image [https://i.imgur.com/nHijsKp.jpg]

True to Dino’s announcement, the arena’s classes focused on longswords after covering axe fundamentals. As with courses in Belden, I began helping the students practice their techniques. Dino watched me for a while but said nothing, and I took it as tacit approval to help those having trouble.

As far as I knew, I became the only student with multiple weapon skills in their twenties. Even Fabulosa and Iris hovered in their mid-to-high teens. By the time we’d started with longswords, my bludgeoning rank had reached 23, my slashing 25, and my piercing 26. As I approached Applied Knowledge’s terminal rank of 30 in several other skills, I spammed my spells over a daily routine—even though combat casting proved far more productive.

Dino’s longsword philosophy differed from choreographed game animations, something I learned during a humbling exhibition. He regularly used me as a sparring partner for classroom demonstrations. Other students found my proper legwork and movement helpful to watch, and he never missed a chance to take me down a peg whenever he taught us a new technique.

Fabulosa chewed her lip and watched us with furtive sideways glances. She looked jealous or annoyed that Dino chose me for exhibitions, even if they often proved that the governor had much to learn. As with Charitybelle in Belden, drawbacks came from being the teacher’s pet. Though we teased each other, I never used the opportunity to press her buttons.

If it became a sign that I matured as a leader, it counted as the only one. I never learned how to whip people into shape like Yula. Ally joked with her people but knew how to put her foot down when she wanted something done. I couldn’t think of a single time when I’d bent the town to my will, nor did I know if good leaders did this or if a hands-off approach worked best.

Not knowing what else to do about it, I decided that proving myself to be more proficient at weapons might be a way to earn respect, so I concentrated on raising my combat skills. It flattered me to be Dino’s sparring partner, but my battle instincts often failed me. The day we learned longswords provided a perfect example.

Dino chose wooden versions of the classic two-handed sword.

I spotted a cloth bumper wound around the tip of Dino’s longsword—and my eyes followed the bumper. Whenever Dino’s practice weapons had padding, it meant he intended to strike me.

Dino looked relaxed with his sword on his shoulder as if to avoid the proper way to handle a blade. “Please show us how you defend yourself with a big stick.”

The weight of my practice sword made the double-gripped handle necessary. I held it like a baseball bat, cocking my elbow back, ready to swing at the slightest provocation. Squinting my eyes, I tensed my muscles to react to Dino’s move. I belonged on a movie poster.

Dino’s expression darkened, and he shifted his shoulder. “And what is this you present to your opponent? A surrender?” His tone wasn’t like his usual offhand insults, but he looked genuinely puzzled.

I loosened my pose a little. Dino waited for me to change my form.

I angled the blade to my left side and readied a backhand swing.

“Yet another surrender?” Dino tsked and waited for me to change my grip.

I felt comfortable, so I didn’t move, confident I could repel his best swing.

“Very well.” He slowly extended his weapon into a double grip and jabbed the tip at my forehead. He struck me between the eyes. I saw stars and reeled backward.

Dino waited while I adjusted to favor my dominant side and shifted back to my original baseball pose. He shook his head, lunged, and thumped me hard on my chest. After being hit, my reaction swing slowed to a predictable arc, and Dino avoided it with a sidestep and a casual lean.

“Perhaps the governor prefers to be the aggressor in this dialog, yes? You may open.”

Dino held his blade toward me at a 45-degree angle—its tip pointed ominously at my face. But he stood flat-footed as if daring me to attack. After all our footwork exercises, I couldn’t imagine how he could defend himself.

I moved toward him with a readied swing, but I’d drawn my blade too far back to block his incoming jab. As soon as I moved, Dino jabbed his blade forward, and its cotton-tipped bumper nailed me on the nose, and my vision blurred with tears. Abandoning my attack, I backed away, rubbing my face.

From somewhere behind me, Fabulosa broke the classroom silence. “Dino, he’s going to need a face guard.”

I turned back to her. “I don’t need to get it from two directions, thank you.”

The crowd of students laughed, and I joined them. Seeing the humor in this wasn’t hard, for the situation looked ridiculous. I’d worked with short swords before and never performed so poorly. What was I doing wrong?

Dino held up an index finger and clucked with his tongue. “Lesson the first—One does not swing a longsword.”

My eyes cleared enough to catch the puzzled expression on Fabulosa’s face, and I felt somewhat justified in my confusion. Her reaction encouraged me to challenge Dino. I felt creeping doubt as I spoke. “Wait a minute. That’s what swords are for—aren’t they? They’re swords, so you swing them.”

