The smell of breakfast was the first thing that pulled me out of sleep. Rich, hearty smells of sizzling sausage, freshly scrambled eggs, and ham so savory it made my stomach growl. When I opened my eyes, I felt… fantastic.
I laid there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling and trying to piece it together. After everything we’d been through—days of traveling, fighting, nearly dying—I expected to feel like I’d been hit by a truck. But I didn’t. My body felt strong, my muscles loose and limber, no aches or pains dragging me down. My health and stamina bars must have fully replenished overnight because, despite everything, I felt like I could run a marathon.
In my old life, a trip like that would’ve left me bedridden for days, my body too sore and battered to do much more than scroll on my phone and complain. Here, it seemed like as long as your HP was full, your body just… worked.
I practically jumped out of bed, tugging on fresh clothes and running my fingers through my hair before bounding down the stairs. The smell of breakfast grew stronger as I approached the mess hall, and by the time I entered, my mouth was watering.
The guild’s mess hall was massive, filled with huge wooden tables that could seat hundreds of people at once. The high ceilings and stone walls gave it a rough, medieval charm, and the sound of laughter, conversation, and clinking plates echoed throughout the space. There were no TVs, no cell phones, no screens of any kind.
I always loved technology back in my old life. Couldn’t go a day without my phone, my laptop, my playlists. But here? I didn’t really miss it. There was something comforting about the simplicity of it all—about people sitting together and talking, sharing meals and stories without distractions.
The breakfast was served buffet-style, with long wooden tables piled high with food. Platters of eggs, ham, sausage, fresh bread, roasted potatoes, and bowls of steaming porridge lined the tables. A few servers stood by to refill trays as they emptied, and the smell was enough to make my head spin.
I grabbed a plate and piled it high with eggs, ham, and a few sausage links before finding a spot at the far end of the hall. The table was empty, and I didn’t mind the solitude. I set my plate down, grabbed a hunk of bread from a passing tray, and dove in.
The food was simple but incredible. The eggs were fluffy and rich, the ham smoky and tender, and the sausage had just the right amount of spice. I was halfway through my plate, shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth, when someone sat down across from me.
I looked up, and there was Sid, his usual sharp gaze softened by the morning light. A plate of food was in front of him, though not nearly as piled as mine. Before I could say anything, Branna dropped into the seat beside him, followed by Ryn, who slid in silently.
"Good morning, guys," I said, my voice muffled by a mouthful of eggs.
Sid raised an eyebrow at me but smirked slightly. “You feeling good?” he asked, his tone carrying a knowing edge.
“Yeah, great actually,” I said, swallowing before stabbing at another piece of ham.
“Good,” Sid said with a nod. “I arranged for us to use the training pits today. We’re going to work on your sword skill.”
My fork paused halfway to my mouth. “Okay!” I said, a little too enthusiastically.
Branna snorted into her mug of tea. “He’s eager. That’s a good sign.”
“Better than complaining about it,” Sid muttered, cutting into his ham.
The training pits. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the idea of sharpening my sword skills felt… good. Necessary, even. After everything that had happened in the swamp—the near-misses, the desperate swings, the times I’d barely survived—it was obvious I needed to be better. Faster. Stronger.
“Try not to let him go too easy on you,” Branna said, smirking as she leaned back in her chair. “Sid’s not big on patience, but he knows what he’s doing.”
“Big on patience?” Sid cut in, his tone dry. “You’re one to talk.”
Branna just grinned, tearing into a piece of bread like it owed her money.
Ryn, as usual, stayed quiet, though his sharp eyes flicked toward me briefly before returning to his plate.
I shoveled the rest of my food into my mouth, washing it down with a cup of water as the others settled into their meal. The noise of the hall buzzed around us, warm and lively, but my focus was already shifting.
The training pits. A chance to improve. A chance to take everything I’d learned and start making myself into someone who wouldn’t just survive this world but thrive in it.
For the first time in a while, I felt excited.
After breakfast, Sid motioned for me to follow him as the others stayed behind to finish their meal. Branna called after us with a smirk, “Don’t come back crying, Sigvard!”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the small grin tugging at my lips. “Not making any promises!”
Sid led me out of the mess hall and through the guild’s main building, weaving past bustling guild members and staff. The guildhall felt alive, humming with activity. People were coming and going, carrying gear, swapping stories, and collecting assignments from the job board. It was easy to forget how dangerous the world outside these walls could be when you were surrounded by the warmth and camaraderie of the guild.
We passed through the heavy wooden doors at the back of the hall and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The training pits were set up in a large open yard behind the guildhall, enclosed by high stone walls. The area was divided into sections—one for archery, another for sparring, and a smaller section for practicing with heavier weapons like hammers and axes.
