Lilieth arrived at a clearing in the forest, where Spearman and a half-highlander were waiting for her. Spearman was sitting on the stump of a tree, while the half-highlander was standing, hands behind his back.

  “Ah, you’re here!” The half-highlander said cheerfully when he saw Lilieth. “You must be—”

  “Late,” Spearman interrupted. “A whole three minutes late.”

  “Two minutes and forty-eight seconds late, actually,” Lilieth corrected.

  “Being that precise is more annoying than impressive, neskatxo.”

  Spearman nodded to the half-highlander to take things from here. He sighed at his master’s behavior and smiled at Lilieth, his two lower fangs jutting out of his mouth.

  “So, you’re Lilieth. The immortal girl. Wish we could’ve met yesterday, but I was busy with errands. I’m Grits, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

  Grits held out a hand. Lilieth stepped forward to receive it and noticed the sheer height difference between them. Of course, it was to be expected. Lilieth was always short for her age, and highlanders were known for their height. Still, it was jarring to see, and Lilieth’s neck was already starting to hurt from looking up at him.

  “Lilieth. Just Lilieth.” She took the handshake.

  “Let’s not waste time and get started,” Spearman stood up. “What weapons have you used in the past?”

  “None,” Lilieth replied. “I’m not a fighter.”

  “You had two swords with you when you came here,” Grits said.

  “They ... weren’t mine. They belonged to...”

  To...

  Don’t remember.

  “A-anyways, I’ve never really used either one. I’m just carrying them around, that’s all.”

  “And yet you somehow know the Eirsarian Bladewaltz,” Spearman said. “How’d that come about?”

  “Oh, I saw someone use that style before.”

  Spearman narrowed his eyes. “The Bladewaltz is an ancient style, predating the Wars of Hatred. Even among elven cities, there are none that practice it anymore. Who, exactly, did you see use that style?”

  The Wars of Hatred. The first of the three Great Wars, that took place roughly 4,200 years ago. It predates even the ascension of the Lesser Gods.

  Then how did that person learn that stance? Half-elves only live to about five hundred years, at most. Who exactly was she?

  “A half-elf,” Lilieth replied. “That’s all I know.”

  “That’s incredible,” Grits said. “You say you mimicked a sword style just by seeing it?”

  “I have perfect memory. Anything I see, I can recall with precise details.”

  “Hence, it will be the cornerstone of her training.” Spearman pulled out a wooden sword and threw it to Lilieth, who caught it, if only barely. She had no idea where he got that wooden sword. There was nothing behind him, last she checked.

  “Where did you—”

  “No unnecessary questions. You will be sparring with Grits over here today.”

  “Um, I know you said that before, but, isn’t it too fast to move on to sparring?” Lilieth asked. “Shouldn’t there be physical training first, like jogs and exercise?”

  “No better exercise than practical experience. Alright, listen closely, neskatxo. The first mistake people have is overreliance on their Blessings. I’ve trained many runts who thought they were special because some god or other decided to be funny and give them the power to turn shit into gold. The first lesson: Forget about your Blessing. That kind of power doesn’t mean jack-shit if your fundamentals are poor. You’re going to learn how to fight. How to really fight. First, you’re going to learn stances. What sword styles do you know, other than Bladewaltz?”

  Lilieth didn’t know the names, so she simply motioned them for Spearman. First, holding the blade to her side, point facing upward and hilt near her torso—Olivier Verlaine’s style.

  Then, she switched to a more defensive style, blade held in front of her like a shield—Titan’s style.

  Then she switched again, the blade pointed downwards in front of her, almost as if her guard was down to bait the opponent into attack first—Roald Isenholt’s style.

  Spearman, observing those styles in turn, nodded. “Saltpillar style, bulwark style, and beggar’s style. All good. But your body won’t be able to utilize those styles to their utmost potential, not at your skill level. We will start with the basics.” Spearman nodded at Grits “Ei, zankaluze. Violet moon style.”

  Grits sighed, then took the stance, raising his wooden sword to the side of his head, the point angled forward. Lilieth didn’t need to be an expert to tell that Grits’ stance was incredibly solid.

  After taking a deep breath, Grits performed several choreographed movements. Swings, parries, blocks. All slow and deliberate, as if he were practicing a dance. His eyes were locked straight forward, at an invisible opponent in front of him. So much focus. After some time, he sped up, the swings becoming faster and faster, each movement flowing into the next. Lilieth was entranced.

  She had seen beautiful swordplay many times before. But this was the first time she could truly appreciate it.