“If you must, try your swing.” Dino rolled his eyes and pronounced the last word with disdain. He allowed me to try different angles, but all of my attacks exposed me to pokes. The jabs felt unfair because they moved too quickly to block.

It took only a few minutes, but, at last, I came to the same conclusion as his axe lessons. Longswords weren’t slashing weapons. Swings left me so unguarded that my opponent’s reactive jab hit me before I landed my stroke.

“Lesson the second—Never surrender the kill box.”

The kill box defined the chest-to-head area. As a rule of thumb, Dino taught us to point weapons at an opponent’s face—the kill box. I’d wrongly assumed kill boxes only applied to axes.

Dino turned to the onlooking crowd. “A dialog with longswords is not a measure of strength or swiftness—it is of endurance and discipline. Those making the first mistake lose. Reaction is more important than action.”

I thought longswords offered opportunities to make dramatic, deep-cutting swings. Longswords made quick, light strikes—little jabs with heavy weapons caused enough damage to win the day.

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An arena packed with students practicing with wooden longswords stood quieter than expected. Using Dino’s jab method, swords rarely clacked together sideways. Pairs spread out, as our instructor emphasized the need for “dialog” space. Standing toe-to-toe fighting favored the stronger participant and quickly exhausted energy. Experienced soldiers preferred to rely on skills. Hit-and-withdraw tactics prevailed, requiring more floor space.

The forward grip acted as the pivot, and the backward hand aimed the weapon. The weapon’s point rarely left the kill box as one pressed the attack. It astonished me that this jabbing attack happened faster than a saber swing. A quick thrust required little energy, maintained one’s defense, and needed no recovery. After a quick jab, a warrior’s arms, hands, and legs returned to where they began—poised for another stab.

It looked boring but trumped all other tactics.

I spent a power point on Thrust, a productive attack when used with Ignite Weapon, a combo I’d seen Fabulosa pull off repeatedly.

Having advanced in Dino’s combat classes, I saw Thrust’s broad application. It didn’t cause extra damage but improved melee prowess across the board. This value became apparent upon realizing longswords excelled in thrusting, not slashing.

Thrust enabled me to extend a weapon’s jabbing reach beyond its physical length as if it were invisibly longer.

Fabulosa mentioned that taking Thrust unlocked Transpose—information I became grateful to have. Playing with her by my side paid dividends.

I spent a second power point on Transpose.

Power (spell)

Transpose (tier 2)

Prerequisites

Dodge rank 25, Thrust

Cost

40 mana

Cooldown

1 hour

Cast time

Instant

Description

Within a range of 1 yard for every tenth rank in arcane magic, caster switches position with another medium-sized creature.

Transpose offered a terrific utility, but even its terrible range would have proven invaluable in the panopticon fight against the kobolds. Luckily, I carried two items that augmented my arcane magic to 28, ten higher than my actual rank.

Transpose wasn’t an ability Fabulosa could use since she had no ranks in arcane magic. I supposed she could take it, but her range would be zero. My range reached only three yards, rendering the spell somewhat situational, but anything that affected an enemy’s position could become a game-changer in a battle.

Fabulosa and I paired off, and after hours of practicing, our arms grew weary. Fabulosa used her higher strength to corral me in close quarters. The closer we fought, the more she imposed her strength advantage to counterbalance my high rank in piercing weapons. When Dino returned to us, I dropped my guard to ask a question. “Is there ever a point when we get to swing a longsword?”

Fabulosa’s gaze went straight to Dino’s face for his answer. At least I wasn’t the only one disenchanted with these unromantic techniques.

Dino huffed in exasperation and thought before answering. “One may telegraph a swing to claim space. Longswords may serve as bludgeoning instruments if the opponent turtles, but battering is expensive. If one doesn’t need to conserve energy, then ring their bell, by all means. If your enemy is off-balance, unguarded, or distracted, it invites a moment of conclusion—but at that point, the dialog is already over, is it not?”

Dino moved away to put more space between himself and a target dummy to illustrate the next lesson. “My slashing and bludgeoning courses cover quadrant attacks against opponents who telegraph weight shifts.” He swung his blade against the upper and lower sides of the target dummy to show the quadrants. “If you recognized a shift in their footwork, you may anticipate their strike and deliver a quadrant blow. Then you may swing with abandon.”

“Do piercing weapons have quadrant attacks?”

Dino wagged his finger at me. “Yes and no. Quadrant attacks only apply to slashing if one can switch the longsword to a slashing attack.”

