Derek appeared in a huge arena that looked like it came from an alien world. It was like a coliseum, big and partly familiar, but also very different. It was impressive and a bit overwhelming, perfect for the battles that happened here. Around the arena, there were many weapons stored and sorted on racks. Some looked normal to Derek, but others were strange, showing that many different fighters had been here. The white sand on the ground told stories of many fierce battles, marked with deep crimson stains.
It took a moment for Derek to remember why he was here. The alien coliseum threw him off, the place felt very real, but also strange. In the middle of the arena stood a large, grey-skinned alien with four powerful arms. He stared at Derek from a distance, evaluating him and his ability. They were the only two there – no other fighters or people watching. This made Derek feel more focused and aware, ready for the challenge ahead.
He looked Derek up and down, getting the measure of him. He frowned, then growled, “Another comes.”
“Your name stranger?” He demanded in a tone that expected complete compliance.
“Derek.”
“Stat sheet.” He requested with a demand.
Derek sent it to him.
“You passed your first evolution.” His words struck a chord in Derek. “I remember the last of the Divine Dragons and you are trash compared to their magnificence. You do not deserve to carry their name.” Derek clenched his jaw, a flicker of indignation passing through him. “It matters not. We both have a job to do and you will do yours as I do mine.”
“My name is Battlemaster Kemijao. I’ll be teaching you how to each of these weapons.” He explained motioning around the arena with two arms. “Let’s get started.”
Two weapons appeared before them. Two quarterstaves and Derek reached out and grabbed him as the battlemaster grabbed his own. He twirled the staff, its weight familiar yet demanding, as it cut through the air. By the time he looked up, the battlemaster was already swinging his own staff at Derek’s unprotected head.
The staff slammed into Derek’s head, sending him skipping across the arena to crash into the wall with a sandy explosion. Each impact with the ground and then the wall sent a jolt of pain through his system. It hurt, but didn’t cause injury, just pain. He climbed to his feet as the battlemaster closed the distance in a flash. He slammed his staff into Derek’s head again, sending him careening along the floor and wall until sliding to a stop. As Derek steadied himself, standing ready, he acknowledged the learning curve he was climbing.
“Always be aware of your surroundings!”
He clumsily blocked the battlemaster’s swing and returned to his own as he started falling into his own practice, but the battlemaster outclassed him. Derek’s attempted a swing was met with a smooth block and a counter, which sent Derek stumbling back as the counter struck him in the shoulder.
“Maintain a steady stance!”
The battlemaster stepped, blocked, countered, and worked through the movements like a veteran born with the weapon in his hand. Derek wasn’t even a match for him. The few measly encounters hadn’t prepared him for this level of embarrassment. He didn’t know how to use the weapon effectively, not even qualifying as a novice.
Throughout the training, Battlemaster Kemijao constantly gave Derek tips and corrections. Derek quickly learned from this immediate feedback. He was attentive and focused, absorbing everything the battlemaster taught. He became a better warrior with each instruction. Yet, Derek never managed to touch the battlemaster during their sessions. The battlemaster pushed Derek hard, encouraging him to move faster and hit harder. Derek had to use every stat point to keep up, always pushing his body to the absolute maximum.
Every mistake Derek made, like overreaching or losing balance, was met with a sharp correction from the battlemaster. Derek didn’t let up; he pushed past his physical and mental limits. After several hours of this intense practice, they took a short break. This gave Derek a chance to catch his breath and the battlemaster time to evaluate Derek’s progress. Seeing Derek’s growing confidence, the battlemaster changed his approach, switching from aggressive attacks to quick defensive moves. This forced Derek to adjust his strategy, testing his physical skills and his ability to think quickly under pressure.
“Keep it up. You’re doing well,” Kemijao encouraged him.
Derek continued to improve, following the battlemaster’s footwork and flow, refining his technique with each exchange. He struggled against while trying various techniques, but the battlemaster skillfully blocked each attempt.
“Focus on precision, not just speed and strength,” the battlemaster advised, parrying another of Derek’s attacks.
It felt like days passed as the battlemaster relentlessly beat him to the ground, always moving at speeds Derek could barely match. Forcing him to his absolute limit. Time after time, Derek jumped to his feet just in the nick of time to avoid a ground shaking impact with the battlemaster’s staff. Derek was surprised the wooden staff hadn’t broken from the amount of force exerted.
Derek knew victory was not within reach, yet with each correction of his mistakes, he sensed growth in his abilities. As he pushed the boundaries of his skills, the Battlemaster escalated the challenge. Every time Derek became better, the Battlemaster’s speed and strength intensified to match Derek’s improvements. This relentless push forced Derek to extend beyond his perceived limits. In the Battlemaster’s every move, Derek saw a blend of flawless execution and purpose, a dance of power and precision that left no room for excess.
In a swift move, the battlemaster knocked Derek’s feet from under him and swung his staff down towards Derek’s head. Reacting quickly, Derek raised his staff to block the attack. The impact was so strong that his elbows slammed the packed sand, as if it could have crushed a skull, even one as tough as his. Driven by instinct, Derek rolled away the moment the battlemaster’s staff was no longer a threat, narrowly escaping the powerful strike.