  After Grits was done, he wiped off the sweat off his face and smiled at Lilieth. “Got all that?”

  Without words, Lilieth assumed the same stance, and replicated his movements. Every swing, parry, and block, mimicked to the most exact details. Grits looked impressed, jaws almost agape. Spearman’s expression was exactly the same as it always was, though.

  When Lilieth tried to speed up like Grits did, however, she found herself making more and more mistakes. She could feel her arms burning up, her legs threatening to buckle. She couldn’t even finish the entire sequence before the sword slipped out of her arms and she fell to the ground, sweating and gasping.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Your mind can replicate any fighting style you see,” Spearman said as he sat back down on the tree stump. “But your body isn’t capable of keeping up. That’s what we need to rectify. By sparring, we will have not only your mind remember the moves, but also your body. First, we’ll begin with offense. You will use the violet moon style to try and land a hit on Grits. He, on the other hand, will do nothing but defend.”

  “Oh.” Just like her duel with Sibeiya, except one-sided. “How many hits? Five?”

  “One.”

  Lilieth was taken aback. Just one? Even with her inexperience, she was still able to land five against Sibeiya. Sure, most of it was just luck, but she was still able to do it. For this duel, she only had to hit him once, and while he would do nothing except defend, too.

  She thought she was being looked down on, but thinking about it more, that didn’t make sense. Spearman was there when she won against Sibeiya.

  Grits is probably mister Spearman’s best student.

  That was Niko’s comment on the half-highlander. Was the gap in skill between Sibeiya and Grits that huge?

  Well, there was only one way to tell.

  “You have exactly an hour to hit him,” Spearman said. “Begin.”

  Lilieth strode in, replicating Grits’ violet moon style. Wielding the blade with both hands, she swung in well-formed arcs, all while making sure the blade didn’t stray too far from her and leave her exposed. She could tell it was a very well-rounded style, balancing offensive power with defense. But each strike was repelled by Grits, who parried each blow. She swung again. Once, twice, thrice. None of them landed.

  She’d occasionally jump back to catch her breath and analyze her angle of attack. Yet each time she strode in again, all of her strikes were parried. It was a frustrating feeling, as if her own sword was being controlled against her will.

  But the longer the fight went on, she could feel herself slowly grow more and more comfortable with the movements. It wasn’t full mastery yet, of course. Her body still lagged behind her mind’s eye. Her arms felt sore, having been parried over and over. All the while, Grits barely looked tired.

  “Enough,” Spearman called out. Lilieth gasped for air, leaning against her wooden sword. She hadn’t noticed that an hour had passed already.

  “That was pretty good, Lilieth!” Grits said reassuringly. “Every move was excellent. You really weren’t kidding about the whole perfect memory schtick. It took me months to even learn those moves.”

  “Of all my students, you learned them the slowest, zankaluze. Low bar to pass.”

  Grits clicked his tongue. “You didn’t have to tell her that...”

  “What was that?” Spearman glared at him.

  “Nothing, Master.”

  Spearman sighed. “Take a break. After that, we’ll switch it up.”

  “Switch?” Lilieth asked.

  “Grits will do the attacking, while you’ll switch to defending. Violet moon style is both an offensive and defensive art, after all. Grits will attack until you can’t raise your sword anymore.”

  “Until what?” Lilieth grimaced. “Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

  “Yes, so sit down or something and catch your breath, because you’ll need it. I’ll be back.” Spearman turned and left, heading deeper into the forest.

  His training methods aside, Lilieth did just that. Her entire body felt hot, and she had no doubts that she’d feel sore after this was all over.

  “So, you can still feel tired, huh?” Grits asked. “I thought, since you were immortal and all, your body would just naturally heal.”

  “I can’t. I only begin regenerating when I’m dead. I think. I’m not too sure how this all works, actually.” Lilieth looked up at Grits, who was still standing. “And you believe that I’m immortal? From what I could tell, you weren’t there when I revived.”

  “Sibei wouldn’t lie,” Grits replied. “She’s a bit rude, and inconsiderate, but not a liar. So, what possessed you to ask Master Spearman, of all people, to train you?”

  “I just ... want to be strong. That’s all.”

  She didn’t feel comfortable telling them about the real reason. That she was hunting down heroes. These people weren’t her friends, and she had no intention of being their friends. She was only here to train. After that was over, she’ll leave, and never see them again. No need to form connections.

  Grits scratched his head. “You’re just like Sibei.”

  “Huh?” Lilieth’s head jerked up. “The two of us are nothing alike. Please stop making jokes like that.”

  He chuckled. “Got it, got it.”

