10 — Training Part 2: Numbers, Strength, and a Report

It had been a week since Bottaculli had marched into the training grounds.

“That asshole’s been diggin’ around for dirt on you, apparently.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong, so he can dig as much as he likes.”

I had only been in this world for a little over a year. He wouldn’t find anything.

“Sure, but if word gets out to people who want a guy like him to owe them a favor, they could turn on you.”

“Are the people on my side or not?!” I held my head in my hands in utter, exaggerated despair. As long as I was with the guild, though, I knew my life wouldn’t be in danger.

“That’s why I’m done training you like a healer,” Brod suddenly declared.

“Pardon?” Did his brain just short-circuit?

“I’m gonna train you for real, like a novice pugilist or paladin. Starting today, I’m making you my apprentice.”

He hadn’t been training me “for real” this whole time?

“Um, Coach?”

What had him so eager all of a sudden? My job was a support class. I might have started looking more like a swordsman lately, what with all the muscles, but that didn’t change what I was: a healer.

Pugilists or paladins were front-line classes, for people with endurance and talent, something Brod had told me outright that I lacked. I couldn’t fathom why he would make me his apprentice. Even considering the current danger with Bottaculli, there were adventurers to protect me and townspeople to feed us intel in exchange for healing. I was totally lost.

“Don’t worry. We’re just gonna go about twice as hard and up your meals and Substance X.”

“I am extremely worried. Do you have a fever, Coach?” I had been pushing myself past my limits all year and he wanted to go “twice as hard” now? I was done for.

I guess I’ve always just barely managed to pull through somehow.

He interrupted my thoughts with a hand on my shoulder. “Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“Excuse me? Was that supposed to convince me? I still don’t want to.”

Life didn’t care, and neither did Brod.

“If you wanna live, shut up and do what I say,” my instructor growled with commanding intensity.

I felt none of his usual murderous aura but still found myself gripped by the same feeling that would overcome me when he got that demonic glint in his eyes during sparring. Declining was not an option.

“Yes, sir,” I bowed.

“Good. Now, let’s head downstairs. Oh, and I want you to start calling me ‘Master.’”

“Yes, Master!”

Rumor had it that from that day on, Brod’s shouts, as well as my screams, howls, and occasional sobbing could be heard echoing from beneath the guild.

They weren’t just rumors.

At least the adventurers stopped making fun of me. Quite the contrary, they suddenly all became extremely kind. They even stopped glaring at me for talking to Nanaella and Monica.

I, however, lost the ability to care about anything beyond how I would make it to tomorrow. Apparently, my perseverance—my constant insistence on getting back up in spite of how drained and pained I was—inspired the others, but I simply couldn’t care. If I spared a moment to think about it, I’d be on my back a second later, unable to breathe and in agony.

My focus was on my new master. Nothing else.

Onlookers would observe until the sight of me, a healer, working myself ragged finally got to them. More and more people started to train in earnest, just as Brod had always wanted. But he didn’t take his eyes off me. I answered in kind, devoting myself more than ever to landing just one blow on him.

It was around this time that the survival rate of Merratoni’s adventurers began to see significant spikes. And I, the one who had set it all in motion, would be known for years to come.

Not like I particularly cared. I did everything I possibly could have to land any sort of hit on Brod that day, to no avail. Instead, for all my efforts, I was given the absolute worst possible name in history among the adventurers—the Masochistic Zombie Healer—to which I promised myself I would never respond. Ever.

A debate began in my mind. Which would be harder, running away from Brod or hitting him?

One day, Brod seemed to be thinking something over, then finally asked, “You can use barrier magic now, right?”

“Yes, thanks to the grimoires you bought me.”

“Huh. Cast one on yourself.”

“Uh, sure.”

The moment I threw out an Attack Barrier, the world around me began to spin. Excruciating pain shot straight through my chest, all the way to my back. I couldn’t breathe. The gears in my head groaned as they attempted to make sense of what had just happened. I had been hit, that much was certain, but why?

“Hm. I hit you with all I had and you’re still kickin’. And you’re conscious. No broken bones, either,” he said calmly while I continued to gasp for breath like a fish on land. “Bet you didn’t see it, did you? I just smacked the shit outta you. I was planning on building you up to it gradually, but I figured that barrier would keep you alive.”

