Dreaming: Swordsmanship Proficiency

The salty sea breeze roused Xia Lun.

He opened his eyes. Golden sunlight outside the cabin stung them, and it took him a moment to shake off his daze and climb out of bed.

"It's noon. Two hours until we negotiate with the monster." He glanced at the wall clock and spoke silently to himself.

During that brief sleep, he hadn't entered a lucid dream. He had simply slept soundly and recovered his energy.

Now he felt full of energy from head to toe. The exhaustion left by desperate combat and one tense exchange after another had vanished like steam in the warm sunlight.

It might have seemed counterintuitive, but after staying up all night, a short nap could be more refreshing than a long sleep.

"Time to get moving." He took a deep breath, picked up the Short Sword and flintlock pistol beside the table, and strode out of the room.

It was midday. Sweltering sunlight filtered through the clouds onto the deck, as if to ferment the slowly rotting bodies in the seawater.

Tiny flies buzzed around the corpses like a cloud that could not be driven away.

"Ah, the second sacrifice is about to begin." The Doctor stood in the shade, mumbling to himself. His voice was muffled, as though he were swallowing saliva. "Ah, rotting offerings. What will happen this time? Heh heh heh..."

Xia Lun slowly surveyed the crowd. Beneath the oppressive sun, tension and worry grew in the silence.

Geliide puffed on her Pipe again and again, while the Priest gripped the Holy Emblem and prayed under his breath. Only the old man still wore the same gloomy expression.

"Don't worry. No one will die." As Xia Lun reassured them, he grabbed a corpse that had begun to rot and tossed it straight through the cargo hatch.

The body dropped stiffly into the dark hold like a broken doll. About a second later, a sickening thud came from below.

Thud.

The dull sound rang like a church bell. Soon, the wet smack of writhing flesh sounded again.

Without hesitating, Xia Lun grabbed a second corpse and threw it down.

His back felt sticky. He couldn't tell whether he was sweating from the heat or from nerves.

Rationally, Xia Lun knew the monster was unlikely to overturn their arrangement over a subtle attempt to push its limits. But now that he was putting the strategy into practice, he couldn't help feeling worried.

His heartbeat quickened.

Thump-thump... Thump-thump...

Perhaps a long time passed, or perhaps only an instant. The monster's black tentacle slowly emerged from the cargo hatch.

"Fresh corpses. Good." The monster's screech came from the dark hold. "Agreement fulfilled. Payment."

Fresh corpses? These are practically rotten.

Xia Lun's eyes shot up in astonishment.

As his thoughts raced, he suddenly realized something.

Maybe this monster can't tell fresh corpses from rotten ones at all!

And it doesn't want the corpses to eat them!

"Treasure. White Bird Beach. Cliffs," the monster rasped in fits and starts. "A cave in the cliffs. Palm tree beside it. Treasure inside!"

"How much money is in there?" Xia Lun asked, feigning eagerness. "Enough for all of us to share?"

At Xia Lun's question, the monster seemed to chuckle.

"More corpses, more information," it rasped in a low voice. "More dead, fewer to share treasure. You, me, alliance. Those who share treasure, enemies, food."

Xia Lun's expression did not change, but his heart sank.

If the monster did not eat corpses, then, given what it had just said so bluntly, its reason for demanding fresh bodies was clear.

It wanted corpses to reduce the number of survivors and sow division among those who remained. Its ultimate goal was to kill them all!

In other words, the monster had never intended to negotiate. The negotiations were merely a way to divide the survivors.

Its plan from the start had been to play along until they neared Perilous Earth Island, then turn on them and start killing.

I need to keep it calm for now. Xia Lun narrowed his eyes.

Thinking quickly, he smiled. "We need enough hands to sail the ship. We're still at least three days from Perilous Earth Island. It's too early to show our cards."

"Yes. Too early to show our cards," the monster rasped. "Keep raising the stakes. Agreement stands. Tomorrow, two pieces of fresh meat. Continue..."

With that, the monster's tentacle slipped back into the dark hold. A few seconds later, the sea breeze had dispersed the stench of rot on deck. The last trace of the dead was gone.

As the monster retreated into the hold, Xia Lun's smile vanished.

A powerful sense of urgency welled up in him.

The Anti-Monster Alliance was growing stronger by the day, and so was he. But the monster's words and actions today showed that it, too, was preparing to turn on them. While he made his plans, the enemy had not been idle.

