Continue On, Struggler | Chapter Five, Lessons.

…

Guts spent the next year learning to read and write. It was going well, surprisingly. A fact he attributed to Roxy's presence.

He was coming into the lessons without a leg to stand on. Gambino never made an effort to teach him much outside of fighting, only just enough math to handle money, and his time with the Band of the Hawk wasn't spent in libraries. So, his natural instinct was that he'd struggle to begin with.

That couldn't have been farther from the truth.

For one, Roxy turned out to be a good teacher. Even though she still had responsibilities in the village, she tried her best to meet with him every day and always came prepared. She was patient and understanding with him too, even when things didn't go smoothly. All together, while things didn't move as quickly as he'd like, they did so at a steady pace.

It helped that he found it all easy to remember, which was what surprised him the most. He figured he'd have to put extra effort in to make the information stick, but it seemed to stick with a little more than the minimum effort.

Roxy had started off with this world's letters and their sounds. From there, she started to teach him how to put them together to make words: reading them, writing them, and figuring out how to spell them via how one said them. All dull work, but he tried his best, despite his feelings.

Eventually, he got to the point where he could read most things. He learned that the sign over the general store didn't just read 'General Store.' There was a name there too. More importantly, he could now more or less read the books in Paul's study—more specifically, that book Zenith had been so fixated on.

…

A Textbook of Magic, that was its name.

Guts gave it a once-over. It definitely felt different than all of his parents' other books. In those, things happened. Events were described. Most of which teetered on the edge of the unbelievable. People powerful enough to cut continents in half. Demon lords and heroes, and their fight for dominance. Apparently, all of which was historical fact, not tall tales.

In comparison, the book on magic mostly focused on information. He did his best to skim through it one night. It read plain and straightforward, but any knowledge it contained was clouded by words he had yet to learn. He ended up having to bring the book to Roxy to make sure he didn't fuck anything up too badly in translation.

She explained it like this:

Magic came in three major forms: attack, healing, and summoning. A person used it by tapping into and controlling magical energy, which all living beings were born with some amount of—the amount varying per person. A lucky few had massive stores. Others had only enough to do basic magic. There were ways to compensate for those who fell under the latter category, but for those with the knowledge and ability, spells could be cast one of two ways: through incantation or magic circle.

"That's it?" Was what Guts thought, both internally and aloud. "You say a few words and you can use magic?"

The magic he knew, the kind Schierke used, needed the user to communicate with beings from the astral world. It took bargains, contracts, and understandings; years of study and apprenticeship; and a bunch of other bullshit that Guts would never be able to wrap his head around.

In comparison, this world's magic seemed laughably simple.

Roxy recoiled at the comment. Huffed and puffed in indignation. Insisted that it was a lot more complicated than the book let on.

Of which, Guts couldn't help but laugh at her for. Aloof and emotionless as she tended to be, seeing her get genuinely mad about anything was hilarious to him.

That was when she did something that gave pause to his amusement.

Arms crossed, cheeks puffed, and eyes glaring; she issued a simple challenge, "Well, since you think it's so simple, how about you try it yourself?"

…

That's how Guts got himself in this position: standing with his hand out and open in front of him.

Roxy's instructions were simple: keep calm, concentrate on the words, and recite them.

"Let the great protection of water be on the place thou seekest."

It took a few attempts to get the incantation right, but when he did—

"I call a refreshing burbling stream here and now."

—He felt it. Like a river, like cool blood, flowing from his beating heart to his open palm. It gathered and gathered, the feeling focused itself into a single point, then—

"Water Ball."

"You actually did it?!"

"Huh?" Guts had closed his eyes to focus on the incantation. He opened them and found the source of Roxy's shock. There—floating, trembling in his hand—was a ball of water about the size of his palm. "…Oh."

He blinked and the ball fell from his hand, splashing onto the ground and his shins.

"Um, that's not supposed to happen, is it?" he asked, turning to Roxy.

She gaped at him. Said nothing.

And so went his first interaction with magic.

…

Once Roxy regained her wits, she rushed to his parents with the news. Fast-walking in a way that Guts found funny. It, however, stopped being funny when her longer legs forced him into a jog just to keep up.

Caravaggio was in his stable when they reached the Greyrat home, meaning that both his parents were home.

The Migurd picked up her pace, rushing past the front gate and the open front door, and Guts needed to break into a full run to not lose her.