“You couldn’t have...tested that...any other way?” I wheezed. It felt like my spine was about to snap.

“Don’t gimme that, I gave you time to put up the barrier, didn’t I? That’s more than I can say for some folks out in the world.”

I hacked and coughed as my diaphragm slowly returned to normal. “Sure, but I can’t react when you sucker punch me like that. That’s not training, it’s just flat out bullying.”

“You’re damn right. What we’ve been doing up till now’s been ‘training.’ Nothing’s killed you so far, or knocked you on your ass that bad. But today, we’re adding pain into your routine.”

My master, clearly having lost his mind again, had forgotten that pain was, in fact, already a key component of everything we had done. It was just like Brod to surpass the limits of absurdity.

He handed me a longsword and shield, real ones that were clearly not meant for training. If we were going that far, there must have been some fearsome assassins after my head.

“Are things that bad?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nope. Not even remotely.”

“I’m sorry? Then what are we doing?”

“This past year, we’ve laid a solid groundwork for you. You’re sturdy, no bad habits. You may not be a natural, not by a long shot, but you know how to keep pushing, how to put in the effort. How could I not want an apprentice like that?”

“I’m not following.”

“Like I said before, I’m going to train you as my apprentice. That’s that. No buts. Oh, and no checking your status or skills until I say so.”

I hesitated. “Why?”

My one joy, my greatest source of motivation, banned. Nothing could have been worse. But Brod never did anything without a reason, so I had no choice but to trust his judgment.

“I don’t say that to be an ass. When you start chasing numbers, you stop being able to tell the difference between strong and weak.”

“Strong and weak?” I repeated.

“No matter how high your stats are, you’ll die if a blade severs your head. Even you, right now, could stick a sword in my neck and I’d be done. People obsessed with numerical values are dead weight when push comes to shove.”

I sensed a persuasiveness behind his words, as if he were speaking from personal experience. “Understood.”

“No more sucker punches. Put up your barrier and let’s get started.”

“Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

“Concentrate on your opponent’s body. Their entire body,” he instructed. “Some feint with their eyes, some with their center of gravity, but I doubt you’re at the point where you can tell what’s even a feint in the first place.”

“I can kind of see them. I just can’t keep up with your speed.” He was inhuman. There was no way his level of agility should have been physically possible.

“First, understand how the enemy moves. Then we’ll work on defense in steps, from parrying to dodging.”

“Just like we’ve always done.”

“Right. Except I’m gonna be stronger and faster. I’ll be throwing in some feints, too.”

“Got it.”

Greater speed alone would take his attacks to another level, as well as the pain they would inflict. At the end of the tunnel, though, was a peaceful life. That belief gave me strength.

“Once you get used to things, start envisioning the fight from a bird’s-eye view.”

“That’s, like, master level stuff!”

He couldn’t have possibly asked for something more unreasonable. That type of mental imagery would take incredible spatial awareness and perception. The gap between my actual level and the one Brod expected of me was far too wide, yet all I could do was trust in my master.

It didn’t take long for my spirit to start wavering. Assess Mastery had been my pillar, but without it, I was on the same wavelength as everyone else. Perhaps this was his way of training me mentally. Regardless, running away now would accomplish nothing, so I focused on attacking. I was going to hit him.

“By the way, I hope you don’t plan on backing out now,” he said with a smirk.

Why did he always make those faces? Maybe he was just shy about that kinda stuff. He sure had good timing, though. Almost like he could read my thoughts.

Hmph. I will hit him if it’s the last thing I do. “I’ll sure try.”

“That’s where you’re supposed to say, ‘Not on your life’ or something. Man, you’re one cheeky kid sometimes.”

“Nothing in this world is for certain, Master.”

He stared at me for a second. “I’m not gonna hold back, so try not to get crushed, all right?”

“I’m very sorry for being rude. Please go easy.”

He stared at me for a bit longer. An instant later, I was in the air and my sword and shield had fallen. Brod didn’t allow me the mercy of passing out. I was his sandbag for the next hour.

