Grasp the essence of the principles deeply, but wield them with the fluidity of water, ever-changing and adaptable.

- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus circa 520 AC.

And so it continued. On and on, a litany of advice and physical education that did not end. The tiniest of details were scrutinized over, from the very way I stood to how much I leaned forward. I was taught a myriad of stances and forms with just as many exotic and mysterious names.

They were almost all rather fancy sounding, with such examples as Parting the Silk and the Beggar’s Ruse. Though I had no idea why they were sometimes named such, I was made to know full well all of their functions and applications.

Parting the Silk was used to snake through an opponent guard, a series of tapping and pulling motions that opened up an opponent’s center line. Beggar’s Ruse was used to give the opponent an opening, inviting them into my circle and allowing for a swift counterattack.

And circle. Fen would yap continuously about a ‘circle,’ the space in which I could control things. She would have me do exercises to judge distance, incessantly quizzing me on whether I was an action I did was in my circle. It was just this world’s term for ‘measure,’ I concluded to myself.

She wanted me to visualize it at all times, especially when an opponent’s circle overlapped with mine. At first, I found it rather silly, but Fen’s voice was surprisingly hypnotic and insistent. Her suggestions worked their way into my brain like determined worms.

Eventually, I found that I could do it.

I learned of rhythm. For the most part, combat was divided into actions that were either one or two-beat actions. The best forms of attack, Fen would explain, were those that were simultaneously a defense and a one-beat action. Attack was a defense and a defense could also be an attack.

I was taught too how to grapple and throw. Fen’s lithe figure was surprisingly strong and the small woman had no problems overpowering me. Over and over, I found myself smacked against the floor or in a chokehold or painful lock that I could not escape. My new teacher told me that I was probably much physically stronger than her, and that she was merely applying her strength in the correct way. Poppycock, I thought to myself, she just probably had a much higher Strength attribute than me.

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It was all rather much to take in.

But take it in I did. Hours or days passed within the dream, and time lost its meaning there. I even gave up counting the number of mental breaks that I had. Like slipping through my fingers, it was hard to recall how much time I was spending here.

I quizzed Fen about this as I sat down by the stream, looking into its clear water. She replied only with evasions and non-answers, with the best explanation that we were simply spending as much time as was required.

My teacher would sometimes retire to her house during these times of rest, and even on occasion would invite me in for tea. Her place was a quaint, rustic dwelling, just a touch away from being called squalid. We drank a copious amount of tea from almost comically small cups. Luckily in this place, I had no bodily functions which was a relief. When pressed on this she explained that it was unnecessary here.

Once, I asked Fen what she knew about life everlasting. She gave me a quizzical look and waved off my question, but I persisted.

“Your very existence, here and now, suggests that such a thing might be possible. Have you truly never given it any thought?” I pressed, uncaring if I angered her.

“To think on it is to invite only existential dread, something that would lead me astray from my purpose of teaching you. To question my meaning beyond that purpose... you don't understand what you're asking,” she replied, her voice tinged with hollow melancholy.

I felt a surge of resentment then. I deserved an answer if she had one. “But…”

“We will speak no more of this,” she cut me off abruptly, standing up and gesturing for me to follow her outside. “We must train.”

Though she remained silent on the matter of life everlasting, she often spoke about ‘cutting away unnecessary things.’ It was a notion I found myself increasingly resistant to.

After all, who were to decide what was necessary and unnecessary? Take too much away and a person might lose whatever it was that made them… well them. I had lost too much of myself coming to this world already.

But I gained much too. Coming to this world had made me stronger than I could have ever imagined. I had fought with monsters and defied gods. Much in part, I admitted ruefully, to the fact that I had a ‘system’ in this world that had allowed for me to make meaningful progress. It had been a positive feedback loop, with my gains inspiring me to make even more gains.

Or to simply kill more at times, I thought darkly. Not that I minded much now. I would do whatever it took to achieve my goal of defying death, with or without the Grace of the Goddess.

However, now without my UI or system, I no longer had numbers to ascertain my progress. Only Fen’s vague nods or grunts of dismissive approval were the only measure that I was making progress or learning anything at all. I had become reliant on judging myself by easy-to-see numbers.

At first, it had been hard to make progress. But slowly, I was making progress. Interspersed in our conversations were now vague hints of grudging praise.

A source of enlightenment was when I noticed that the sign language I had used with Zariyah was a sort of precursor or foundation to the style that Fen was trying to impart to me. There in a defense form were the shapes for a rebuttal, there in an attack form a scathing condemnation.

I mentioned this to Fen, but in her typical manner, she simply replied that it was an unnecessary notion.

Fat lot you know, I smirked, because for me it had been, in a way, a groundbreaking discovery.