"Lady Zenith!" Roxy barged right up to his mother in the bluntest way possible. "Rudeus used magic!"

His mother, who looked to have been chopping up an onion, stopped completely at that. A few moments passed before she regained enough wits to respond, "Um, could you run that by me again?"

"Rudeus used magic!" Roxy repeated herself without hesitation, though his mother didn't seem any more understanding of the situation. To which, the Migurd hurriedly explained everything that led up to this moment. Starting from how Guts brought her their copy of A Textbook on Magic to how she challenged him to cast one of the spells inside—even mentioning how she fully expected him to fail and be humbled, only to have been proven wrong immediately. "Even with an incantation, it usually takes a beginner a few attempts to get anything to come out, but Rudeus did it like it was no problem!"

"Hold on, just wait a minute…." By this time, Paul had come rushing down the stairs and joined the conversation, standing at his mother's side. Guts had never seen the man more confused. "We've never even taught him how to read. How could he have learned how to use magic?"

Roxy shot Guts a questioning look; to which, he met with a blank expression.

"Y-You never told them?" She asked, looking absolutely mortified. "But I thought… we've been… for a whole year…."

He grunted and shrugged. It's not like he meant to keep it a secret. The opportunity never came up, so he never thought to mention it. If either Zenith or Paul had ever bothered to ask what he was up to when he left the house every day, he would've said it. They didn't. He didn't. End of story.

"Wait, Roxy, don't tell me…" Zenith began, not sounding one way or another. "Have you been teaching Rudy how to read? And use magic too?"

"I g-guess you could say that." The girl's stress was apparent. She was stumbling over her words, pressing the tips of her pointer fingers together, struggling to keep still. Her eyes drifted between left and right, right and left, and back again. It looked like she was one word away from hiding behind her hat. "W-We were talking about it one day—reading, I mean—and I offered. The magic was just an accident. I never expected him to actually be able to use it."

As he watched the Migurd panic, Guts noticed his mother's gaze drift onto him. He met it. They stared at each other; then, suddenly, she smiled. Wide. Knowing. Smug? Regardless, it made him take a step back out of instinct.

"Calm down, neither of us is angry with you." Paul didn't seem to notice their exchange and, instead, walked up to Roxy. He put his hands on his hips and flashed a warm smile. "Just… I'm sure you can imagine our surprise. It's not every day you learn that your son learned to read and use magic without ever telling you." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Actually, I should probably be thanking you. Normally, a service like this would've come at a premium!"

"B-But I—"

Zenith winked at Guts before returning to the conversation, chiming in, "—My husband's right, Roxy. While knowing would've been preferable, you gave our son something that's incredibly valuable. All without asking for anything in return. Really, I think we should be the ones feeling guilty."

Their acceptance surprised the Migurd. That much was obvious. Her eyes were wide, her mouth wide open. A thousand different words seemed to alternate between the two—all that she wanted to say, and all that managed to slip out. A couple of words, mumbled and reluctant in its acceptance. Paired with a bow of her head:

"T-Thank you, Lord Paul. Lady Zenith."

…

"…If what you're saying is true, then that has to mean Rudy is special, right?" His mother asked, finger resting on her lips—not smiling anymore, but clearly wanting to. Roxy had just given his parents a more detailed, less panicked explanation of the situation. What Zenith heard pleased her, that much was clear. "I mean, I've never heard anything like it. A boy his age being able to cast magic on his first attempt…"

"Hm, why does that matter?" His father seemed to have the opposite opinion. "Sure, I get that's impressive and all, but even if he does have some sort of talent for magic, it's pretty clear that he wants to learn to fight."

"That's true." Zenith's frown deepened. Paul just said something that she couldn't refute. Guts watched as her mouth opened, then closed. Then, her eyes drifted over to him. And, it opened again, lacking all of its previous uncertainty. "But doesn't it feel like a waste? If Rudy really is special, then shouldn't we be trying to—"

"—Lord Paul, Lady Zenith, do you mind if I interrupt?" Raising her free hand, Roxy got herself in front of the coming argument.

His parents, ready to argue, recoiled a bit in response. They turned to the Migurd and then at the rest of the room—their embarrassment clear as day. As always, when it came to one another, they seemed to forget about anyone else's presence.

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Now having their attention, Roxy continued, "May I ask why Rudy can't learn to do both? You two were adventurers once yourselves. I'm sure you've come across your fair share of spell-swords."

