After many more lectures from Askar, which were practically all just intense information dumps, Rafe was incredibly tired, which he wasn’t supposed to be able to feel in this world. Well, even a God’s powers can’t stop mental fatigue it seemed.

As for what he had been learning, a lot of it involved Askar’s powers, but it soon branched out to the other Lords. Arnysa, Lord of Flames, obviously had fire-related powers. According to Askar, who wasn’t certain he knew all her powers, she could summon flames from nothing. Not only that, she could create somewhat sentient creatures from her flames. For example, her dragon, Ester. Apparently the damned beast was a hassle for Askar, since he pounced on him randomly in the middle of his fight with Arnysa. When it came to Arnysa, she had no honour and wasn’t shy when it came to dirty tricks. However, Askar couldn’t say anything; he would kill all the Lords in their sleep if he could.

“We’re gonna move onto stage two after this” Askar stated.

Looking at him confused, Rafe asked, “Stage two?”

Askar simply nodded.

“Yes. I’ll need to gauge your combat skills. Then, we’ll need to improve them. By a lot, if what I saw before this was your best” Askar said, not even meaning the last part as an insult but as a fact. Whilst Rafe was decent for a normal stranded, when it came to the Lords, he was incredibly inadequate. In fact, he wouldn’t even be worthy of licking their shoes with his meager sword skills.

Rafe spat, yet he couldn’t argue. He knew if Askar had been in good condition when they fought that he would have wiped the floor with him. Actually, even in the state he was in, he might have been able to destroy Rafe and his feeble sword skills.

“Why are you willing to put so much effort in for me? Telling me all of this about the Lords, and now teaching me combat” Rafe asked, suspicious.

However, Askar refused to answer him properly, “I will tell you in due time. For now, don’t worry about the small details and just work hard”.

‘In due time? Secretive bastard. Why can’t he tell me now?’ Rafe complained.

Some time later, once Rafe felt a lot less fatigued and could actually think properly, their combat training began. First, they had to have a small bout in order for Askar to get a good read of Rafe’s current skills. Of course, since Askar was an incredible swordsman, who managed to kill the previous Lord of the Night, his expectations of a young stranded would be terribly warped.

With that, they begun. Askar prompted to allow Rafe to attack first. To start with, we would test Rafe’s attacks, only defending and parrying them in order for him to analyse that first. Once he had Rafe’s attack skills recorded, he would attack himself and test Rafe’s defenses.

With a wave of his hand, Askar summoned two Daos from the same dark-blue matter that formed this dimension, handing one to Rafe, or rather throwing it as it seemed to float perfectly towards his opponent. It was as if there were no laws of physics to this world, no laws at all. Or if there were any, they were created and ignored by Askar; he was the God of this realm, and the realm seemed to revolve solely around him.

As Askar shouted some gibberish in order to signal the beginning of the fight, Rafe sprinted at his opponent across the hard ground. Since they were going to need good footing, Askar warped the normally soft, cloud-like dark-blue matter into a grass-like terrain. Since most fights weren’t going to be on flat ground, Askar left the terrain as it was, a random jumble of cloud-like shapes that ended up mirroring the texture and design of a messy grass-like terrain, which was perfect.

Charging at his opponent, Rafe was completely focused on Askar and any slight movement he might make. As he closed the distance between them, he began to slow down his pace and focus on his footing and form for the attack. Then, he leaped forward with a downwards slash with seemed to be aimed at Askar’s throat.

Cling.

“Poor” Askar uttered, disappointed. Well, it was to be expected of a kid.

As the predictable slash came flying down towards his neck, Askar simply swatted it away with his sword as though swatting a fly. It took next to no energy for him to dispel the poor attack from his opponent, and then simply strike the sword at the exact opposite direction to which he has swatted it away, causing the sword to fly out of Rafe’s hand and dissipate.

Stolen novel; please report.

With his divine-matter built sword dashing away from his hand, Rafe pulled a face of frustration. It took no effort at all. None. Was he really this weak? Sure, he knew he wouldn’t be able to beat the Lord before him; that was obvious. But how could he be defeated so easily? His master would have praised his sword skills, he used to be sure of that. But now, had he simply failed her? He was inadequate. He was weak.

