When Nick awoke early the next morning, he decided that it was almost time to start tracking the pack in earnest.
However, before he moved on to the next stage of his plans, he needed to become more familiar with the weapons he had found in the dungeon. First on the menu was his new sword. He finished cleaning the clearing of all the remaining shells and then took the weapon out of his pack, not entirely certain where he should begin.
Nick raised the sword and then closed his eyes, letting his awareness of the weapon wash over him. He kept his breathing slow and steady, clearing his mind of everything beyond the blade in his hands, its weight pulling his arms down and bringing his center of gravity forward. His palms pressing against the rough leather grip wrapped around the hilt.
With each inhalation, he took a single step forward, willing the sword to move with him in a natural, flowing glide. With each exhale, he stepped back and to one side, seeking a stable stance where he could shift from offense to defense at will.
The exercise was difficult at first, but as the minutes ticked past, Nick gradually began to feel more attuned to the presence of the blade. The next time that he took a step back, he realized that his stance felt right.
At last, he was balanced and stable, ready to strike out at any angle. At least, that was the idea. The reality was somewhat less satisfying. When Nick brought the blade down in a light slash, his concentration evaporated, and he was forced to open his eyes or risk fumbling the sword.
With a sigh, he decided to take a break, at least long enough to regain his focus. While he took a long slug from his canteen, he ran his eyes across the battered weapon, soaking in the air of menace the pocked blade exuded. The chilling presence of a tool designed with one purpose—to end the lives of Nick’s enemies.
He could only imagine what the sword must have looked like before the blight went to work, gradually devouring the weapon from the inside out. When the blade was whole, gleaming, and freshly forged, without the countless pits and gouges marring its surface.
He had already discovered that the damage was not limited to the blade’s exterior. When Nick tapped certain sections along its fuller, he could hear a hollow clang, as if the inside was honeycomb rather than solid steel. The pommel stone was missing entirely, which must have been heavy, as he had to fight to keep the tip of the sword from lowering whenever he changed his stance. The real surprise was how sturdy and stable the sword felt despite the decay. It must have been crafted from materials or magic beyond Nick’s experience.
Strangely enough, except for circular sections that were missing entirely, the edge and point were sharper than his straight razor, granting the sword a ragged profile like the blade of a saw. At least the damage made the sword significantly lighter, as without the missing pieces of metal, he would never have been able to effectively wield it.
Even in its reduced form, his arms were shaking with strain after practicing with the weapon for only a few minutes. Despite the difficulty, he intended to master the sword, or at least take himself to basic proficiency. Once he had the luxury of choice, Nick could decide if he wanted to learn a different weapon instead, although he felt an instinctual draw to the simple elegance of a long blade.
With a sigh, Nick rose to his feet and resumed his training session, this time keeping his eyes open. Superimposed over the empty air, he visualized a komo standing in front of him, jaws spread and poised to strike, then carefully brought the sword down in a gentle slash.
With the pommel missing, its balance was top-heavy, the momentum of his swing coming down like the chop of an axe. He could already tell that the sword would be poorly suited to engaging another weapon in a direct exchange of blows. Not that he intended to get into a swordfight anytime soon.
Stolen story; please report.
Rather than trying to develop his raw technique, his first goal was to be able to control the trajectory of the weapon without falling over or slicing himself to ribbons in the process. With his current skills, which were basically nothing besides a bit of basic theory, Nick was nearly as much of a danger to himself as he was to his opponents. Thus, he intended to train diligently until he could use the sword to defend himself, as it was light years better than the other weapons he had to choose from.
After repeating his slash from a variety of angles, Nick returned his awareness to his stance, shifting his weight while visualizing various actions he might take once he was grounded in the basics. Although he was wary of the holes permeating the steel, the sword had an air of strength and solidity to it, the weight of a history beyond his ability to imagine.
Nick had already run several tests to make sure that it wouldn’t break the first time he tried to fight with it, which the sword had passed with flying colors. When he had set the tip against a rock and then stepped on the blade with the full weight of his body, the sword refused to bend further than the width of his fingernail.
He eventually decided that blocking with the weapon should work fine, but trying to parry would unbalance him and force him to lower his guard, leaving him exposed. Such advanced feats would have to wait until he had mastered the basics and repaired the pommel.
Straight thrusts seemed to work all right. Although the maneuver was sluggish on the retraction, as Nick had to strain to keep the point facing straight ahead. The best motion came when he whipped the sword down like an axe, taking advantage of the top-heavy weighting to drive the edge directly into his target. In addition to maximizing his cutting power and penetration, this kind of strike allowed the imbalance to work in his favor, transferring the force generated by the momentum directly into his opponent, making his blows more difficult to block or parry.
Nick had read that all attacks with bladed weapons were variations on eight basic slashing angles, as well as the thrust, creating nine core attacks that formed the foundation for all advanced techniques. With that in mind, he tried out each of these fundamental motions, getting a feel for which worked best with the unique properties of his weapon.
It felt good bringing the blade down in a straight, overhead chop as he took a step forward, using the weight of the sword and his body to unleash a powerful attack. Changing the angle felt all right on the right diagonal down, and Nick could manage a weaker, shorter chop coming down from the left. Along the other angles of attack, the weight of the blade worked against him. As such, slashing straight left to right, left diagonal up, and straight up were simply not possible for him with his current strength and skill.
The final two angles were more manageable, although his clumsy attempts were a far cry from a proper technique. The blade was too heavy to draw a horizontal arc straight from Nick’s right, but he was able to manage a rising strike starting from that position. He could also bring the tip low in a sweeping strike as he twisted his hips left, sending the weapon down to target his opponent’s legs.
On defense, the hilt was designed to catch another weapon, stopping it from sliding down the blade and hitting his hands. However, the cross-guard was poorly suited for keeping his fingers safe from tooth or claw. He had discovered a workaround if he wielded the sword in two hands, not that he was anywhere near strong enough to swing it with one arm just yet.
With a bit of trial and error, Nick discovered that he could place one palm along the back of the blade, bracing the body of the sword to take a hit without knocking it out of his hands. He just had to make sure that whatever he was blocking didn’t land anywhere near his fingers.
He used his right arm to control his strikes and his left primarily as support. One day, he might be able to train his left hand into some form of ambidexterity, but for now, he only felt confident in guiding the blade with his dominant hand.
An hour into his impromptu weapon training session, Nick was covered in a chill sheen of sweat. His arms shook with weakness, his control dead and leaden. With a cry of exertion, he lowered the sword into the dirt, unable to bear the weight of the blade any longer.
Don’t get discouraged. I think I can get these basics down after a few more hours of practice, but I’ll have to wait until my arms recover. With a sigh, he slid the weapon into his bag and then drained the rest of the water in his canteen. He only let himself rest long enough to catch his breath because Nick’s improvised training regimen wasn’t over yet.
With the heavy lifting out of the way, it was time to familiarize himself with his backup weapons, starting with the dagger he had taken from the ratmen.