50 Basics

"Welcome to my humble abode," Quentin said as he ushered me into the massive space of an empty warehouse, its walls echoing our footsteps.

"Are we trespassing?" I inquired, a hint of unease in my voice.

"Trespassing? No, let's call it visiting without permission. Sounds much more refined, don't you think?" Quentin replied with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

'Well, it's essentially the same thing,' I thought but decided to let it slide for now.

"Now, first things first," he said, reaching into his large bag. He retrieved an object and handed it to me.

I caught the object in mid-air, realizing it was a wooden sword.

"Consider this your closest companion, your loyal lover even. You and this sword will be inseparable," Quentin remarked.

Immediately I studied the wooden sword, noting the type of wood it was carved from, the balance of the blade, and the vulnerable areas.

Quentin seemed slightly surprised by my inspection. "Good to see you know how to inspect your weapons," he commented.

"Thank you. Cyro taught me when I was very young," I replied, referring to Bell's memories.

"Ah, of course, he did. That boy and his obsession with blades. If you weren't his little brother, he might've tried to steal Junipa from you," Quentin revealed.

"Really?" I asked, intrigued. This was the first time I had heard about Cyro's interests from one of his friends. Besides his role as the responsible older brother in the Agnus household and his public image as a paladin, I knew little about his personality or hobbies.

"Yes, really. That scoundrel once tricked me into a bet for my own sword. He's the reason I've stopped using it altogether," Quentin confessed.

Curiosity piqued and I probed further. "How did you and Cyro meet?"

Quentin hesitated, a flicker of something crossing his eyes. "That's a story for another time. Let's not get distracted. We'll talk about it someday," he deflected, his tone implying there might be more to their relationship.

"Now, first and foremost, I have something to tell you, Bell," Quentin began, adopting a serious tone. "You're not suited for the sword."

"Pardon?" I blurted out, taken aback by his statement.

Nonchalantly, Quentin reiterated, "You're not meant to wield a sword."

"Could you... explain why?" I asked, seeking clarification.

"It's in the very composition of your body, the balance in your legs, the hand you favor, and the fighting style you naturally adopt. Everything tells me that a sword isn't your true calling," Quentin elaborated.

"Are you suggesting I give up the sword? Then why did you give me this?" I asked, looking down at the wooden sword in my hand.

"No. I'm not saying you should abandon the sword. Your talent for it is still exceptional," he clarified. "But your talent for the spear is even greater."

"The spear?" I mused.

Bell Agnus had never wielded a spear before, so I had no associated memories of it.

"Yes, the spear," Quentin confirmed.

'He's able to gauge my talent just by taking note of my movements and whatnot?' I asked myself, realizing how freakish my new teacher was.

"So, should I drop the sword and pick up the spear then?" I wondered aloud.

"No," he shook his head, reaching into his bag again. This time, he pulled out a wooden spear. Then a bow, a battle axe, a mace, and a variety of other weapons.

Confusion flooded my mind. "What's all this for?" I inquired, gesturing to the arsenal.

Quentin's gaze met mine. "This is for you. "You'll be training with all of these," he answered.

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.

"In the coming months, we'll obviously be honing your skills with the sword since that is the weapon you're most familiar and proficient at, but you'll also learn the basics of wielding all these weapons," he explained.

"And why is that?" I pressed, seeking clarity.

"Because you need to be prepared for any situation, Bell Agnus. The demon king is drawing near, and death will be lurking around every corner. It's best you be ready," Quentin declared, his tone loaded with grave seriousness that contrasted his eccentric sun hat and shades that suited the opposite season we were in.

Though he didn't explicitly say it, I sensed this request came from my older brother. Cyro must have asked Quentin to train me for the impending war.

The Agnus family's involvement was inevitable.

"Do we have enough time to cover all of this?" I wondered aloud. "We only have a few months together."

That was the agreement that we made. Quentin didn't want to train me during the school semester because he didn't want a student who he only had a few hours to train with every day.

Quentin's lips curled into a sly grin. "There's a reason I'm renowned as one of the finest teachers around," he assured me.

'Are you really?' I silently questioned, as I had found no trace of Quentin when I searched his name on the internet.

He wasn't a named character in the novel either.

"I possess an ability that allows me to influence your dreams," he revealed. "I can make your dreams last a year, even if it's only an hour in the real world. I can make them as vivid and realistic as possible, granting or taking away your senses within the dream realm. In essence, I have complete control over your dreams."

"So, that's why you brought out those incense," I deduced.

Quentin nodded, lighting the incense. "Before we delve into that, I always initiate my students with a small activity. Lie down and relax. Trust me," he instructed. "It's for your own good."

And that brings us to the present moment, where I awakened from the nightmare Quentin had intentionally immersed me in.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked, feeling a tad disoriented.

"Only a few minutes," he replied. "Why? Do you have somewhere to be?"

