The Fool's Freedom

“So will your Blood God strike me down for the sinner that I am?” Alan asked furrowing his brows. This was a good lesson to think more before accepting weird requests. Not that he would. But the lesson was there.

“No, no.” Zirida waved her hand, “It’s just because I’m a follower so my soul is technically promised. He surely doesn’t even know you or even I exist.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Not the part where your fucking soul is promised to a weird God.

“Did you learn anything?” Alan asked.

Zirida shook her head and sat, “No. It all happened too fast and I was surprised to say the very least. It’s not just a normal blood skill. Curses have always been very complicated.”

She seemed dejected. However, Alan found the moment perfect to start the plan he had been working out for a while now.

“Listen, while we wait for news of whatever the fuck you guys think is afoot… do you mind sparring a bit?”

That grabbed her attention. “Sparring?”

“Well, not exactly. You will just kick my ass if it was normal sparring, but do you think you can help me with my fighting style? The little I can do as direct attacks revolve around stabbing and slashing randomly at the air and throwing sharp shadows at people.”

“You’re asking me to teach you to use weapons?”

Alan hesitated. There was something in her voice he didn’t like. Her face was passive as it was most of the time, which made her look almost like she was about to crush his windpipe and dig out his heart. It suited her.

“Yes?” he tried.

Zirida stood up, making him flinch. Then bowed, “The trust you show me, even after what you just experienced, is an honor. I’ll be grateful to serve as your fighting teacher for as long as you will have me, Alan.”

“Uh, let’s not make it that official. I’m just asking you to help me refine some stuff.”

She shook her head, “Teaching someone to fight is getting to know someone on a level few will throughout their lives. It is not mere knowledge, but preparation for the multiple battles ahead. It is a responsibility, an honor, and also a duty of a [Red Cleric] such as myself. While I serve as a healer when the need arises, in the Order I’ve always acted as an aid to the weapons instructors. I’ll not let you down.”

Alan smiled, then stopped himself, then smiled again. Her reaction was scary, but how bad could it go?

Two hours later he was lying on his under the cold and ruthless gaze of the devil cleric. She had led him straight to one of many sparring fields, open for use. There were many scattered throughout the outpost. The one they had chosen was a part of a cluster and stood in the middle of a few other similar fields.

At first, it had gone well. She explained all things concerning weight distribution while taking into account the influence of attributes and how they could make or break a technique. For example, a mortal without a class could perform a certain technique, but a mortal would in most cases have a balanced existence. And they would be facing off other mortals, who didn’t vary as wildly in strength and speed and didn’t have skills.

Someone with a class had many factors to consider, making most traditional fighting styles worthless. That didn’t mean they couldn’t be adapted with the help of the System, only that they needed significant changes to remain useful.

Alan understood all of that. He had felt it all himself.

The fact that he was experiencing bouts of growth that were in no way linear, was another thing that worried him. His strength would stagnate, then things would happen and he would grow a lot. Like he had just done. It made it hard for him to adapt slowly, and in a way that allowed him to easily control each step of the process. Not that he would stop.

The practical part had been a shameful display drawing other people practicing on the fields. Getting beat up shamefully due to your own incompetence was one thing. Getting beat up due to your own incompetence in front of a crowd of strangers who had the skill necessary to see just how bad you were at what you did was a wholly different deal.

Alan felt like he had gone back to middle school as he dusted himself off and met the cold gaze of Zirida. She didn’t fuck around when it come down to it. She exploited each of his weaknesses, striking at his weak spots and sending him tumbling. Worse of all, each of her strikes injected some sort of refreshing energy inside of him. So technically, each time he got beat up he became more rested.

It was hell.

“Do not swing like I’m a tree you’re about to chop. I’m a moving, breathing target that will kill you if you miss. Take stock of the tools at your disposal – enhancements, skills, and experiences. You’ve seen me fight. Anticipate my movements! Go again!”

Alan grunted. He was getting pissed off. He knew the gap was large, but not how large. She had yet to use a single skill or even move in the way she had been against the dolls.

He almost cast [Monochrome Armor], but decided that would make things even worse. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a pair of snickering lisarni, which made him only madder.

“If you’re angry, use that in your strikes, but not what precedes them. Act calm, and unleash the anger when you can do that safely, without compromising the integrity of your movements! I said, go!”

“Fuck!”

He rushed at her, swinging low and sending a shadow blade toward her lower body. It was angled to the left, making it the preferred direction for a dodge. At least according to him. His other hand drew a narrow crescent a second later, sending a slash at chest level, hoping that he would catch her off guard. His shadow blades packed a strong punch now, sharper and faster than ever, but she had assured him that he couldn’t hurt her, and he was done caring.

Things happened as he had predicted and a smile stretched his face as he narrowed the distance between them yet again.

