Combat instincts

The Tarnished were descendants of warriors.

That was no idle claim. In a world where bloodlines mattered this much, the clearest measure of one's lineage was how well one could fight.

On that subject, Godrick deserved a mention. Everyone knew his family could fight, but by the time the line reached Godrick, things had gone downhill. He had become a disgrace to the Demigods. He ought to have knocked his head against the floor in thanks to the "Golden" Great Rune for keeping the knights under his command from turning on him and killing him.

So the Tarnished were actually stronger than ordinary people. Even one who started as a Wretch was by no means useless.

Zhao Si had no idea what class he belonged to or what he was good at. But as he sparred with Blaidd?, he gradually began to grasp a strange sensation.

He couldn't make out Blaidd?'s moves, but his skin would prickle. That needle-like sensation made him instinctively dodge away from danger.

Like flowing water, Zhao Si "flowed" wherever Blaidd?'s wooden sword "pushed" him.

Zhao Si had taken a beating in the first few rounds, frequently knocked to the ground by Blaidd?'s wooden sword. But as they sparred more, he realized his body was slowly adjusting to Blaidd?'s rhythm.

The beat. The beat of combat.

Skilled fighters had their own rhythm. In the game, that rhythm took the form of a stamina bar. A player's combat actions consumed stamina, while differences in weapons, attack patterns, and other factors meant players had to learn both their enemies' attack rhythms and their own.

Flailing wildly would only end badly.

There was no stamina bar in Zhao Si's vision, but he gradually came to understand that principle.

"You seem to have figured something out," Blaidd? offered a simple pointer. "Someone once told me that combat was like dancing, an art that required both sides to work together. I'm not interested in that, and I don't understand art."

As he spoke, he delivered another horizontal slash.

Zhao Si caught the wooden sword with his shield and knocked it aside, leaving Blaidd? wide open-a parry.

Zhao Si wasn't about to waste the opportunity. He thrust straight at Blaidd?'s throat. That was a weak point in the armor. This wasn't a game; Blaidd? was wearing genuine iron armor, and its defensive strength went without saying.

He was still one move behind. Blaidd? threw a rising hook with his left hand, striking the flat of the straight sword and knocking it away. He immediately followed up with a front kick to Zhao Si's lower abdomen, sending him sprawling.

Zhao Si clutched his aching belly, sucking in sharp breaths from the pain. He was drenched in sweat and panting heavily, looking utterly exhausted.

Seeing his condition, Blaidd? dropped his fighting stance. "Let's practice again tomorrow. You're so worn out that more practice won't do you any good. You'll only get hurt."

Zhao Si nodded. Only after resting for a long while did he stand again. "My body really does feel heavier and heavier. My legs feel like they're full of lead."

Blaidd? ran his hand over the wooden sword, which was on the verge of breaking. He had already ruined five of them. They all belonged to the Two Fingers anyway, so he felt no qualms about using them up.

"You're fighting me on instinct, aren't you?" Blaidd? stated Zhao Si's method outright.

Zhao Si froze for a moment. "You can even tell that?"

"Combat is the most direct way to get to know someone," Blaidd? said. "If you were reading my moves, your responses would be more natural, and your counterattacks would flow more smoothly. But you're still clumsy. That's fine enough in sparring, but in a real fight, it'll cost you dearly."

"How so?" Zhao Si was eager to hear more about combat theory.

Blaidd? wasn't much good at lecturing, so he demonstrated instead.

An overhead chop. He simply raised his wooden sword above his head and brought it down, aiming at Zhao Si's skull.

Zhao Si did indeed feel his scalp prickle. He dodged aside, and could even have thrust his sword in a counterattack as he moved.

But Blaidd? didn't give him that chance. His wooden sword changed course with Zhao Si's movement, the overhead chop becoming a diagonal slash that chased him.

In the end, the wooden sword came to rest against Zhao Si's neck.

"Like that."

Blaidd? sounded perfectly casual.

Feints. Changes of attack.

Zhao Si's pupils contracted, alarm surging through him.

-So, fast and slow swings, delayed attacks, and roll catches!

Through a practical demonstration, Blaidd? had gotten his point across.

"More than fighting technique, what you may need is courage. The kind that says either you die or I do." Blaidd? wrapped up the lesson with that final remark.

Those simple words gave Zhao Si a surge of strength, like a shot of adrenaline. He nodded firmly, grateful for his teacher's acknowledgment.

That evening, after a bath, Zhao Si lay comfortably on his bed in the dormitory. The beds at the Roundtable Hold were quite comfortable. Even a single bed was spacious enough, and the mattress was neither too soft nor too firm.

Blaidd?, however, decided to sleep in his armor. That showed he hadn't fully lowered his guard or come to trust the Roundtable Hold.

They said fighting was forbidden, but if someone actually resorted to violence, that would be another matter.

Zhao Si wasn't entirely without caution, either. He clearly remembered being invaded by two red phantoms at the Roundtable Hold, where fighting was supposedly forbidden.

Lying in bed, he repeatedly examined the burn mark on his wrist. It seemed to have faded a little, though that might just have been wishful thinking.

With no further clues at present, he planned to visit Gideon's room the next morning. As he recalled, the Roundtable Hold had something like a library, with quite a few books. Gideon was always in his own room, his head bent over some unknown research.

If Zhao Si treated him as a librarian, he ought to be able to get some useful information.

Besides, he knew far too little about this world. Even having played the game didn't mean he understood it.

The game was cryptic, with many parts of its story buried incredibly deep. And that wasn't even the main problem; other parts were never explained at all. To compare it to a novelist, it was a classic case of setting up mysteries and never resolving them, leaving everything to guesswork.

Zhao Si suspected that the books in the Roundtable Hold had all been edited and abridged during the golden age. They were probably full of praise and whitewashed accounts of peace and prosperity. They likely wouldn't contain complete records of enemies such as the ancient dragons, giants, or the Eternal City.

He held out little hope for the histories of this other world, either.

This place had actual gods, after all, along with the Fingers serving as "royal advisers." Who knew what they would choose to record?

Even so, the library was currently his only way to learn more.

Knowing a little more could never hurt.

As he thought about it, he drifted off to sleep. He slept deeply, without dreams.

When he woke the next day, his whole body ached, but he still arranged to spar with Blaidd? that afternoon.

After breakfast, he headed upstairs alone to find Gideon. On the way, he encountered Fia sitting by herself at the round table.

"Morning." Zhao Si greeted her first.

"Good morning." Fia nodded gently, looking a little surprised, as though she hadn't expected anyone to greet her first.

"I didn't see you at breakfast just now," Zhao Si said. "Were you...?"

"Oh, I ate before you did. I was just about to return to my room." As Fia spoke, she stood and headed toward her room.

Zhao Si suddenly called after her. "You have a mirror in your room, right? I saw it yesterday."

Fia found that strange. "Yes, I have a mirror."

"Could I come use it? There isn't one in the dormitory. I don't know why the Two Fingers didn't put one there." Zhao Si felt painfully awkward.

Borrowing a mirror on that pretext so he could see what he looked like after transmigrating really was strange.

Fia smiled softly. "Of course. Please follow me."