A silence hung in the air after that. One that made Guts want to laugh. Hard. It also made him want to put his head in his hands out of shame. Sometimes he had to remind himself that, despite being his parents, these two were younger than him.

Paul was the first to recover. "It's not like the idea's never crossed our minds, but he's still only four. Don't you think that's a lot to ask out of a kid?"

"Undoubtedly, but if he's willing to try, I'd be more than happy to volunteer my services." Everyone in the room had to double-take at the Migurd's offer. "It wouldn't be for free, of course, but I believe your son has a talent that's worth cultivating, Lord Paul."

Guts could see it in his father's face. He was beginning to bend. "I mean, we'd still have to find a time for you to actually—"

"—How about in the mornings?" Out of nowhere, Lilia chimed in with a suggestion. Guts had honestly forgotten that she was even there. "Master Paul usually conducts his patrols of the village then, so it'd be the perfect time for Lady Roxy to conduct her lessons. That way, Master Rudeus can still have the afternoons to practice swordplay."

The infusion of sense from Roxy and Lilia silenced Paul, putting any budding arguments he had left to bed. Zenith didn't seem any less bewildered but offered no resistance. That wasn't surprising, seeing as this all worked to her liking.

Guts almost laughed, thinking about the irony. For all of their talk about what he wanted and what was best for him, it never occurred to them to ask for his opinion on the matter. A younger version of himself might've been tempted to refuse to do both and do his own thing in spite of their meddling, but he wasn't that person anymore.

He would've been an idiot to turn something like this down.

Maybe it hadn't been in this life, but he had seen what magic could do. The power it had. The destruction it could bring. The lives it could save. There were times when he looked at Schierke, the tiny little girl that she was, and felt utterly powerless in her wake. Happy that she was on his side, because she could do things that he couldn't even imagine doing himself. In those final days, during their desperate march to Elfheim, there was no doubt in his mind that she was every bit as strong as he was. Maybe even stronger.

Besides, he had been taken here from a different world. He always figured that he'd need to learn some magic if he ever wanted to figure out what happened to him.

Being a magician and a swordsman, huh? He smiled to himself at the thought. I wonder what Schierke would think about that?

…

Schierke would probably laugh at him. That's the conclusion Guts came to.

After Roxy and his parents agreed upon the terms of her employment, things moved into place. At break-neck speed. One that would've disoriented him, if not for the fact he was right in the thick of it.

The Migurd moved into the lone spare bedroom his family had. Then, the day after, Guts started on the lesson plan laid out for him.

Magic in the mornings, swordplay in the afternoon. That had been his life for the last couple of months.

The magic lessons went about as expected: boring as hell. Not that he despised them, but studying took sitting still and that wasn't something he was accustomed to. Nor was book learning. Guts would often spend their lessons bouncing his leg, tapping on his desk, and fighting to keep his focus on what Roxy was saying. In short, her lessons tended to be the least fun parts of his day.

Despite his feelings, the actual progress he was making was decent. According to Roxy, he was doing well above average in a lot of things. Enough to confirm her suspicions of him having some sort of latent talent for magic. Slowly, as he learned more about the art, the number of spells he could cast increased—reaching about a quarter of the Beginner-tier spells in A Textbook on Magic. However, and Roxy found this hilarious, being able to cast a spell and being able to use it were entirely different things.

Casting a spell took a combination of memorization and concentration; and, for whatever reason, he could only ever do the prior. He'd be able to get through an incantation, get a spell to form, and then it would fall flat from there. Either literally falling at his feet limp and useless, or flickering out after a few moments.

That was fine, according to his tutor. She explained that it was common for beginners to struggle with this part of casting. That an incantation could only do so much of the work and it took time for a person's body to adjust to the manipulation of their magical energy. He found some solace in that, but as of right now, he could only reliably control one spell: Fireball.

Around the same time, Guts began his swordplay lessons with Paul and those went much better in comparison. Not surprising, really, since he did have a two-decade head start on any kid his age.

Early on, a lot of it was physical exercise. To build his strength, according to his father—a lot of jogging, push-ups, sit-ups, and squats. Then, after a week or two, his father handed him a wooden practice sword and the lessons began in earnest.

The first thing Guts learned was that this world's swordplay was split up into three major styles: Sword God, Water God, and North God.