Derek’s body automatically adjusted. He rolled onto his feet, spinning his staff, clearing the surrounding area. He hit nothing and his instinct locked onto the battlemaster who was standing a two dozen feet away.
“Good. Your staff training is complete.” The battlemaster said. “Let’s move onto bladed weapons.”
As the staves vanished, they were replaced by straight swords. Derek took a moment to adjust his grip, feeling the new weapon’s balance. The battlemaster didn’t even give Derek much time to process the change in weapons before the battlemaster was on him, slashing with his sword like a saber. Derek defended poorly. His inexperience with the weapon pushed him in the wrong direction, his movement sloppy and his strikes overly flamboyant. Derek tried to focus on his footwork and kept his extra hand out of the way, but he struggled, waving his blade around to parry each strike. Not that he could protect himself from the master level opponent.
Nearly each strike got through, a shredding feeling carved through his chest, a rip across his face. The pain all too real as the battlemaster showed no mercy. Derek slowly started getting the hang of the sword. His body naturally wanted to block a certain way. The battlemaster corrected his form verbally when needed, otherwise; he let the pain teach.
“Your stance is too wide.”
Derek quickly blocked the battlemaster’s slashing attack and quickly counterattacked. The battlemaster dodged Derek’s strike with nimble steps, his sword moving as if it had been part of him his whole life. He adjusted to Derek’s skill level seamlessly during their duel.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Derek’s every attack was deflected by the battlemaster, which frustrated him. Then, the battlemaster’s blade lightly hit Derek’s face, sending him stumbling back against the wall. The hit shook him, causing a sharp sting on his cheek. Derek, though in pain, regained his focus and determination. He rushed towards the battlemaster again, this time with a more controlled and deliberate aggression.
The battlemaster flattened Derek to the floor as he overextended, desperate to hit the supernatural being. His frustration was mounting. All this time, he wasn’t able to even touch Battlemaster Kemijao. With the staff, it didn’t feel like he had grown much. He still wasn’t able to hit the man. Now, with the sword, Derek was completely out of his element. Swinging a bladed weapon felt odd, and being pushed hard like this sent him over the edge.
“If you wish to grow, get over your emotions and fight with a tactical mind. Emotions cloud judgement.” The battlemaster explained as Derek rolled to his feet.
“I’ve never even swung a fucking sword.” Derek growled, tossing the useless thing across the arena. “How am I supposed to know how to use it?”
“Watch, pay attention, and follow my movements.” The battlemaster instructed.
Derek, frustrated, picked up his sword again and closely observed as the battlemaster showed him a sequence of moves. He took a deep breath to calm himself and started to copy the movements. His anger slowly turned into concentrated effort. The battlemaster kept giving him tips, helping him perfect his stance and technique. Together, they moved in sync, their swords cutting through the air in a dance of learning and skill. After this period of focused training, they began to spar again. This time, Derek sparred with a better understanding and skill, leading to a more intense and evenly matched exchange.
The battlemaster’s sword was not kind, but nor was it cruel. It simply was. Derek worked to learn how to anticipate the strikes, learning to predict and respond tactically rather than reactively. Every single one of the battlemaster’s attacks could be blocked if Derek was positioned properly, but he struggled. As they moved through each weapon, Derek’s inexperience was abundantly clear. The battlemaster punished idiocy and gave zero mercy, but he was fair. It was a struggle for Derek to keep a level head. The battlemaster would absolutely crush him when he got careless. The realization that victory was out of reach didn’t deter Derek; instead, it sharpened his focus on learning from each exchange.
Days blended into weeks, each moment marked by the relentless rhythm of combat training. As the endless cycle of sparring with various weapons unfolded, Derek’s once novice movements became instinct, honed by what seemed like months of unyielding practice. After what felt like months of non-stop sparring with various weapons, the battlemaster dropped his two-handed axe and it alone vanished, signaling the end to the sparring. Derek took a deep breath, acknowledging the mental and physical toll. He recognized the growth in his skills, feeling a quiet sense of accomplishment.
“Derek, you’ve performed admirably,” began the battlemaster, capturing his attention. “But bear in mind, this has been merely a training simulation. The pain you experienced in combat was transient, not reflective of actual sustained injuries. Shortly, you’ll face your final trial. Before that, it’s crucial to understand that the weapon you wield can be shaped by your will. During the trial, any pain endured in battle won’t simply dissipate as it did here. Fight with skill, and remember the lessons you’ve learned.”
Abruptly, the world around Derek morphed. The air chilled, and the scent of damp earth filled his nostrils as he found himself standing on one side of a vast, mist-shrouded battlefield. Surrounded by the caldera’s steep walls, Derek noted their rugged, uneven surfaces, a mix of gray and brown hues under the overcast sky. Across the caldera’s expanse, a troll army loomed, a silent, ominous presence beneath the heavy clouds. Derek stood alone, a solitary figure dwarfed by the scale of the caldera and the thousands of advancing trolls.