The ground was packed dirt, scuffed and uneven from years of use. Wooden training dummies stood in rows, their surfaces marred with deep cuts and dents from countless strikes. A few guild members were already training, their grunts and shouts filling the air as swords clashed against shields and arrows thudded into targets.
Sid stopped in the middle of the yard and crossed his arms, looking around. “Alright,” he said, his voice sharp and businesslike. “First things first, let’s see what you’ve got.”
I frowned, gripping the hilt of my bronze short sword. “What I’ve got? Didn’t you already see that in the swamp?”
Sid smirked faintly. “Sure, I saw you flailing around like you were trying to swat a fly. Now I want to see if there’s anything worth building on. Draw your sword.”
I sighed but pulled the short sword from its sheath. The blade caught the sunlight as I held it out in front of me, the weight familiar but still slightly awkward in my grip.
“Good,” Sid said, nodding. “Now, come at me.”
I blinked. “Come at you?”
“Yes,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not going to learn anything by watching you hack at a dummy. Attack me.”
“But—”
“Now,” he snapped.
I tightened my grip on the sword, my heart pounding as I stepped forward. Sid was just standing there, his arms still crossed, his sword still sheathed. He didn’t even bother to draw it.
Taking a deep breath, I lunged forward, swinging the sword toward him in a wide arc.
Sid moved faster than I could see. In one fluid motion, he sidestepped my swing, his arm shooting out to grab my wrist. He twisted it just enough to make me drop the sword, and before I could react, he had me spun around, my arm pinned behind my back.
“That,” he said calmly, “was garbage.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, wincing as he let me go.
He stepped back, crossing his arms again. “You’re too slow, too obvious, and you’re not controlling your strikes. You’re swinging the sword like it’s a club. You need to be precise. Calculated. A sword is a tool, not a hammer.”
I picked up the short sword, my cheeks burning. “Alright. So… what now?”
“Now we fix it,” Sid said, his voice steady. “You’re going to do this over and over until you learn how to control your movements. Start with the basics—stances, strikes, footwork. If you want to survive in this world, you don’t just need strength. You need skill.”
The rest of the morning was a blur of drills. Sid made me go through the same motions again and again, correcting every misstep, every sloppy swing, every hesitation.
“Don’t lean forward so much—your balance is off.”
“Keep your wrist straight! If you’re loose, you’ll lose control of the blade.”
“Step into the strike, don’t just swing from your arm. Put your body into it.”
By midday, my arms felt like they were going to fall off, and my legs ached from moving back and forth across the yard. Sweat dripped down my face, and my shirt was soaked through.
“You’re getting better,” Sid said as I went through another set of strikes. “Still bad, but better.”
I glared at him, but the faint smirk on his face made it clear he wasn’t trying to insult me—he was just being honest.
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“Again,” he said, stepping back to give me space.
I took a deep breath, gripping the hilt of the sword tightly as I moved through the sequence he’d taught me. This time, the strikes felt smoother, more natural. My footwork was steadier, my movements more controlled.
When I finished, Sid nodded. “Better. You’re starting to feel the flow of it. Keep practicing, and you might not embarrass yourself next time we’re in a fight.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead.
He chuckled faintly, then gestured toward the benches at the edge of the yard. “Take a break. You’ve earned it.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I collapsed onto the bench, letting out a long breath as I stretched out my legs. My body ached, but it was a good ache—the kind that came from pushing yourself just far enough to feel like you’d accomplished something.
Sid sat down next to me, his sharp eyes scanning the yard. “You’ve got potential,” he said after a moment.
I glanced at him, surprised. “You think so?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You’re rough, and you’ve got a long way to go, but you’re not hopeless. And that’s more than I can say for a lot of people who’ve come through this guild.”
“Thanks, I think?”
Sid smirked. “Don’t get cocky. We’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
I leaned back, letting the cool breeze wash over me as I caught my breath. For the first time in a while, I felt like I was starting to find my footing in this world. It wasn’t perfect, and I still had a lot of questions—about my class, about the corruption, about what the future held—but for now, this was enough.
As we took a quick water break at the edge of the training yard, Sid leaned against the bench, his sharp gaze fixed on me. He hadn’t broken a sweat, of course, but the way he assessed me made it clear he was measuring my progress—or lack thereof.
“Alright,” he said, wiping the blade of his sword with a cloth. “Let’s talk about how you actually get better at this.”
I raised an eyebrow, still catching my breath. “You mean swinging a sword until my arms fall off isn’t the only way?”