Sword God had a heavy emphasis on attacking. Quick, strong, and deadly. Hoping to end encounters with the least amount of strikes possible. Water God focused on the opposite. It preached defense, counters. Whittling down your opponent until all they could do was surrender to your blade. Then, there was North God—a style that centered itself in nothing in particular, but accounted for all else. Adaptability, its core tenant.

Guts thought the split tedious at first. Almost to the point of rolling his eyes. Fighting was supposed to be fluid by nature. To him, the difference between attacking and defending was like what separated someone's right arm from their left: a body. Their body. Meaning nothing at all, really. They were just two parts of a singular whole, different only in what direction they faced. Always working in unison, even if that never meant in conjunction. So, naturally, he found the need for distinction dumb as all hell.

Granted, people had been no different in his old world. A Midlander might slit a Kushan's throat because of how they swung a sword; the Kushan being no different in that right. It was all just posturing, in the end—a stupid thing stupid people found stupid pride in.

Then, Paul said something that made it make sense.

"You know, Rudy, they say that masters of Sword God style are powerful enough to cleave through whole boulders with a single swing."

That's when Guts remembered a man from one of the stories his parents would read him before bed, Saint Millis. A man with enough power to slice a whole continent in half.

Guts thought the story fantasy; and when he learned the opposite to be reality, he figured it was nothing more than embellishment. However, what his father just said brought that into question as well.

If those were the feats a person could accomplish in this world, and if those sword styles allowed someone to reach them, then they had to be more than just simple martial arts. On his own—with just his strength, skill, and the Dragonslayer in hand—he would never be able to cut through a boulder. But with the Berserker armor on? With magic? Maybe.

It clicked for Guts right then and there. Magic. The people of this world were using magic to enhance how they fought.

The thought made his sword grip tighten. His heart raced. He practically salivated at the possibilities.

From then on, Guts decided to embrace his father's teachings wholeheartedly.

…

The lessons themselves went well. At least, Guts couldn't find much to complain about.

Paul wasn't the best teacher. He wasn't entirely useless, either.

In this world, there existed a ranking system to measure one's skill—be it in swordplay or magic. From top to bottom, they went:

Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced, Saint, King, Emperor and God.

Paul was Advanced-rank in all three sword styles, which didn't seem all too impressive to Guts until his father explained what that meant.

To be Intermediate-ranked in any of the three styles meant that you were on par with the average swordsman. To be skilled enough to reach Advanced-tier in any of the individual styles was a feat that often took years of study to achieve. For all three? That made you a cut above.

Or, at least, it did according to Paul.

Regardless, that's where Paul shined as a teacher. The diversity of things he knew.

He, however, was awful at explaining them. Often just showing him how to do something and expecting him to understand somewhere along the way. There was a lot of:

"No, not like that! You're going 'ha,' instead of 'hmph!'"

It was a good thing for both of them that he wasn't unused to that kind of training. Before he died, Gambino taught Guts the same way. Always letting bumps, bruises, and scolding bridge the gaps in his understanding. Paul at least had the decency not to hit him, but the similarities were there. Helped him decipher what his father meant when he let actions do the work of words.

Anyways, even if Paul wasn't the perfect teacher, Guts did spend his entire last life with a sword in his hands. The basics were second nature to him at this point, ingrained into his mind like walking was. All he had to do now was get his body in line, and he had plenty of time to do that.

…

Being born was a cause for celebration in this world, apparently.

As per tradition, every five years up until their fifteenth, the family would hold a party in honor of the event. Usually on the day of. The celebration itself usually entailed inviting guests, giving gifts, and making merry.

Zenith had been the one to explain the concept to him. One day, a couple of weeks back, he noticed his family growing anxious in preparation for something. They stockpiled food. Had conversations in low mutters. Sometimes, Guts would catch them giving him intense looks of consideration when his back was turned to them.

At first, he was confused. Then, after a while, he was annoyed. So, eventually, he went up to his mother and asked. Learned that his own birthday was coming up—that all of their panic and preparation was for his sake.

Guts wasn't moved. A part of him felt like he should've been but just couldn't manage it. Couldn't wrap his head around why anyone would give a shit. He had spent all of his last life not knowing when he was born, not celebrating that fact, and spending time around people who did the same.

People were born, lived, then died. End of story. That's how it was and always will be.

In the end, after getting the gist of it, Guts hadn't even been able to fake excitement and just nodded along. Dumbfounded.

…

The Sun had long since set when the party started.

"Happy birthday, Rudy~!" Zenith was the first to congratulate Guts.