The sound of the horn echoed off the caldera walls, amplifying the thunderous charge of the trolls, heading straight for him. Derek sighed and rolled his shoulders in preparation to slay an army. The feeling of the ground shaking as thousands of heavy feet pounded the vegetation flat was terrifying. He could feel the thundering throughout his body, and Derek had to swallow down the mounting fear. He would have turned and ran if he could have gotten away with it, but no, this fight was to train his body and mind.
Derek hefted his axe onto his shoulder and grimaced as he took his first step forward. He swallowed down the bitter taste welling up in him. His second step forward came easier as he forced down the coppery taste. The third was even easier. With a burst of adrenaline, Derek charged into the sea of advancing trolls, his movements a representation of his fool-hardy determination.
He barreled into the front line, his axe embedding deep into the troll’s torso. This was a terrible weapon for mass combat like this. An axe was great for when the enemy wasn’t focused on him, but fighting with an axe was more about destruction than balance and maneuverability. Even the battlemaster wasn’t immune to the drawbacks of such an unbalanced weapon.
As the melee engulfed him, Derek realized the axe’s limitations in close quarters. With a concentrated thought, the axe morphed into a staff better suited for balanced maneuvers. In a blink, he swapped into quarterstaff techniques. Spinning and breaking bones. He moved from the staff to a 2-handed maul to crush limbs or heads as he created openings. Adapting to the onslaught, the weapon split in his hands, forming a pair of sturdy shields that Derek used to deflect incoming blows with practiced ease. Then it changed into two swords as he carved through an arm. Each of his swords moved with deadly efficiency, cutting through two different enemies’ legs. He spun and started carving through body parts. The swords expanded from short swords to bastard swords as each carved through the air.
A troll slammed into him and sent him flying across the blood-soaked battlefield. He tumbled and rolled with practiced ease back onto his feet as he whirled around the two bastards swords becoming a quarterstaff. The troll that was trying to pound him into the ground was knocked back as Derek’s full might sent the troll flying back into the other. The staff’s ends sharpened into lethal blades, slicing through the oncoming trolls as the quarterstaff transformed into a deadly double-edged weapon. It cut through enemies with the full might of Derek’s momentum. In his hands, the staff’s transformation into a war hammer mirrored his own relentless adaptation. The war hammer crushed a troll’s head before returning to a quarterstaff.
Each impact left a throbbing echo, a reminder of the relentless struggle, a reminder to push himself harder. It built, the pain of each blow adding together. Impacts that would have broken bones and removed limbs were piled together until his body was in a trance of constant agony. He pushed through. The trial was as much about training his body as training his mind.
The trolls retaliated fiercely, hurling Derek across the battlefield like a ragdoll. His trained practice sent him through the movements of each of the weapons. His staff morphed into a chain weapon, its cold metal links clinking menacingly, until the troll’s force sent him sprawling. Bloody mud splattered everywhere as he hit the ground with his tactical awareness still intact.. The chain weapon became a set of combat knives and he twisted carving the trolls’ leg apart as he escaped the situation, only to be tackled to the ground and turned into a football as they kicked him around the battlefield. Derek repaid the favor as he rose to his feet, turning the nearby trolls into an explosion of flesh from a set of maces.
Days blurred into nights, a relentless rhythm of strife and fleeting moments of triumph. The days bled into weeks as he did nothing but focus on killing. At night, he was able to keep fighting under the dim light of the red moon. All the training had burned information into his brain and now he used it. He changed his weapons intentionally to pick the worse weapon for the situation and figured out how to navigate around the problem.
A massive troll broke through the ranks, its ferocity pushing Derek to the brink of his limits. He defended as best he could with the set of daggers he was holding. He dropped to a crouch and rolled out of the way, slashing through the troll’s leg, before his attention was pulled toward another troll. The pain was a constant reminder of what happened when he got hit.
Over the weeks, the movements burned themselves into his brain. Techniques flowed without thought, a warrior’s trance born from endless combat. As the last troll fell, he didn’t feel like he was finished with his own goals. Derek realized it wasn’t just about winning; it was about enduring, about pushing past limits he never knew he had.
As Derek stood there, his breath coming in heaving gasps. He looked across the bloody caldera where the mass of a thousand trolls lay. The axe in his hand was heavy, still dripping with blood and viscera.
As the training continued, the surroundings shifted dramatically. The battlefield they were in disappeared, giving way to the vivid, intense atmosphere of the arena. The air cleared of dust, revealing Battlemaster Kemijao standing opposite Derek. In his hands, Derek’s axe transformed into a short wooden rod. He looked it over, feeling its weight and balance. At the same time, he noticed Battlemaster Kemijao watching him carefully. It was clear that the battlemaster was assessing him, not just for his combat skills, but for something deeper, something beyond mere physical ability.
“You’ve shown resilience, Derek. But living up to your namesake’s race? That remains a distant peak to climb, perhaps forever out of reach.” Battlemaster Kemijao said with a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “It is time for you to leave.”
“How do I get one of these?” Derek asked, holding up the rod.
The battlemaster grinned, then shrugged like it wasn’t his problem. The arena vanished around him, everything fading to black.