teeth and thrust again and again, slashed again and again, moved his feet again and again.

By the time the sun had wobbled directly overhead and baked even the sparse clouds into listless drifts—

Xia Lin was panting heavily, leaning on his sword and feeling close to collapse.

The number on the screen in his vision had become a pitiful [Basic Swordsmanship lv.0 (5/100)].

"Five points... after practicing all morning?" He wiped the sweat from his face, feeling more exhausted than when he had wrestled rats in the sewers.

After resting briefly and taking a few gulps of the cool water he had brought, he remembered another "ultimate move" Old Green had taught him.

The old man had been drunk at the time, spraying spit as he bragged that he had stolen the technique while serving in some noble lord's guard. It was called "Pommel Greeting."

Simple and brutal: grip the blade in reverse and use the weighted metal ball at the end of the hilt to smash someone in the face, throat, or anywhere else you wanted to hit.

It was specially meant for dealing with those Knight lords dressed in iron cans.

Xia Lin tried turning his wrist and gripping the part of the shortsword's blade near the guard.

He aimed the pommel at a stone half-buried in the dirt before suddenly driving it forward!

"Clang!"

The shock numbed his wrist.

[Attempted skill: Pommel Strike. Failed.]

"Failed?" Xia Lin shook his hand. "Again!"

The sun began to tilt westward. The light was no longer so blinding, but the air remained stiflingly hot.

The only sound left on the wasteland was him struggling against that stone.

"Clang!" [Attempted skill: Pommel Strike. Failed.]

"Clang!" "Clang!" "Clang!"...

He tirelessly repeated the motion, adjusting his force and angle as the rough blade rubbed his palms raw.

Not until the setting sun had nearly disappeared beneath the horizon, staining the clouds at the edge of the sky a dirty orange-red—

"Clang!"

This time, the sound was much crisper, and the force felt more focused.

[Skill mastered: Pommel Strike lv.0 (0/50)]

[Pommel Strike: A close-range ambush or counterattack technique. Catch the enemy off guard for exceptional results. Evaluation: Sometimes, stabbing someone from a different angle brings unexpected surprises. Friendly reminder: Be careful not to shatter your own hand.]

"Got it!" Xia Lin grinned. Though every joint in his body was protesting, the heaviness brought by burying his companions seemed to have been washed away a little by his sweat.

This was the first step.

He sheathed his shortsword and dragged his leaden legs toward the dusty gray outline of Changhe City.

At the city gate, dim magic lamps had just been lit, driving away the gathering dusk.

The guards yawned, paying no attention to those entering or leaving.

Just as he turned into a familiar street, an irritating voice rang out again.

"Well, well? Isn't this young master Toremo? Which garbage heap did you crawl out of?"

It was still that man with the little mustache. Leaning against the wall with his arms folded and some unknown blade of grass hanging from his mouth, he looked Xia Lin over with a smug, careless expression.

Two lackeys stood beside him, letting out snickers on cue.

The mustached man spat out the grass and stepped closer, his calculating eyes sweeping over Xia Lin's mud-covered, exhausted body.

"What? Didn't find any 'big' trash today? Tsk, look at you. Did someone beat you up, or did you fall into a cesspit?"

Xia Lin stopped walking.

He said nothing, merely stared at the mustached man's face, which was practically written with gloating delight.

Seeing that he did not respond, the mustached man assumed he was as cowardly as before and grew even more arrogant.

"No money for food? Want to come lick my boots? Maybe if I'm happy, I'll reward you with..."

He did not get to finish.

Xia Lin moved.

He leaned forward and took a step. His right hand seized the hilt like lightning, and his wrist twisted!

He did not draw the sword. Instead, he swung the heavy metal pommel backward, smashing it precisely into the mustached man's endlessly babbling mouth!

"Thud!"

A dull impact rang out, accompanied by the faint crunch of breaking teeth and a short cry of pain.

The mustached man toppled backward like a sack of rags, landing on the ground with a thump. He clutched his blood-filled mouth, his eyes bulging like those of a dead fish.

The two lackeys recoiled in fright, not daring to make a sound.

Xia Lin looked down at the curled-up mustached man. His voice was calm, but it carried a chill.

"Today, there's only one piece of trash."

With that, he did not spare the waste on the ground another glance. He turned and continued onward.

Sweat, mud, and the faint scent of blood from just now clung together on his body, making him desperately need a thorough wash.

He turned toward the south of the city, where Changhe City's oldest and cheapest public bathhouse stood.

At the bathhouse entrance, an elderly woman with a wrinkled face and a long pipe in her mouth leaned against the doorframe, squinting at the passersby.

When Xia Lin, reeking as though he had just crawled out of a pile of trouble, entered her sight, the corners of her slack mouth lifted as if something had amused her.

She removed her pipe and pointed at Xia Lin with tobacco-yellowed fingers. Her voice carried the teasing familiarity of an old acquaintance. "Oh! Isn't this the young master of House Toremo? What, you finally remembered this old woman today? Tired of those 'high-class' places in the city, with flower petals scattered around and incense burning?"

Xia Lin stopped in front of her, forcing a somewhat stiff smile onto his tired face. The hollow arrogance he had once carried was gone.

"Don't make fun of me, Granny Prin."

From the bloodstained burlap Space Bag in his clothes, he pulled out a silver coin and tossed it directly to the old woman.

The coin traced a small arc through the air before Granny Prin caught it steadily with her withered yet surprisingly nimble fingers.

"Ho, a silver coin?" Granny Prin weighed it in her hand, the wrinkles on her face deepening with her smile. "Looks like young master has been doing well lately?"

Xia Lin waved a hand and stepped through the hanging curtain that gave off steam and the smell of sulfur soap.

"I want the best private room, the hottest water, and the full service." He paused, his voice low but clear. "This time, the proper kind."