"I wish you a very happy birthday, Master Rudeus." Surprisingly, Lilia was the second.

The other two in the room with them, Paul and Roxy, smiled along silently.

They were all in the dining room, which was bathed in the gentle glow of the candlelight. Orange and warm. It melded into the aroma of the food, laid out on the table in between them all. Illuminated everyone's smiles, all of which aimed for him and him alone.

He couldn't help but grow comfortable. Even smile back, as uncomfortable as that was.

Guts sat at the head of the table. His mother and father sat closest to him. Lilia and Roxy sat behind them, in that order. They were all staring at him. Expectantly. Waiting for him to say something. His brow twitched under the weight of all their attention.

"…Thanks," he said, his smile suddenly lopsided and awkward.

To his surprise, his embarrassment seemed to keep things from getting awkward. Zenith let out a loud squeal, Paul's grin grew wider, Lilia's smile raised subtly, and Roxy seemed on the edge of laughing in his face.

Guts frowned, remembering one more reason why he hadn't been looking forward to celebrating his birthday.

This celebration was meant to mark his growing closer to being an adult. Five years old, a third of the way there. At ten, he'd be two-thirds. Then, when he was fifteen, he'd be an adult by this world's standards.

Ten years, huh…?

From where he was sitting, that felt like an awfully long time.

…

The rest of the night went without a hitch.

Paul got drunk off his ass, started dancing and doing other party tricks. Demonstrated his ability to swallow a sword down to its hilt. All the women clapped along in amazement. Guts just stared, befuddled, wondering where his father would learn to do something like that.

…

Gifts were given at the party's end.

Paul gave him a sword. A real one. Made of metal and almost as tall as he was.

His father handed it over. Carefully. Making sure that he wasn't giving Guts something he couldn't actually hold. However, thanks to all the training he did, with Paul and without, he had been able to. Just barely. He needed all his strength to keep from falling forwards, flat on his face.

Both hands on its hilt, he raised it into his air.

Size-wise, it was just an ordinary long sword. Most men could wield it without issue, Guts was sure, but he was ten years from being a man so it felt as heavy as the Dragonslayer.

There was a nostalgic feeling to the weight. In how it pulled down on his arms, to how he fought against its gravity.

Wasn't I around this age when Gambino started training me?

That aside, as far as quality went, Guts could tell from its hilt and sheath that his father had put a decent amount of money into it.

"It might still be a little early for you to have something like this, but as a man, it's important that you keep that sword close to your heart," Paul said, clearing his throat, all the alcohol slurring his words. "One day, you'll have a wife, a kid of your own, and it'll be up to you to protect them." He spoke cross-armed, high-horsed and haughtily, but Guts knew that wasn't the alcohol's doing. That was just Paul being himself. "You might have a headstart on learning how to use it, but all of the practice in the world won't be enough if you don't see that sword as a part of yourself."

As his father lectured, Guts unsheathed the sword a sliver.

It happened in an instant. He lost himself in the luster gray of its steel. His reflection was visible. Hazy and heavily distorted, but present.

"Thank you, father," Guts said, still lost, but not lacking meaning.

In the meantime, neither Zenith nor Lilia seemed impressed by Paul's speech. Complained that it was long-winded and reeked of him trying to act his age.

Guts couldn't really dispute that, but the gift was appreciated.

Regardless, his thanks seemed to please the hell out of Paul.

…

His mother gave Guts her gift next. It was a book. Thick and leather-bound, like his magic textbook. Its title, A Total Encyclopedia of Known Monsters: Central Continent and All Its Kingdoms, piqued his interest.

"A book on monsters?"

"I figured it'd be the kind of thing you'd be interested in." Zenith winked as she handed it over. "Did your mother guess right?"

Guts frowned. He didn't like being so easily predicted.

His mother giggled and pulled him into a hug.

…

"Sorry if it's a little underwhelming. I crafted it yesterday."

Roxy was the next to give her gift. It was a small, metal stick with a little red jewel at the end.

"Teachers are supposed to give this to their students once they're able to use elementary magic. The stone on the end helps with channeling magic energy." She smirked. "Maybe it'll help you stop looking so sulky during our lessons."

This little stone can do something like that…?

"Thanks…" Teasing aside, Guts really did mean it.

That must've gotten through to the Migurd because that smirk of hers turned into a smile.

…

Apparently, that night, Guts fell asleep with his sword in his arms.

…

Chapter End.