Sid smirked faintly. “It’s part of it. But there’s more to it than just swinging until you get it right. Every time you use a weapon—or do just about anything—you gain a skill in it. Everything you do, even the simple stuff, has a skill attached to it. Go ahead, check your screen. You should see a few skills by now.”
I focused for a moment, calling up my menu. Sure enough, under the Skills section, a list popped up:
Skills
* Jumping: Level 2
* Running: Level 3
* One-Handed Sword: Level 3
* Awareness: Level 1
I blinked at the list, my eyes settling on One-Handed Sword. “I’ve got a Level 3 in sword already?”
Sid nodded. “Yeah, that tracks. You’ve been using that short sword since we pulled you out of the swamp, and every swing you take adds a little bit of progress. It’s not much at first, but it builds over time.”
He gestured toward the screen. “Think of skills as your experience with a specific action. Your stats—Strength, Dexterity, Endurance—they decide how far you can jump, how fast you can swing, or how much stamina you burn while doing it. But your skills? They’re about how well you do it.”
I frowned, staring at the list. “So stats and skills… they’re separate?”
“Exactly,” Sid said. He leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting into the kind of explanation he reserved for when he really wanted me to understand. “Let’s take jumping, for example. Your stats—Dexterity, Endurance, Strength—they’ll decide how far you can jump, how high, or whether you get tired from jumping. But the Jumping skill? That’s what helps you land on your feet instead of on your ass. It’s what keeps you from slipping before you leap or misjudging the distance.”
I nodded slowly, starting to get it. “So stats give me the raw ability, and skills give me the technique?”
“Exactly,” Sid said again. “It’s the same with weapons. Let’s use that sword in your hand. Your stats affect how hard you swing, how fast, how strong your arm is. They’ll even apply to weapons you’ve never touched before. But your One-Handed Sword skill? That’s what helps you aim for the neck and actually hit it, instead of clipping their shoulder or overswinging and leaving yourself wide open.”
I looked down at the sword in my hand, frowning. “So skills are the finesse, the precision?”
Sid gave a sharp nod. “Right. Take a battle axe, for example. Anyone with a high Strength stat can swing one and do some damage. But it takes skill to stop the swing mid-motion and redirect it without leaving yourself vulnerable. Same goes for swords. The blade works best when it’s always pointed outward, always threatening. If your skill’s low, you’ll find yourself swinging too wide or too shallow. Stats might help you recover faster, but they won’t fix bad technique.”
I glanced at the One-Handed Sword skill again, the number 3 glaring back at me. “So… what level is considered decent?”
Sid shrugged. “You’ll start to notice improvement every 10 levels. Skills go up to 100, but you won’t see any real difference until you hit 10, then 20, and so on. It’s like a plateau—nothing noticeable for a while, and then suddenly, everything clicks. Your strikes are smoother, your swings faster, your aim sharper. That’s when you’ll really start to feel it.”
“So for now,” he continued, leaning back slightly, “stick to one weapon. Focus on getting your One-Handed Sword skill up as high as you can. Switching weapons will spread your progress too thin, and it’s better to get really good at one thing than be average at everything.”
I mulled over his words, gripping the hilt of my sword. “But I can still use other weapons, right? Just in case?”
“Of course,” Sid said with a faint smirk. “You can pick up anything and swing it around. Your stats will carry you far enough to make it work in a pinch. But if you want to master something, you stick with it. Every point in a skill is hard-earned, so don’t waste it.”
He stood, brushing dirt off his cloak. “Alright, break’s over. Let’s see if we can’t push you to Level 4 by the end of the day. Get up.”
I groaned but obeyed, hoisting the sword again as I stepped back onto the training yard. As I raised the blade, Sid’s words echoed in my mind:
Stats are the raw power. Skills are how you use it.
With that in mind, I tightened my grip and readied myself for the next round of drills.
After the intense morning of sword drills, I had hoped Sid would let me rest for the rest of the day. But that hope was crushed when he gave me that look. It was the kind of look that said, “We’re not done, not by a long shot.”
“We need to figure out your new ability,” Sid said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I groaned, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Can’t we just… not?”
Sid raised an eyebrow at me, crossing his arms. “You want to leave it alone? Ignore it? And what happens when something goes wrong? When you’re in the middle of a fight, and it decides to do something you didn’t expect? No. Better we deal with it here, in a controlled environment, than let it take over when it matters most.”
I sighed, knowing he had a point. As much as I hated the idea of messing with the black ooze, he was right. Better to figure it out now than risk it exploding—literally or figuratively—when it counted.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But if I pass out, you’re carrying me back.”
He smirked. “Deal.”
