“That’s right,” Waine replied. “Come at me whenever you’re ready.”
So, no starting signal, just straight into it, huh?
I gripped my stick, holding it like a spear. Slowly, I stepped forward to close the distance. My target: his stomach. It was the center of his body and the hardest place to dodge. If all I needed to do was make contact, I didn’t need power—just speed.
“Hah!” From the very edge of my range, I thrust forward. I kept my step light, making sure not to overcommit, and prepared to react if he dodged—
“Hm.” Waine stepped in as he evaded my attack and closed the gap between us instantly.
“Ah!” In that moment, I realized two things at once. My attack wouldn’t land, and I had no way to avoid his counter.
I saw the tip of his twig coming straight for me. My eyes squeezed shut on their own. A solid impact struck my forehead—the force knocked me off-balance, and I landed hard on my backside.
“A thrust to the stomach from the edge of your range. Not bad,” said Waine. “But you were staring at my midsection the entire time. Way too obvious. If I know where you’re aiming, countering is easy.”
“Damn it,” I grumbled.
I felt my face heat up in embarrassment, and frustration welled up inside me. Waine was right, but I hadn’t expected him to counter my attack so effortlessly. He really was strong, and he wasn’t mocking me either. I’d been beaten in an instant and deserved to be treated like a kid. On top of that, he was still holding back.
At least the browplate had done its job. My forehead didn’t hurt at all. My butt, on the other hand, was another story.
“That aside, you closed your eyes, didn’t you,” Waine said. It wasn’t really a question.
“Huh? Yeah...” I’d definitely gotten scared and shut my eyes.
“Yeah, don’t do that. From now on, even if you’re about to get hit, keep your eyes open.”
Wait, what?
Waine said it so casually, but anyone would shut their eyes if something sharp was flying straight at them. Even if it was just a twig. Right? I knew Waine was only aiming for my forehead, but fear was still fear. There was always a chance he could miscalculate and hit somewhere else.
“Listen, closing your eyes in a fight doesn’t help you in any way. Even if you’re about to get hit, even if you can’t dodge, keeping your eyes open gives you a chance to react if something happens,” Waine explained.
“Something like what?”
“Like an ally stepping in to help, making the enemy’s attack miss.”
“I’m solo, though.”
The word solo was something I had only learned after coming to town. It referred to adventurers who worked alone without forming a party.
I had teamed up with Waine, Sheya, and Chikka for the goblin hunt, but that had been a temporary arrangement. That party had long since disbanded, since I couldn’t really go on the kinds of adventures those three did. All I could do was gather herbs.
In other words, right now, I was a solo adventurer.
“Or maybe your opponent trips on a rock,” Waine continued, “or they accidentally hit a wall with their weapon. Stuff like that happens all the time in battle. But if you close your eyes, you’ll miss your chance to take advantage of it. That’d be a waste, right?”
“Well, I guess that makes sense,” I replied. “But keeping my eyes open when a weapon is coming straight at me? That just seems impossible.”
“It’s not impossible. I can do it, and any vanguard fighter can too.” He said it so matter-of-factly that I couldn’t help letting out a small gasp. That was amazing. And it wasn’t just Waine—every warrior who fought on the front lines was capable of something that seemed so absurdly difficult. If that was the case, it only confirmed I wasn’t cut out for the vanguard.
“Well, no amateur would be able to do it. Even I couldn’t at first,” Waine admitted. “So it’s not exactly surprising that you can’t either.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, that’s why we’re doing this browplate-smashing training.”
Can’t you think of a better name?
“By smacking your forehead over and over and over and over again, you’ll eventually get used to the fear of being hit. All right, let’s continue.”
Uh, wait. Wait a minute. Isn’t this one of those really brutal kinds of training?
Waine had said he’d teach me how to fight, but instead of teaching my brain, he was about to drill it into my body.
“Wait, didn’t you say this ends when the twig breaks?” I asked.
“It’s not broken yet,” he said.
I glanced at the twig in Waine’s hand. Sure enough, it was still perfectly intact.
How?
He had hit me hard enough to knock me on my butt, but the twig still hadn’t snapped. Wouldn’t it actually be harder to hit me without breaking it? Most likely, he had carefully controlled his strength and pressed the branch against my browplate instead of striking outright, which meant he had that much room to hold back. The difference in skill between us was massive.
At that moment, I realized something. Winning was impossible. Even with a longer weapon. Even with a rule that let me hit anywhere while he could only aim for my forehead. I still had no chance.
And I was right.
“Get up already, kiddo!”
“Stop staring at your target! Watch your opponent as a whole and look for openings!”
“Your timing is way too obvious! You’re practically asking to be countered!”
“I told you to keep your eyes open! Even if someone gouges them out, you better keep them open!”
“Your spear swings are too sluggish! Just because you’re moving doesn’t mean you should rely on your arms alone!”
“Don’t run away! The twig’s still not broken!”
In the end, Waine’s little twig never did break. Not even after my body gave out and I collapsed from exhaustion.