Zirida stepped to the left, letting the first shadow slash hit the sand and dissipate. The second slash flew straight toward her, only to pass harmlessly as she leaned to the other side in a show of inhuman agility.

Fuck! How could I even hit her like that?!

He was on her in the next moment, slashing with his daggers like she had shown him. Smaller controlled movements. Each of them let go of a small crescent of shadows that effectively raised the unpredictability of his daggers by a few degrees.

She was like a dancer, and Alan became well aware of the physical gap between the two of them. He wouldn’t be able to keep up without using his other skills, and even with them, she could probably still outmatch him.

Zirida had promised to limit herself to his level though, so he grit his teeth and kept going. The strain of the unfamiliar movements was getting to him but it was not as bad as it had been before. Slowly, he got used to them.

He managed to dodge her leg when she used the opportunity presented by a particularly careless swing to try and trip him by lifting his foot and stepping back, widening his stance. He shot forward and tried to spear her like a bull with one dagger, while the other came from the side preparing a shadow slash.

She stepped into him, ruining his advance. Her hand dropped on his wrist of the stabbing dagger while the other pushed at the elbow of the one coming from the side. The shadow slash went wide.

Zirida pulled him into her and using her foot brought him to the ground, before stepping on his chest.

“Dead.”

The warmth and reinvigorating energy made it feel all the worse.

Alan grunted and stood up, taking some distance and preparing for another bout. Had the crowd grown? He shifted nervously.

“Don’t think about them,” Zirida said, reading his thoughts. “If any want to mock you for learning, then they better have the balls to come down here and show me what they got first.”

It was the observer’s turn to look uncomfortable. Few stepped further away, pretending to not be watching anymore.

Alan grinned again and went at her like a wild beast. This time he spammed the small blades of shadow like bullets, careful to time them with his steps to not ruin his momentum or balance. It was something he had learned after an hour of being trashed. Even as a superhuman swinging your arms around like a windmill was a sure way to confuse your body and lose all semblance of rhythm and control.

While she was busy dodging the hail of shadows Alan extended his daggers to the maximum. With his boosted attributes his control had grown to an amazing degree. The daggers became as long as swords and he came with a double swing. Zirida stepped back, but it was not enough as the shadows moved again adding yet more length to the blades for just a moment.

It forced her to jump further back in haste. Alan dropped one of his daggers and a moment later the Staff of Vel’Noir was in his hand. Shadows coalesced turning it into a polearm with a large blade and he swung again allowing the weight of the staff to take him off balance.

Zirida somehow dodged again, bending low as if she were made of rubber. But Alan wasn’t done. He spun on his heel and the remaining dagger sent a wide-charged shadow slash straight at her raising form. A shield of blood intercepted it, making it burst into shadows that quickly dissipated.

A hand found Alan’s abdomen and took his air before warmth spread once again. He fell backward, skidding on the sand. There was cheering from the stands as a lone spectator decided that it was appropriate. It quickly died down, but Alan appreciated it.

He stood up, smiling ear to ear. Zirida returned his smile.

“Good improvement. You have battle experience, but mostly against monsters I assume.”

“Yeah. Should’ve told you about that.”

“No. Never share such information. Even to your teacher.”

Alan nodded. His respect for the woman was only growing, especially considering her age.

“Again!” she called.

Alan picked up his dropped dagger and took a stance.

He put everything else on the back of his mind for now. This was what he craved. Battle experience and pointers by someone who knew their stuff. The many long hours – he assumed around three or four days in total – locked in constant combat. His greatest successes were landing a hit on the blood shields, or successfully defending from a counterattack.

Zirida often stopped the duels to offer her pointers or scold him for a mistake.

It was in the middle of a particularly fierce duel that a strange sound made them stop. Everything shuddered for a few moments and Alan looked to the sky.

Kalyntha appeared flanked by none other than Feyrith and Solorim seconds later, making him swallow the question trying to burst out of his lips.

Her body was covered in strange cracks and Alan squinted as he felt the energy bleeding from them. The elf behind her bore an oddly nervous expression that had wiped away his typically playful smile. He had donned a simple armor, but the sigil of the three outpost towers was covering the whole of its chest.

Solorim looked grim, which wasn’t telling much as he always did. He was the same as Alan remembered but walked behind Kalyntha like a servant.

Zirida frowned.

“What’s the trouble? Why is the Outpost Master calling everyone?”

Alan expected Kalyntha to joke, or giggle, or something. Some of those spectating the endless training session had gotten close, their full focus on the words of Kalyntha. Instead of joking, she said words that made everyone but Alan gasp.

“The Dragon has disappeared, presumably into the Void Tree Temple. If it is killed, all of us will follow. Master Wilbis is preparing a raid.”