We moved to an open part of the training yard, away from the other guild members. Sid stood a few paces away, his arms still crossed, his sharp eyes locked on me like a hawk watching its prey.
“Alright,” he said. “Summon the sword.”
I hesitated, my hand hovering in the air. The memory of the black ink sliding down my arm, cold and alive, made my stomach churn. But I focused, willing the ability to activate.
The familiar chill spread through my arm almost immediately, and the black ooze began to leak from my forearm, twisting and coiling as it formed into a weapon. This time, I shaped it into a longsword, the blade jagged and dark, shimmering faintly like polished obsidian.
Sid nodded, his expression neutral. “Good. Now, let’s test it.”
I held the sword in front of me, the weight solid in my hand, but there was something… off about it. It wasn’t heavy, but it felt like it carried a piece of me with it, like the blade was an extension of my own body.
“Swing at that dummy,” Sid instructed, pointing to one of the wooden training targets nearby.
I did as he said, stepping forward and slashing at the dummy. The blade cut clean through the wood, splinters flying as the dummy practically fell apart.
Sid whistled softly. “Sharp. Looks like it’s unbreakable, too.”
“Unbreakable?” I repeated, glancing at the blade.
“Let’s test it.” Sid stepped closer, drawing his own sword. “Hit mine.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? What if it—”
“Just do it,” he said flatly, holding his sword out in front of him.
I swung the black blade at his, and the clash rang out like steel on steel. My weapon didn’t chip, didn’t crack, didn’t even flinch. Sid’s blade, however, had a faint scratch on its surface.
“Well,” he said, lowering his sword. “That settles that. It’s tougher than anything I’ve seen. But let’s see how long you can keep it going.”
He had me summon another sword, then toss it to the ground. Then another. And another.
By the third blade, I started to feel it—the drain.
At first, it was subtle, like a faint tug at the back of my mind. But as I summoned the fourth sword, a wave of nausea hit me hard. My knees buckled, and I stumbled, clutching my stomach. My stamina bar on my UI was still full, but it didn’t matter—I felt like I was running on fumes.
Sid rushed to my side, catching me before I hit the ground. “Whoa, whoa, take it easy. Sit down.”
I collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard. “What… the hell… was that?”
Sid frowned, watching me carefully. “You’re not burning stamina. Whatever this thing uses, it’s not the same as your normal energy. It’s pulling from something else—something internal.”
“It felt like it was pulling me,” I muttered, my voice shaky.
He nodded. “Makes sense. That black stuff—it’s part of you. Whatever it is, it’s not infinite.”
I leaned back against the nearest log, trying to steady my breathing. The nausea passed slowly, but the thought of summoning another weapon made my stomach twist.
After a few minutes, Sid crouched down in front of me. “You good to keep going?”
I gave him a weak glare. “Do I have a choice?”
He smirked faintly. “Not really. But this time, we’ll try something different. Summon another sword, and then… reabsorb it.”
I frowned. “Reabsorb it? How?”
“Focus,” he said. “It’s part of you, right? Call it back.”
Reluctantly, I held out my hand and summoned another sword. The black ink slid down my arm again, forming the familiar jagged blade. The chill was still there, but this time, it felt… manageable.
I stared at the weapon for a moment, then focused on pulling it back into myself. At first, nothing happened. But as I concentrated, the blade began to dissolve, breaking apart into black tendrils that slithered back into my arm.
The moment the sword disappeared, I felt a faint surge of relief—like a weight had been lifted from my chest.
“Good,” Sid said, nodding. “Now do it again.”
I summoned another sword and reabsorbed it. Then another. By the fifth sword, I still felt fine. No nausea, no weakness.
“Looks like you’ve got a limit,” Sid said thoughtfully. “Whatever this stuff is, it’s not infinite, but it seems like reabsorbing it lets you reuse it. That’s good. Means you’re not just burning yourself out every time you use it.”
“So… it’s part of me?” I asked, flexing my fingers.
“Looks like it,” he said. “And that means you need to be careful. This stuff—it’s not like normal magic or stamina. It’s tied to you. If you overuse it, you’re the one who’ll suffer.”
I nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. Whatever this black ooze was, it wasn’t just a tool. It was something deeper, something that felt like a part of my very being.
Sid stood, offering me a hand. “Alright, that’s enough for today. You’ve got potential, but we’ve got to be smart about this. No showing off, no using it unless you absolutely have to. Understand?”
“Yeah,” I said, taking his hand and pulling myself to my feet. “I get it.”
As we walked back toward the guildhall, my thoughts were a jumble of questions. Whatever this ability was, it wasn’t limitless. And it wasn’t normal. It was me. And that was something I’d have to learn to live with.