Dubious Bedfellows (1)

'Clang!'

The clashing of steel weapons rings out through the air.

'Cling!'

A battle of wills that's been stewing for months finally reaches its peak.

'Clunk!'

And with one final strike, it's over.

"I swear I'm gonna beat you one of these days."

"Okay."

"Josh, you really need to work on your smack talk. Like, call me a name or tell me I suck."

"Okay."

"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about." I brush off my humiliating defeat with a joke. Despite all my work, I'm still no match for the prodigy. I stand up and survey the Guild training ground. It's been two weeks since the Duke arrived with his army, and things have begun to change quickly. The yard now has a set of weight lifting benches, much of the old equipment has been replaced, and several people are out here training with us. Jezabel even took the time to have a wooden gazebo installed to prevent the training equipment from getting wet.

"Nick! Good to see you!"

"You too, how have you been?" Martin, the warrior, walks up to me with his signature cocky stride.

"Great, we were selected by the Guild Master to participate in the reclamation of the forest," he replies proudly. My heart drops into my stomach.

[Jezabel mentioned that several problem adventurer parties would be selected to support the Duke's army. This means that they'll be fighting directly against us during the war. There's no doubt in my mind that they'll be killed by the fairies.]

"I don't know. It's going to be pretty dangerous. Maybe you should decline. The Nobles may even use you as a human shield or something."

"Not a chance. 'The Hero and Friends' will never decline a challenge."

"Is that the name of your party?"

"Yeah, I just came up with it. What do you think?"

"It's… Different," I say as I force a smile.

"Thanks. I'll tell you all about our epic adventure when we return."

"Please do."

[They're all gonna die.]

I try to ease the dread filling my stomach by focusing on my training. I turn back to Josh for another round of sparring.

"Up for round three?" He nods. I've lost the first two rounds, and I don't think I'll win the third, but you learn more by losing than winning, so I get back up on that horse, metaphorically. This round is similar to the last two as Josh steadily corners me. I told him it's okay if he uses his magic which turns an unlikely victory into an impending loss. I move back as I constantly reposition my footing until Josh finds an opening and lands a solid blow to my ribs with his steel sword. I had full health before the strike, so even an attack from a lethal weapon only ends with a bruise.

'Oof!'

I recoil at the blow and take a knee to recover.

"You lost? And here I thought you were the strongest person on your team." Travis approaches with a beaming smile. I can't even be mad when he looks at me like that.

"No, I'm just the most annoying." He laughs and helps me to my feet.

"Josh is a lot stronger than I expected; mind if we spar?"

"I don't know why you're asking me. It's his decision."

"What do you say, kid?" Travis throws his question at Josh, who quickly agrees. They square up, and I sit on a nearby bench to watch the match. Given Travis's large stature, it's hard to imagine Josh holding his ground. While technique is important, at the end of the day, stats are king. The greatest swordsman on earth can't even hold a candle to a dragon.

The two warriors eye each other up and down for a moment until Travis makes the first move.

'Shhiing!'

His heavy battle axe slides down the length of Josh's sword as the attack is parried. Josh moves to strike while Travis is off balance, but he corrects his footing with inhuman speed.

[So much of swordsmanship is based on taking advantage of your opponent's openings; if they are so fast and strong that they can overextend without leaving an opening, then all those rules go out the window.]

The battle rages on, and Josh is hanging on for dear life against the instructor's merciless assault. Josh manages to use his magic to break his opponent's footing, but Travis uses his anchoring skill as a fulcrum to launch attacks from unnatural positions. Even while balancing on one leg, he can deliver an attack with all of his strength.

I never thought about it until now, but the Anchoring skill is totally busted. Normally, the strength of your attack is determined by how well you transfer and amplify the force of your body into your weapon. This force starts at your feet and builds up through your body until it's finally unleashed at the point of attack. Having a firm stance allows you to most effectively build the force of your attack, but with the anchoring skill, you can unleash an attack from any position. This makes your attack patterns much more unpredictable. If you can't see your opponent preparing for an attack with their feet, how are you supposed to predict the timing and angle of attack?

Despite my conjectures, Josh displays a valiant effort in defending against the relentless attacks. He deftly parries and weaves while manipulating the ground at his feet to create openings in Travis's defense.

'Clunk!'

Travis nails the boy with the broad side of his axe, which sends him sprawling. Josh massages his injured shoulder. I can tell he's frustrated. The stat difference is an insurmountable wall.

"Good fight, kid!" Travis beams. "I really had to try at the end there. I didn't get a good look at your fight with the Equuivore, so I wasn't sure, but you're pretty strong."

"Again," Josh says as he takes a stance.

"Maybe some other time. Things are getting busy recently, and I've got some work to do." Our instructor takes his leave. I can feel the complicated emotions roiling around inside the boy next to me. Being an introvert, Josh will likely take a moment to process these feelings internally. I offer a break, and we move to do our own workouts. The new equipment is too enticing, and I secure a rack to do a set of bench presses. I look around for the rest of my team when I see Shinobu and Sakura doing laps around the compound while chatting. It's amazing that they have the leeway to hold a conversation while effortlessly moving across the uneven terrain. If I were to guess, I'd say they were maintaining a pace of about fifteen miles per hour. From what I recall, Olympic marathon runners average about twelve miles an hour, so it's hard to believe my eyes. I turn back to what I was doing and finish my set. I'm able to rep two hundred and twenty-five pounds, so I'm pretty happy with my progress as well. Back on earth, my max bench was two forty-five, which means I've surpassed my peak in only a few months. Watching the numbers slowly increase is endlessly motivating, and I soon crank out a second set. In the last week, we've managed to move into our new base of operations.