When both sides were acting in secret, the side that used its time better would have the greater chance of winning.

He had made every arrangement he could. The only thing he could still change was his own strength.

There was no time to waste. He had to enter the dream at once and grow stronger!

With that in mind, Xia Lun spoke briefly to Captain Geliide, then hurried back to the Poop Deck, lay down in his hammock, and went back to sleep.

A few minutes later, amid a hazy sensation of falling, he entered the lucid dream once more.

As the familiar violin rondo played, Xia Lun opened his eyes.

He had returned to that narrow, illusory, indistinct space. This time, however, he saw none of the shadowy fruits of various colors. Only two golden fruits hung nearby.

[Swordsmanship, available recollections: 2/3]

[Comprehensive Navigation, available recollections: 1/3]

[Notice: You must use both remaining recollections before selecting a new one.]

Without hesitation, Xia Lun focused on what lay before him. In an instant, the outlines of the two fruits twisted, and the gold within them spread across his vision like spilled ink.

Through the haze, the writhing outlines became a pitch-black figure against the gold. The figure stood tall and wore tidy clothes, but held a Short Sword in his hand.

"Swordsmanship is like dancing, children," the figure said. "Remember that."

As he spoke, he raised his sword. When the blade rose, a crowd of small figures appeared out of thin air, spreading like drops of ink in clear water.

The small figures surrounded the tall one in rows, like students gathered for a lesson.

Xia Lun counted them. There were thirty-two.

"Now, begin sparring. I'll explain the problems I see."

The figure with the sword swung it sharply. The next instant, a small figure holding a sword stood opposite Xia Lun.

The small figure raised his sword in one hand, touched its spine to his forehead, and gave a duelist's salute.

Then he set his right foot half a step forward, planted his feet in a firm T-shaped stance, and extended his arm slightly. His sword point reached toward Xia Lun's eyes: a textbook long-point guard.

A duel? That stance looks professional. Why would the First Mate have a memory like this? Xia Lun hesitated.

"Stop daydreaming. Your mother sent you here to learn Swordsmanship, not to stand around lost in thought," the tall figure scolded. "Focus. Swordsmanship is an extension of your mind. Attack your opponent."

At the figure's words, a wooden training sword appeared in Xia Lun's hand.

He gave it a casual flourish to feel its balance, then saluted his opponent.

"The most important thing in dancing is keeping the rhythm," the tall figure said lightly as he watched. "The basic unit of rhythm is the beat. Swordsmanship works the same way."

The next instant, Xia Lun lunged forward, driving his blade straight at his opponent's face!

The wooden blade cut through the air with a brief, muffled whoosh. The young swordsman clearly failed to react. At the last moment before impact, Xia Lun turned his wrist, changed the thrust into a slap, and struck his opponent's forehead with the spine of the sword!

Smack!

After landing the blow, Xia Lun immediately pulled his sword back and stepped away to guard against a counterattack.

"A perfect attack," the figure praised. "That was one beat. Within a single beat, your footwork, body, and blade must move together."

"If you lose the beat while dancing, you step on someone's foot. If you lose it in a sword fight, you get gutted. In a real fight, you would already be dead."

"Continue!"

At the tall figure's command, Xia Lun's vision blurred. Another opponent stood before him.

This time, Xia Lun did not hesitate. After saluting, he struck at the hand holding the sword and landed the blow.

"Caution is essential in a sword fight," the figure praised him again. "Remember, the purpose of Swordsmanship is to subdue your opponent while keeping yourself safe. Cutting his throat and severing his fingers can both accomplish that."

And so, through round after round of sparring, Xia Lun honed his Swordsmanship.

Unlike his previous visit to the dream, he barely felt it correcting his movements or muscles this time.

With Reflexive Evasion and his existing Swordsmanship experience, Xia Lun was practically unbeatable in these bouts. His opponents were clearly young apprentices. They could not touch him, while striking them was as easy as drinking water.

But Xia Lun did not grow arrogant. Patient as ever, he used the opportunity to work through the mechanics of his stance and strikes.

In the dream, he needed neither sleep nor food, and even injuries healed in an instant. He devoted himself entirely to training.

As the sword fights continued, the apprentice swordsmen grew taller, and their skills gradually improved.

Little by little, Xia Lun began to feel some pressure. Their attacks grew fiercer, and their control of distance grew more precise.

