9. The Sword That Embodies Rage

As soon as I get down to business, though, my 21st-century first-world sensibilities kick in, and I’m distracted by the fact that I’ve got an audience. Performance anxiety is a real thing, and it goes double when I’m being watched by my Elf Crush and some starry-eyed children to boot.

The kids especially weigh heavily on my mind. Leto already sort of knows where I’m at in terms of my weird brand of swordsmanship, and apologies to coach-man, but I don’t really care what he thinks. The children, though… I really don’t want to mess up in front of the children.

And what’s my first instinct in dealing with performance anxiety? Stall.

On this occasion, I do so by asking Leto to cast [Barrier] on the young’uns, just to be safe. I then do a few stretches to limber up. I mean, I’m not young anymore, you know? Wouldn’t want to pull a hammy or tear an Achilles…

At some point, I realize that my stalling tactics only served to feed the hype. Now I have to deliver, otherwise I’d just look like a total jackass.

And… that’s exactly what happens. My stressed-out mind is all but blank as I go into my first move: a diagonal slash aimed at the buffalo’s neck. I miss, and my sword just kind of bounces against the side of the dummy, producing a dull and uninspiring thwack while I myself feel the sting of the impact throughout my layman’s body.

It takes a few seconds for me to even recover from my self-inflicted damage, and meanwhile, the anxiety only builds. Don’t panic, I try to tell myself to no avail. I work at a hospital, for fuck’s sake (as an IT guy, but who’s asking?); I should be good at staying calm under duress!

I don’t think I was remotely this nervous fighting the Dragon yesterday, and if I weren’t so miserable, I’d probably laugh. Instead, I rush into my second move, still with zero plan or knowledge of what to do.

A sweeping underhander, what the genuine experts of my world might call a ‘rising cut’. I’m just making shit up as I go, and the buffalo dummy is having none of my bullshit. The sword lands in the buffalo’s sturdy foreleg and gets stuck.

Oh, this is bad. Maybe even worst case scenario. I’m so panicked that I fail to pull the sword free no matter how hard I try. Or maybe I’m just that fucking weak and useless.

In the end, coach-man has to trot over and help me out, the picture of grace and politeness as he does. He hands me back the STSG then kind of claps me on the back along with an encouraging nod. Now I feel awful for thinking so little of coach-man earlier, on top of being a weak useless fuck.

Off to the side, I hear one of the children snicker. OK, no, in actuality, it was just a sneeze, but in the nadir of my self-loathing, all I hear is snickering and judgment. As ludicrous as it is for me to say, I’m close to tears at this point.

How did things fall apart so quickly? And to think, only minutes ago, I was so eager to test out my new upgrade, whatever it might be.

But maybe this was to be expected. From the moment I’d stepped foot in this world, I was a fraud just waiting to be exposed. I’m no swordsman. I’m no adventurer. I’m just some dude who happened to wake up with a Sword That Shoots—

I take a moment to breathe deep and slap myself on the cheeks. I remember something my mother used to say when she’d help with my math homework in middle school. Whenever you’re lost, go back to the basics.

Now I miss my mom on top of being a weak useless fuck, but I’m also a weak useless fuck with a plan—and a Sword That Shoots Guns. Go back to the basics, to the ‘techniques’ I do know how to pull off.

I take a sharp step back from the buffalo, laying the STSG flat across my chest and raising its hilt to my face as I do. It’s what I think of as my default ‘guard’ position, and the magic of the STSG responds by producing [Glock Parry], summoning a pistol that takes a speculative shot into the buffalo’s bulky shoulder.

A collective gasp goes up from the audience, but I’m not done yet. With the space I’ve created for myself, I’m now able to swing the STSG horizontally in a wide arc. I also remember to check my swing as soon as I get across the buffalo’s body—magical gun-sword safety and all that.

This of course is [Spin to Glock], and I count five bullets in quick succession, three of which find their mark. Now there’s splintered wood and straw bits flying everywhere, giving the place a real frenetic vibe. And the crowd—as tiny as it is—is into it.

I finish off the combo (I guess it’s a combo now) with an overhead swing, straight up and down. It occurs to me only now that this is a very ‘non-western’ move using a very ‘western’-looking sword. What can I say? I won’t apologize for my weeb-coded-ness, and the STSG certainly is anime AF.

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[Glock Strike]. A single pistol appears at the end of my blade, to place one deadly shot right between the eyes of the buffalo.