“Alright. Your fighting style is incredibly stiff. It’s like you are utilising pre-recorded motions rather than actually thinking about each strike. It’s highly predictable” Askar begun, “It’s deeply imbedded, I can tell, which is a problem. Well, you know what they say: destroy to build and all that. Let’s dispel this crappy imitation of sword skill and begin anew”

At that, Askar begin to break down Rafe’s swordstyle, mocking it at every point and insulting Rafe for even thinking it was sword skill at all. It was an embarrassment, he said. Anyone who dared to use it was a fool and a stain on sword fighting. But alas, Askar could save him. And so, after the endless parade of insults directed at Rafe, Askar floated the sword back into Rafe’s hand.

“This time, think. A lot of fighting is in the mind. Witless clashing of swords is moronic” Askar said, speaking as though he was a scholar of sorts. Rafe held a look of disdain.

At that, more gibberish left Askar’s mouth to signal the beginning of the fight. This time, Askar went on the offensive, closing the gap between him and Rafe with incredible speed, leaving Rafe incredulous at the fast movement of his opponent. This was Askar’s realm, his domain; he was a pure-bred swordsman.

‘Think. Think’ Rafe repeated as Askar was about to attack.

Swinging down on the boy, Askar saw Rafe’s mind igniting through his eyes, sticking a smile onto his face. As the dark-blue dao came down on him, Rafe made his move. He scraped his own dao against the incoming sword, making his dao a sort of boundary for the strike before thrusting some force in to push the blade away and ruin it’s trajectory. At that moment, Rafe looped the sword around, maintaining it’s momentum and directing it at his opponent’s neck.

However, Askar was ready and shifted his body to make the attack more uncomfortable to perform, and tricky, yet not impossible, before swing his own sword up and placing it right up Rafe’s jaw, killing him.

The experience was incredibly strange for Rafe, feeling the dao go straight through his head, reaching his brain, which should have killed him; yet it didn’t. Not only that, but he felt no pain as it invaded his skull. What had happened.

“Freaky, right?” Askar stated.

“What the hell is this?” Rafe asked, confused and anxious as the dao was still embedded in his skull.

Retracting the dark-blue sword, Askar smiled proudly.

“You can’t die here. Not without my say. See, your body isn’t actually here. More like a projection surrounding your soul. So, your soul is here, along with your thoughts, so basically you, and then a perfect projection of your body. Except it lacks the ability to be harmed, unless I add that function” Askar explained with a proud face. Clearly, this realm had much more to it than Rafe had realised, which he should have considered it was a divine domain created by the avatar of a god. And not just any god; The Fallen God.

“Thats…awesome” he blurted out.

“Right? Isn’t it just?” Askar said with excitement, “But anyways, let’s get back to it. Your skill with the sword needs a lot of work. But I must say, I’m surprised how fast you picked up on the creative aspect of fighting. Against a crappy swordsman, you’d have done just fine”

Rafe couldn’t tell whether the last part was meant as an insult, but he certainly took it that way. For someone who seemed so friendly and modest before, he sure was insulting when it came to swordsmanship. Damned bastard. Still, he knew getting personal guidance from a Lord was a perfect opportunity, once in a lifetime, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Perhaps it would help in his endeavour to escape? No, it certainly would.

Days flew by with neither of the two getting any rest. Soon, Rafe was shaping up to be a damned good swordsman, which shocked Askar a little since he expected it would take much much longer for Rafe to transition his swordstyle to this superior one. Well, he wasn’t complaining.

Still, Rafe was just another crappy swordsman in Askar’s eyes, and there was a lot of work to be done. But this was good. Things were going to be faster this way. A lot faster.

Then, months flew by, without the two of them actually knowing how much time they had spent endlessly fighting with little rest over long periods of time. Sometimes, Rafe would ask for a break to think up on how to fix his style and what he could do. Sometimes, Askar would make them take a break to lecture Rafe on something or to do a few demonstrations with golems he forged from the dark-blue matter that made up the domain. A lot of work was getting done in what would be a fraction of a second in the real world.

To Rafe, this was a true blessing from the gods, to be allowed to experience this; to get this high level training and only lose a mere second, less than that, in the real world. Plus, it wasn’t just his fighting getting better, he was getting much better informed about the world. For example, how damned large it was compared to how it was talked of in books and whatnot. They said it was large but no one said just how large. And well, it was around three times the size of Earth, according to Askar. Which was insane. Also, terrifying. Why? Because a limited amount of rifts would appear overtime, and in the most random of places. A bigger world meant more places it could be other than where Rafe was. Escaping was harder.

At that moment, more gibberish left Askar’s mouth. The battle had begun.