“All right, that’s enough of that today. We’re moving on to your usual lessons now. I’m teaching you Martial Arts, Swordsmanship, Shields, Spears, and Archery. Get ’em all down pat for our next special session like today,” he ordered my ragged body, as if it were the easiest thing in the world to do.

“Yeshuh...” I barely managed to croak out an unintelligible reply before falling face-first onto the ground.

Fifteen minutes and one bucket of water later, we were on to Martial Arts practice. Ignoring my shame at still managing to fall victim to the bucket more than a year later, I focused my mind.

“Strong foundation, strong body. Study the basics...”

I supposedly mumbled this to myself repeatedly, like an incantation of some kind. Any adventurer who heard my incessant chanting fell prey to the curse, finding themselves unable to neglect the fundamentals. Consequently, the Merratoni adventurers grew even stronger.

On the Day of Light, the first of the six days in the Galdardian week, as well as the Day of Wind, I trained in Martial Arts and live combat. The Day of Fire was spent on Swordsmanship and Shields. The Day of Water was for spears, the Day of Earth for Throwing and Archery, and I split the Day of Dark between studying and refining my magic.

The days where we used swords and spears always left me bloodied and covered in cuts, which I was, of course, allowed to heal. The first time I felt myself enveloped by my own magic and experienced its effects for myself, my understanding of spells began to suddenly and rapidly deepen. I hadn’t expected such powerful side effects from my physical growth, but I welcomed them nonetheless.

＊

Meanwhile, Bottaculli poured over a report.

Findings on Luciel — Occupation: Healer — Age: 16

Ignorant and village-born, Luciel became a healer at his coming-of-age ceremony last year, and obtained an affinity for Holy Magic.

He arrived at Merratoni on the seventeenth day of the sixth month and was guided by the paladin Lumina to the Healer’s Guild, where he registered. Although initially unable to cast even Heal, after a ten-day stay at the guild’s quarters, he learned spellcasting.

Later, he made his way to the Adventurer’s Guild, as opposed to seeking out a clinic, requesting training in Martial Arts for reasons that remain unclear. He took up residence there, working for one silver an hour, which was used to cover the cost of his instruction. He subsequently spent every waking hour of the year undergoing combat training.

Upon renewal of his Healer’s Guild card this year, his Holy Magic skill was found to be level five, believed to have been achieved through continual self-healing throughout his training. This is substantiated by his many nicknames, muttered from the shadows, including the Zombie Healer, the Masochist Healer, and the Masochistic Zombie Healer.

His relationships include the guildmaster, primarily, as well as many staff members and adventurers. He prioritizes training over interacting with others, and thus lacks many deeper connections. Nonetheless, he is greatly trusted by the guild and its members. It is believed the majority of them would accept any reasonable request of his.

Surprisingly, he has no set fees or charges. He is compensated for each healing with a single silver. This may be due to his residence within the guild office, but it is also highly likely to be related to the underlying circumstances of his employment.

The paper rippled in Bottaculli’s trembling hands. He crumpled it into a ball, threw it to the floor, then crushed it beneath his foot.

“What drivel is this?! He’s healing for one silver an hour? It’s idiots like this who make us look like greedy pigs!” he shouted in disbelief. “What’s so wrong with using my divine gifts to acquire riches? The filthy hypocrite! The fake!”

He continued to stomp and pulverize the report until he was out of breath. Gasping for air, he then trudged over to his desk and scribbled a letter.

“Bring this to the guild director. And this, too.”

“At once.”

The letter spoke of a young healer who belonged to the Merratoni Healer’s Guild and was charging absurd prices, therefore obstructing other businesses. However, his talent was exceptional, so once his tenure ended, he would do well to be transferred elsewhere. Somewhere far away...like the Guild Headquarters. Should he be unwilling to go, a sum of money was enclosed to order the move and incentivize the boy with grimoires.

“That way, even if my name gets out, my reputation won’t suffer.” He chuckled maliciously. “If anything, it’ll improve. And for such a small price, too!”

With that, Bottaculli’s quiet revenge was set in motion, to take effect in a year’s time. But he could never have anticipated the ripples that this action would create, nor how they would ultimately affect his own fate.