At first, he managed to maintain his winning streak, though only with difficulty, thanks to Reflexive Evasion and his foundation in Swordsmanship. But in the 120th round, an opponent narrowly beat him with a strike at his hand.

The fights only grew harder after that. His opponents even began using tactics and strategy. Some pretended to be losing to lure Xia Lun closer. From the 480th round onward, things became more outrageous still.

"An ordinary swordsman attacks when he attacks and parries when he parries. A truly skilled swordsman can combine the two," the tall figure instructed. "Swing the right sword at the right place, at the right angle, at the right time, and you can parry as you attack!"

"The first move is Glancing Strike."

Following the tall figure's instruction, Xia Lun's opponent for that round gave him a slight salute, then suddenly lunged, thrusting straight at his chest.

After hundreds of sword fights, Xia Lun's response was ingrained in his muscles. He drew back half a step, flicked his wrist, and cut straight down at his opponent's face.

Under normal circumstances, he would have won. His opponent's attack was too rigid and predictable. But the next instant, something absurd happened.

The usually clumsy opponent suddenly turned sideways and slid off the center line. At the same time, he reversed his grip on the hilt and lifted it sharply. Before Xia Lun could react, the opponent's guard pressed against the strong part of his blade. Steel rang against steel, and the opponent's sword point burst through his eye!

Glancing Strike!

Squelch!

Agony exploded through his eye socket, but the dream soon restored him to health.

That was only the beginning.

After that round, every opponent Xia Lun faced seemed to have undergone a revelation. They began frequently using relatively advanced techniques such as Glancing Strike, Sliding Strike, and crossing strikes.

The pressure on Xia Lun soared. He could no longer maintain his high win rate.

Though he began losing and getting hurt often, Xia Lun felt no discouragement. On the contrary, excitement surged through him. Fighting strong opponents was the fastest way to improve his Swordsmanship.

He neither grew proud in victory nor lost heart in defeat.

He had always been focused. Through one all-consuming fight after another, he absorbed Swordsmanship experience at a remarkable pace.

Amid the endless hum of blades and the hot sparks thrown off when swords met, his eye grew keener and his strikes more decisive. Even the advanced techniques gradually became muscle memory.

From the 672nd round onward, all that practice finally paid off. Xia Lun could once again suppress his opponents consistently, and his win rate steadily climbed. As his technique grew more practiced, he felt his understanding of Swordsmanship reach a new level.

By the 890th round, his steady temperament, tireless effort, and persistence had even made him strong enough to win every match again. The apprentices who had once seemed formidable now appeared weak to him.

Xia Lun was certain the First Mate had never reached this level in his original experience. Through his own relentless effort, Xia Lun had changed the course of the dream!

This dream training gives me a lot of freedom, he thought.

But the sword fights went on as if they would never end. Xia Lun remained calm, refining his skills and strengthening his foundation.

In the 1,000th round, the tall figure finally spoke again. This time, he was no longer as tall and straight as before. He seemed slightly hunched.

"Remember, children, when the fight turns against you, running away or surrendering can be wise. Swordsmanship exists to protect you, after all."

The figure waved a hand, looking rather forlorn, and the shadows of the thirty-two apprentice swordsmen vanished.

"Cough, cough..." Hunched over, the figure walked to Xia Lun's side. "You are my finest student. I'm proud of you. Now I'll introduce you to an even more distinguished teacher."

Xia Lun said nothing. He respectfully offered the hunched figure his support.

The man was only a shadow in a dream, but that did not stop Xia Lun from respecting someone who had taught him.

They walked slowly into the distance. As they went, a sudden, faint intuition came to Xia Lun.

"What should I call him?" Xia Lun asked.

The figure turned his head and smiled. "Ah, he's a nobleman, but he doesn't like people saying his surname—or his given name. Just call him Brigadier General."

Brigadier General?

Xia Lun froze.

The original owner of the Prayerbook of the Drowned, the corrupt fugitive the Doctor mentioned—Brigadier General!?

His body went rigid. An indescribable, icy dread ran across his scalp like an electric current and seeped into his bones.

Had the First Mate met Brigadier General too?

Or had changing the dream's course brought this about?

Could it really be such a coincidence?

Countless chilling questions rose in his mind. Xia Lun wanted to ask more, but the moment he opened his mouth, the dream shattered.

Bang!

Bang!

Xia Lun jolted awake.