I nodded, "I need to go somewhere every day at roughly 7:30."

"Need or want?"

"Need."

Quentin made a contemplative expression but chose not to voice whatever thoughts crossed his mind.

"Very well. If that's the case, we must ensure that every hour is maximized," he declared, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Come on. Pick up your sword."

Following his instructions, I retrieved the wooden sword I left on the ground beside me and gripped it tightly.

"Now, we shall start from the absolute basics," Quentin announced.

"I'm aware."

Quentin shook his head. "No, by 'basics,' I mean the most rudimentary of rudimentary you could possibly get. Until I am satisfied... you will only be stabbing and slashing."

In a fraction of a second, I blinked several times, my gaze fixed on him with a blank expression.

"Is that all?" I asked, mildly disappointed.

He nodded. "That's precisely what you'll be doing. Yes."

"And you consider yourself one of the best teachers around," I remarked, a hint of skepticism in my voice.

"I am," Quentin replied, unphased by my comment.

"And this is what you'll be teaching me," I reiterated.

"Indeed," he confirmed.

Letting out a sigh, I decided to place my trust in Cyro and this perplexing man before me and began stabbing and slashing with the wooden sword.

I had barely performed the motions ten times when Quentin halted me to correct a flaw in my posture.

"Continue."

I resumed my actions and managed a few more repetitions before Quentin interrupted again, pointing out another mistake.

"Once more."

The pattern continued, with Quentin stopping me at precise moments, analyzing my form, and offering guidance that seemed basic yet transformative.

"Bend your elbow a bit more."

"Focus on the momentum rather than striving for a perfectly straight line."

"You're overthinking it."

"See that. There we go. That's what the flow is. Follow it."

"Better. But instead of trying to maintain that constant speed, try to focus on the last moment before the motion ends."

His instructions were simple yet impactful, immediately yielding visible progress.

We repeated this routine for hours until it was time for me to leave for my appointment with Diana.

As Quentin had stated earlier, all I did during the training session was stab and slash with the wooden sword.

I was drenched in sweat from head to toe and at this point, I was shirtless.

"Remember, come tomorrow with your mana fully restored. Same place," Quentin reminded me, pointing to the warehouse floor.

"Yes, sir," I replied, still in the middle of drying myself with a towel.

Sliding into my car, I cranked up the AC to its maximum setting. Despite it being winter, the heat radiating from my body could have melted the snow outside.

I needed to cool down.

The training session with Quentin lingered in my mind. All I had done was stab and slash with my sword, and yet, it felt as though I had ascended to a new realm of swordsmanship.

"Who is this man?" I mused aloud. "Quentin... Atwood," I slowly uttered his name.

An unfamiliar name attached to an unfamiliar face. He was undeniably intriguing, but beyond that, he possessed immense power.

I couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't been present during the war. None of the novel's arcs made any mention of him. He didn't have any remarkable accomplishments attributed to him, unlike the other formidable human characters.

"Did I forget about him, or was he truly absent from the novel you wrote?" I asked the shitty god.

"You didn't forget," he replied.

That meant Quentin wasn't a character known to the shitty god. He must have been a creation of the world, an entity that had emerged organically.

In that case, there must have been an explanation woven into the fabric of the world as to why Quentin's existence hadn't been present during the war.

The only logical answer that came to mind was — death.

'Hmm...'

Lost in thought, I arrived at the public bathroom where Diana and I had agreed to meet, slightly early for our rendezvous.

Taking a seat on the closed toilet lid, I allowed my mind to wander.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing Diana standing there.

"Hey," I greeted her.

Unlike me, she was appropriately dressed for the weather, and her puzzled expression was understandable when she took in my shirtless state.

"Hey. Sorry, I'm a little late. Uhm... why... are you shirtless?" she questioned, her tone tinged with curiosity.

"Isn't it more convenient for you this way?" I countered, too lazy to explain the circumstances. "You don't have to spend time unbuttoning me."

Her dissatisfaction was visible on her face, but I couldn't fathom what could possibly be the cause of it.

However, I lacked the energy to probe further.

Without hesitation, she settled herself onto my lap, a gesture that had become instinctive and familiar to both of us.

As her fangs sank into my neck, I closed my eyes, waiting for her to finish and release her intoxicating vampiric pheromones.

Deep down, I recognized that I had become addicted to the scent and the sensations it provoked.

'Is this why the main character desired to be her sole blood bank?' I pondered.

Nonetheless, I harbored no concerns about that desire, for I was prepared to relinquish this position as soon as he arrived.

While I may have been captivated by the scent, what delighted me, even more, was the opportunity to eliminate this variable from the original novel.

Bell Agnus was never meant to be the one to satisfy her hunger.

'Finish up quickly,' I silently urged, as she emitted a sound of euphoric satisfaction.