Children cheering. Coach-man clapping. Somehow, I can even ‘hear’ Leto’s smile. I’ve recovered fairly well from my total jackassery, but I know there’s more I need to do.

Because all I’ve done so far are the basics: a review of what I already know myself to be capable of. But I’m here to test out an upgrade—to break through the limits of what I know—and break through I must.

I take a brief moment to settle my nerves and sharpen my focus. Without really being conscious about my actions, I ‘attune’ myself to my sword—to what it’s trying to tell me.

The new gemstone came from a fire-breathing Dragon. It’s only logical that its powers would embody that raging beast—embody the flames that roiled within its volcanic core.

Think. Feel. Imagine. Then manifest.

Flames that roil within a volcanic core. A mouth that gapes open, revealing the energy that pulses through a scaly throat. A Dragon’s wrath—brought on by an impudent touch of its reverse scale.

Thinking, feeling, imagining, I turn the STSG over into a ‘reverse grip’, or what I imagine to be one. I point the blade outward from my body while simultaneously bringing the hilt up to the base of my neck.

This next part is honestly kind of badass, and I’m glad I get to record it for posterity. See, this is where I use the STSG’s diamond-shaped pommel to ‘strike’ my throat. In this analogy, my Adam’s apple is my ‘reverse scale’, and the sword is a matchstick with which to light the fire of my wrath.

Yes. In this analogy, I’m the Dragon.

My rage—mostly self-directed, at least on this occasion—fuels the magic of the STSG as it spits out a new object.

For a second, I’m worried that I might have to rename the STSG, because this new thing doesn’t really look like a gun at first glance. It’s got this long, narrow barrel, to be sure, but the barrel is attached to a roughly cylindrical canister, kind of like an oil tank shrunk down to size.

That’s because it is. Sort of. Because—you guessed it—the second ‘gun’ I’ve just managed to shoot out with the STSG is a freaking flamethrower.

In my shock, it’s all I can do not to break my posture. Concentrating with all my might, I manage to ‘hold’ the [Flamethrower] at the end of my blade as I sweep it from side to side. Before me, my whole visual field erupts in a massive fire that wastes no time engulfing the buffalo.

I feel the intensity of my own attack, searing hot against my still raw skin and terrifyingly reminiscent of the few seconds I’d spent inside a Dragon’s throat. I’m committed now, though, and I have every intention of seeing this through.

Eventually, I feel my own ‘anger’ wane, and that seems to coincide with [Flamethrower] running out of fuel. The attack ends, and the ‘physical’ flamethrower fades into the ether from whence it came. I fall to my knees, exhausted, and have to dig my sword into the ground just to catch myself.

The fire too dies down, leaving behind only the buffalo’s charred carcass. To my amazement, the dummy doesn’t stay charred or dead for long, as it regenerates its wooden structure before growing itself a new layer of straw covering. Good as new.

And at this, I do finally laugh. This is some fucked up ARPG shit! A training dummy that goes back to ‘full health’ no matter if you shred it with a thousand cuts, blast it with lightning storms, or in this case, burn it to a crisp.

Then I notice the silence. The crowd that cheered wildly as I went through my [Glock] combo has gone deathly quiet.

I turn to look at them for the first time. All of them—even Leto—are staring at me open-mouthed. It’s hard for me to tell if theirs are expressions of astonishment or horror (maybe even both), and my chest starts to constrict with new anxieties until—

“Dragon!”

One of the children points and yells in my direction. He then bounds over to me, eyes wide with wonder, as the other two kids soon follow. Before I know it, I’m surrounded by Elven nephews who all chatter excitedly and gesture frantically at the STSG. It’s the universal signal for: “please, sir, may I see your Sword That Freaking Breathes Fire?”.

With the memories of my earlier failures still fresh on my mind, I’m more than happy to oblige. Even my own human and blood-related nephews never looked at me with such unbound admiration, and I allow myself a moment or two to bask in the glory of being the village’s cool sword guy.

Over to the side, coach-man is deep in conversation with Leto. Probably doing the adult thing of containing his own excitement as he discusses the merits of a fire-breathing sword in the context of magical adventuring. At one point, Leto notices my gaze and rewards me with a big smile and an adorable wave of the hand.

How can this day get any better? I was already high on my redemption, and now, Leto’s affirmation sends me to cloud nine.

But you know what the best part is? Now I can actually fight Slimes!