Put down your dolls. Don your armor, swing your sword.
The wooden sword in Elin's hands cut through the air as deadly as any metal blade, provided it hit something vital or an unarmored part. A cheap metal blade made her a fearsome warrior, and, with quality steel, a phenom walked the battlefield. Anyone that witnessed it praised it, and anyone that faced her died, or they lived with the terror of facing it a second time.
Women do not swing a sword the same as men. Men fight with courage, women survive with the heart. Don your armor, swing your sword.
The truth of her technique rested not on strength or speed. She possessed both in abundance, especially after her meteoric rise in levels, but it was not the core. Her ability magnified from the usual expectation of women, sensitivity, and understanding.
Observe the opponent, learn who they are, and when it is known what they desire, mercilessly cut it from them. Don your armor, swing your sword.
Lady Jeanne Folcey, the She-Devil of the Saber, instructed her daughter that a clash of weapons is a connection of courage and heart. This was the sole reason the Falling Feather martial art was passed from mother-to-daughter, men were not considered suitable. Each parry sharpened her riposte because she learned how to slash to maximize where it hurt, and the combination of attacks grew deadlier. No weakness left unpunished.
Her mother proved the style's unparalleled power when she cut down Lord Richard Folcey and crippled Brother Favian, for dereliction of duty, without so much as shedding a tear. Thus, cemented the fall of House Folcey.
Don your armor--
"I hated that armor!" she screamed, "Fuck you!"
She stomped her foot and whipped the sword across the empty training yard. Its path brought it across a stack of headless polearms, and they scattered like sticks in a child's game. After a cathartic sigh, Elin lulled her head back and stared at the morning sky.
The twin moons illuminated the night bright enough to read by. Lux, the son of Gaia, waxed full. As ever, the claw-shaped crater cracked its surface. Stories from the Age of Miracles say Lux's mark was a lethal strike from Vex, son of Ouroboros, the eldest dragon. In retaliation, Lux ripped out Vex's eye, and it became the crimson moon.
Walter would probably ask something silly, like, "How could a moon be the son of a goddess?"
Elin wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her tunic, and she wondered if it didn't leave behind more than she cleaned. Fresh beads of sweat formed.
"Ah, I wasted his bath. I shouldn't have done that."
No, stop thinking like that! He needs you at the vanguard today, not mewling like a pet!
Elin visited Pilgrim's Folly kitchen, and borrowed a brazier, cooking pot, and bought ingredients. She froze when she noticed a bleary-eyed elf, the inn's cook, staring at her.
"To the spawn with the innkeeper," the elf whispered, "What does he know, anyway?" and turned a blind eye.
Tiptoeing around Walter's sleeping form on the floor, she established a cooking station on the desk. Click. A small weight tapped on Elin's side of the scales, the first one since yesterday evening.
Walter, come now, don't ruin it.
She jabbed his toe into his side. Typical of Walter, he grumbled, rolled over, and continued his sleep. She smirked. Then she had an idea.
"Walter, get on the bed." He might be the type to listen while unconscious.
Clack. She carelessly spoke a command, and she reprimanded herself.
"I can't," he rambled from inside a dream, "It's not green."
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Elin blinked, then quickly covered her mouth to gag her laughter.
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Walter scarfed her food. When he could shovel no more with the spoon, he lifted the bowl and slurped the broth. Some spilled on his shirt.
"Delicious!"
"Next time, could you attempt table manners?" Glad you enjoyed it.
You make me dull, Walter, you know that? Wait, that's wrong. You put a different kind of edge on my sword. Instead of a flat angle for bloodletting, it's like the curved one of an ax now. I'm not as lethal, but I think I can hold my shape better.
"I had the weirdest dream. I dreamt I was a gas pedal, and my driver kept stomping on me to run red lights."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
You know why?
She watched him as he noticed he stained his own clothes.
Because you're so dense, I have to. You're a rock, and who could possibly want to cut you?
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If goblins are the mockery of children, turned murderously vicious, then hobgoblins are the ruination of brave men. So, Elin's sword carved deeper. Men died defending this kingdom, and Elin's honor determined their derision intolerable.
"Do I even need to move up?" Adem studied Elin's handiwork, "The Falling Feather art is truly amazing. I would enjoy sparring with you again."
"Yes, I suppose it is. If there is only one enemy, please give me space to fight. Otherwise, we'll proceed as planned." I don't want to spar with you.
I know your type. Get close, get married. Searching for resurrection magic is a fool's errand, or rather, it's not your primary goal. You want to build a house, and you're looking for a lady.
Don't think I haven't noticed, you walk between us, posturing to separate. You think Walter is a threat, which is humorous, but imagining you can compete with him, is tragic.
"What do you see in him? Is it his big supplier's pack?" Erik faded in from the shadows. He inherited [Invisibility] magic from his father. Once he acted, the spell would end, but under its shroud, he could scout the area. "Area's clear, by the way."
"Crossing swords with him would ruin my weapon."
"He doesn't seem that strong," Adem remarked.
"Oh, he's not."
"Aren't you worried about that?" Erik pointed at Rebecca grabbing Walter's hand and pressing her chest against him, "She might steal him. They're spending a lot of time together in the center of the formation."
"She's not doing anything for him."
"How can you be sure?"
"Insight, and he can't feel her through the canvas."
"It seems cowardly that your man wears armor, and you fight in cloth," Adem remarked.
She bit her tongue. You're wearing plate, who are you to talk? Elin broke formation to move to Walter, leaving behind Adem and Erik on the vanguard.
"Seems the dungeon is clear," Elin said, "What would you like to do?"
"Hmm," Walter said and scratched his chin, "We should probably be thorough."
Elin nodded. Right, he can see them with his 'Eyes of the Archwizard.' No, it's, 'HUD' now. He scratched his face with two fingers, then quickly eyed to the left. I'll make up an excuse and direct the party.
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Walter stacked silver coins on the desk in their room, then counted the stacks with a merchant's studiousness.
"Well?"
"Yeah, you're right," he said, "I made more than you."
She dropped her head flat. Her levels more than doubled, and her stamina held out longer, but she still had limits. Walter being safe in the middle of a party, however, let her focus more on the fight.
Rather than calculate individual markups, he raised prices 50% in general. Resurrection spent half the silver they earned buying goods from Walter. At present, Resurrection and their own party still considered each other tentatively joined, so they agreed to an even split of silver by individual. Walter was excluded as a non-contracted supplier.
"They'll slow down," she warned, "Because they increased their combat power, they're entering unfamiliar dungeons."
More likely, Rebecca and Adem influenced the others to spend.
"You mean your showing off?"
"Hmm?"
Walter looked over his shoulder, "Don't think I didn't notice. If you keep fighting recklessly like that, then I'll quit. Let Adem tank hits, and Erik sneak attack."
"I suppose I was making a statement."
"Like what?"
"That I didn't need armor."
Walter stood up, and Elin followed him with her eyes as he walked to the bed, wedged a knee between hers, and leaned over her.
"W-wait..."
When she curled to sit up, Walter pushed her down again. Elin's heart raced.
Then he suddenly rapped on her forehead with his knuckles.
"Ouch! Walter! What are you doing!?"
"Are you stupid? Of course, you need armor!"
Elin snickered after his reprimand.
I was right, swords are no match for a rock.