章 81: Micah - 9.1
I trudged upstairs to the small bedroom tucked away in the corner of the new house. The bed looked inviting, its simple but clean linens a stark contrast to the chaos of the past weeks.
I collapsed onto the mattress, the weight of the world finally lifting from my shoulders as sleep claimed me almost immediately.
Morning came with a gentle light filtering through the small window, waking me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I stretched, feeling the familiar ache of muscles used to hard labor. Today was a new day, and I had much to do.
Descending the stairs to my basement workshop, I felt a surge of excitement. This was my sanctuary, my place of creation. But just as I reached the bottom step, a loud bang from upstairs startled me. I froze, listening intently.
"Micah! Some of the wardens saw you slip into here last night," Master's voice boomed, echoing through the stone walls. " It's time for training. Squire, come on out."
I hesitated for a moment, considering hiding, but there was no point. Master was persistent, and he wouldn't leave until he found me. I sighed, resigned to my fate, and poked my head up the stairs.
"Good morning, my master," I called out, trying to sound cheerful despite my reluctance.
Master Beswick stood at the entrance, his imposing figure blocking the light. He had a stern look on his face, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Morning, Squire. You thought you could hide away down here, didn't you?"
I smiled sheepishly. "Just getting ready to work, Master. Lots to do."
"Work can wait," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "A strong mind is nothing without a strong body to support it. Now, come on."
Before I could protest, Master grabbed my arm and practically dragged me outside, across the city to the new training grounds near the wall. The early morning air was crisp, and the remnants of the night's chill still lingered. The training grounds were empty, save for a few wardens going through their own routines.
Master didn't waste any time.
"Pick your blade," he ordered, pointing to the practice swords lined up against the wall.
I did as instructed, feeling the familiar weight of the weapon in my hand. Master immediately launched into a series of drills, his movements fluid and precise. I struggled to keep up, my body still waking up from the night's rest.
"Focus, Micah," he barked, correcting my stance. "You need to be faster, more precise. A warrior's skill lies in his ability to absorb the situation and respond effectively."
We moved through various exercises, each one more challenging than the last. My muscles screamed in protest, but I pushed through, driven by Master's relentless encouragement and criticism.
"Good, now block!" he shouted, swinging his blade at me. I barely managed to deflect the blow, my arms trembling from the effort.
"Again!"
We repeated the drill until I thought my arms would fall off. Finally, after what felt like hours, Master called a halt. I collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath.
"Not bad," he said, offering me a hand. "You're improving."
"Thank you, Master," I panted, taking his hand and pulling myself up. My body ached, but there was a sense of accomplishment in the pain.
"Remember, Micah," Master said, his tone serious. "Your mind is your greatest weapon, but you must be able to defend yourself against those who only use force."
The days following my first grueling training session with Master Beswick blended into a routine. Each morning, I would wake early, my body still aching from the previous day's exertions, and head to the training grounds. There, Master would be waiting, his eyes sharp and his demeanor serious.
At first, the lessons were basic. Master drilled me on the fundamentals—footwork, grip, basic attacks and defenses. His movements were deliberate, each one a lesson in precision and efficiency. I mirrored his actions, my mind absorbing the techniques with a fervor that surprised even me.
"Good, Micah," Master said one morning, nodding approvingly as I executed a series of blocks and parries. "Your form is improving. Remember, the key is to make every movement count. No wasted energy."
I nodded, focusing intently on his instructions. We moved through the drills, my body moving almost instinctively now. The weight of the practice sword felt more natural in my hand, its balance becoming an extension of my own sense of equilibrium.
As the days turned into weeks, Master began to introduce more advanced techniques. He taught me how to read an opponent's movements, to anticipate their actions based on subtle cues. We practiced feints and counter-attacks, each session pushing my skills further.
"Pay attention to your opponent's shoulders," Master instructed during one session. "They often telegraph their next move without realizing it. A slight shift can give you the advantage you need."
I watched closely as he demonstrated, his movements a blur of controlled power. I mimicked his actions, my eyes fixed on his shoulders. The lessons started to click, my reactions becoming quicker and more precise.
"Excellent, Micah," Master said, a hint of pride in his voice. "You're picking this up faster than I anticipated. Let's move on to something more challenging."
He introduced me to a series of complex drills, combining footwork, attacks, and defenses into fluid sequences. At first, the combinations were overwhelming, my mind struggling to keep up with the rapid pace. But gradually, the patterns emerged, and I began to flow through the movements with increasing confidence.
"Remember, every battle is like a dance," Master explained, his voice calm but intense. "You must move with your opponent, anticipate their steps, and lead them where you want them to go."
We sparred daily, the clashing of our practice swords echoing through the training grounds. Master held back his full strength, but I could feel the power behind his strikes, each one a lesson in control and precision. I pushed myself harder, driven by a desire to match his skill.
One morning, after a particularly intense session, Master stepped back and lowered his sword. "You've come a long way, Micah," he said, breathing heavily. "I think it's time we test your abilities in a more practical setting."
I looked at him, curiosity and excitement mixing in my expression. "What do you mean, Master?"
He smiled, a rare sight. "Tomorrow, we'll venture outside the city walls. There's a place I know where we can practice against real threats. It's time you see how these lessons apply in a real-world scenario."
The next day, we left Aetherhaven before dawn, the sky still a deep indigo. Master led the way, his stride confident and purposeful. We traveled for hours, the landscape gradually shifting from the safety of the city to the wild, untamed terrain beyond.
As we reached a secluded glade, Master stopped and turned to face me. "This area is known for its wildlife, some of which can be quite dangerous. We'll start with smaller threats and work our way up. Remember your training, and stay focused."
I nodded, gripping my sword tightly. The air was thick with anticipation, the sounds of the forest alive around us. We moved cautiously, our senses alert for any sign of danger.
It wasn't long before we encountered our first challenge—a pack of wild boars, their eyes gleaming with aggression. Master stepped back, allowing me to take the lead.
"Show me what you've learned, Micah," he said, his voice steady.
I took a deep breath, centering myself. The boars charged, their tusks gleaming in the dim light. I moved swiftly, my training guiding my actions. I dodged their attacks, my sword flashing as I struck with precision. The boars fell one by one, their movements no match for my newfound skills.
Master watched, his eyes assessing my every move. When the last boar fell, he nodded approvingly. "Well done, Micah. You're ready for more advanced lessons."
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of intense training and real-world application. Master pushed me to my limits, introducing me to increasingly difficult challenges. We faced wild beasts, treacherous terrain, and even simulated ambushes. Each lesson was a test of my abilities, honing my skills to a razor's edge.
As my proficiency grew, so did my confidence. I began to anticipate Master's movements during our sparring sessions, matching him blow for blow. His praise was rare but genuine, each word fueling my determination to improve.
"You're becoming a true warrior, Micah," Master said one evening as we rested by a campfire. "But remember, the path of the sword is a lifelong journey. There's always more to learn, more to master."
週次パワーステータス
-- 推薦
ランキング 
-- 推薦
チケット