I didn’t understand, but Dino waved his hand. “We are ahead of ourselves, are we not? For now, it suffices to know that all weapons are jabbing weapons in respect to armed opponents.”

Dino also dispelled the notion of reverse-grip blocks. Dino called strokes ending with a downward pointing blade reverse-grip but produced ineffective, risky show-off moves.

Surprisingly, Fabulosa and I became the slowest to adopt the proper form of longswords. We performed at our worst when sparring with one another. When one of us fell into old habits, the other followed suit. We fell to the bottom of the class.

More than anything, Dino hated it when we tried to spin during combat. The river of insults he unleashed ensured that Fabulosa and I never spun during combat again. Spinning amounted to perhaps the worst thing a combatant could do. It wasn’t just a waste of energy—it disoriented and unbalanced a person, exposing them to attacks and self-injuries. In return, it accomplished nothing.

It took practice to unlearn theatrics and bad habits from a lifetime diet of movies and games. We considered abandoning longswords altogether. It helped me to think of it like a spear with a handguard. Jabs didn’t need nearly as much power behind them, and soon, I caught up with the rest of the class. Fabulosa, not to be outdone, practiced long hours and caught up too.

Movie choreographers had one thing correct. When two sword-bearers met, they often touched swords and slid them against each other. This wasn’t just melodrama. It provided a sensible way to size up one’s opponent and measure their temperament.

Troubles with learning blades undermined my resolve to invest my celestial core into a classic longsword. I’d considered how to use the Artilith, but I hesitated to pull the trigger. Without access to exotic metals, forging an ultimate weapon would have to wait. I wanted something special for my purple core.

As much as I wanted a new weapon, I felt guilty for taking the Artilith without telling Fabulosa. And beating her in every sparring match hadn’t helped her ego. Parading an ultimate weapon before her would make things even more awkward.

To satisfy my curiosity about using cores on weapons, I asked Rory about it over dinner.

The master blacksmith sat at one of the noisiest tables in the town hall. Rory sat with the Hornbusters. Fin, Angus, and Maggie and their table often kicked off songs after meals, and with the brewery under construction, everyone dined in a spirited mood.

“Rory, can I ask what you and Fin are working on these days?”

“Making grommets for wormide. ”

“Wormide?”

“Hugo’s been sewing leather. He, Fortune, and Olive are fitting armor designs.”

“Oh, you mean worm hide.”

“Aye, that’s what I said—wormide!” He and Angus shared concerned looks.

“What is the best metal for a weapon? Is there something legendary or exotic?”

Rory exchanged another look with Fin and narrowed their eyes at me. “Are ye milling around with bars of uncast mithril clankin’ in yer pockets?”

“No. I just wanted to know. Is mithril the best metal?”

Fin shook his head. “Mithril is about as pure as she gets. Unless maybe coldsteel is harder.” He looked at Rory for confirmation.

Rory shook his head. “Mithril is what ye want. Ye can cross mithril against coldsteel any day and never need to resharpen yer edges.”

Fin turned to Rory. “What about darksteel?”

Rory rolled his eyes, but after I gave him a questioning look, he explained himself. “Ye can find it in the Bluepeaks, but I never ‘eard of dwarves working with it.”

“What is darksteel?”

Rory shrugged. “It’s pure hard metal and found only in the Bluepeak Mountains, but I’ve never seen goblins with it. Deep elves use bits for exotic jewelry.”

Fin tilted his head. “But if the gobbers found any, it’s doubtful they’d be able to work with it.”

Rory flapped his hand. “Bah. I’ve only quenched darksteel in me dreams. Gobbers and deep elves have it.”

Fin sniffed at the mention of deep elves.

“Do deep elves mine too?”

Rory slammed his hand flat on the table. “They couldn’t crack an egg on a cold winter’s morn. If I marched onto Grenspur and chalked the fissures for ‘em, those wabblie longlegs wouldn’t know how to strike a blow. Manky dobbers use magic to open the earth but couldn’t find a vein on their own.”

Fin squinted skeptically. “Where, pray, do they get their weapons?”

“How should I know, ye eedjit? They prolly buy ‘em from gnomes for high luster.”

Fin tilted his head to show that Rory had made a good point.

I pressed them again for clarification. “So mithril is still the best? Can we forge mithril weapons using our smithy?”

Rory shook his head. “Nay. Not near hot enough. Ye need to infuse a smithy with a yellow core. Some say green is well-good, but yellow does the trick for sure.”

“We’d need a new smithy, then?”

Rory nodded. “Aye. And a yellow core.”