  “I’m back.” Spearman suddenly appeared, carrying a mug.

  “Huh? That was fast,” Lilieth said. “Where’d you go?”

  Spearman sat back down on the stump. “Went to get water.”

  “Uh, but ... your house is a bit far from here. You couldn’t have possibly—”

  “Up and at ‘em, neskatxo. Training continues.”

  “Huh? Wait, that’s a bit too soon—”

  “Begin.”

  “Sword up, Lilieth!”

  Grits’ call allowed Lilieth to block just in time. She staggered back from the force, struggling to plant her feet firm on the ground. Grits swung again, and this time Lilieth parried.

  It was the same style. Grits was using violet moon, just like she was. In fact, he was slower that before. Slower, even, than Lilieth herself. And yet, each strike of his was powerful and deliberate, aiming to destabilize her. It was the same style, but in his hands, it became something more.

  She blocked, and blocked, and blocked. And each time, it felt like she was barely defending herself. It didn’t make sense. She copied the moves almost perfectly. So why was his swordplay so much more refined than hers? What was she missing?

  “—Ah!”

  Lilieth’s feet slipped on the ground. Losing her balance, Grits swing connected with her upper arm, knocking her to the ground. She tried pushing herself back up, but the pain from that one strike, combined with the exhaustion of having to parry and block so many powerful blows, made that practically impossible.

  “Enough,” Spearman said. “Figured this would happen.”

  “She did quite well, if I do say so myself,” Grits added. “Each stance was solid. Very good form.”

  “Because she memorized each stance. But memory can only take you so far. You can memorize every book in the world, but it wouldn’t do you any favors on the battlefield. That’s enough, training’s over. You two can fuck off, or whatever it is that you people do nowadays.”

  Spearman left, disappearing once again into the forest. Meanwhile, Lilieth was prone on the floor, unable to get up.

  “Want me to help you?” Grits asked.

  “...I’ll be fine. I just have to ... rest for a bit...”

  “I can carry you to Niko, if you want.”

  “No, there’s no need. I can’t rely on him for every little bruise, even if Master Spearman is paying for everything.” She took a few more deep breaths, then sat herself up. “Is this usually how training goes?”

  “It’s usually worse.” Grits shook his head. “Trust me, you do not want to have that asshole as your sparring partner.”

  “I heard that, carajo!” Spearman’s booming voice echoed throughout the forest, almost impossibly loud. Lilieth’s shoulder tensed up, but Grits simply furrowed his brows.

  “Ah, shit,” Grits sighed. “Training later today is going to be fun.”

  “How did he hear you?” Lilieth asked. “And how did he make his voice ... is he an Illusionmage?”

  Illusion magic was, obviously, the magic of deception. But among its spells were ones that let the user hear farther than usual, and make their own voices louder. Illusionmages were tricksters, and a bit unique among Blessed. While most Blessed had to chant out their spells to cast them, Illusion magic didn’t need their names chanted out. This lets Illusionmages do what they do best: trick people.

  The downside was that Illusion magic was notoriously difficult to master as a result. Something about chants made them easier for the human mind to understand and comprehend. Illusion magic, with its ability to omit chants entirely, was the second hardest magic to learn after Lunar magic.

  But, Grits simply shook his head. “I don’t know. Never seen him use a spell, and he refuses to talk about himself. I asked him once, before. Like, really asked him. I followed him around and asked if he was Blessed over and over again.”

  “And?”

  “He beat the shit out of me. Here’s my advice as your senior: Don’t do that.”

  “...Ah. Duly noted.”

  Lilieth, feeling her muscles a bit better now, stood up and dusted off her backside.

  “Ah, are you hungry?” Grits asked. “I could treat you to a meal.”

  “There’s no need, sir Grits. What’s my lesson for tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, you’ll be sparring against Albus. He’s Blessed, too, so he’ll train you on how to use spells.”

  “Spell training? But Master Spearman said that I should focus on fundamentals.”

  “You should, definitely. But, there’s no harm in also training your spellcraft.”

  “Right. Got it.”

  Lilieth turned and walked—or rather, trudged—her way into the forest, towards the direction of the city. Spearman wouldn’t let her live in his house, so she had to rent an inn. Fortunately, she wasn’t hurting for money at the moment, and found herself a rather cozy place to stay.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to treat you?” Grits called out.

  “Thank you, sir Grits, but I’m fine.”

  “Alright, then,” Grits replied, sounding a bit dejected.

  But that was fine. These weren’t her friends, or comrades. Just fellow students. Nothing more, nothing less.

  And it’s better if it stayed that way.