Return of the Woodcutter

Chapter 70 - A Ruthless Partner

Second week of training.

As per usual, Aito would begin each day with a warm-up in full plated armor. Running under the constant threat of being hit on the head by straw targets. Thanks to which his overall awareness of his surrounding has increased. Now, he could avoid half of them.

He could already sense an increase in his stamina. Aito used Pneuma less frequently and still managed to finish the course with a bit of stamina to spare. His next goal for this exercise was to avoid the usage of his skill.

Since he had more or less familiarized himself with the usage of Durability, Gwen made some changes to his second exercise.

Instead of repeatedly activating and deactivating his skill, he would have to coat a specific area of his ax with Durability. Easy? Even after a week, he still couldn't manage to do it properly.

Coating the entire weapon was one thing, but only the ax head required intense focus.

Ogoro, or any other challengers weren't capable of doing it, yet. However, the assassin wasn't a level 1. Which meant a harder time controlling mana and aura because of his incomplete soul core.

If one were to look inside his chest, no soul core would be there for anyone to see. Only his soul surrounded by soul power and a fragile bubble of mana that has yet to create a protective shell.

That's why, upon death, with no real physical form, a level 0's soul and mana would fly out of the body in form of a bubble of light instead of remaining inside as a soul core.

When Gwen told Aito about it, he later made the link with what happened against the Paineater. No creatures on the island were level 1. Which explained the blue bubbles. As for how he had leveled up, he only had one explanation.

Valinar had used the candle on him. That or some kind of unknown divine power.

Aito drew such a conclusion while getting his daily dose of beating from the wooden Dullahan.

More accustomed to pain, and somewhat physically more resilient, Gwen increased the difficulty of Aito's exercise. Something she had actually been doing all along.

Every day, she would add thirty seconds of bonus beating. Free of charge! Too busy playing masochist, Aito hadn't realized it.

Then, like a ritual, he would sit at lunch time on Gwen's bench. Joined by Ogoro, they would eat and talk while stuffing their stomach. Never about their past identity. Always about small talks, like the food. Cultural differences. Combat techniques. Anime. Turns out, Ogoro liked to watch them.

One topic of conversation Ogoro always brought up though, was Sheyla.

When it came to that, Ogoro would be the only one talking, with Aito grunting, scoffing, or rolling his eyes for replies. He truly was proud of his little sister.

One time in particular, when Ogoro said she would make a good wife. Beautiful, strong, smart, but a so-so cook, apparently.

Aito almost choked on his food when he heard that bullshit. With her Filona-like character, Sheyla wouldn't get far in a relationship.

He knew his opinion was biased by their conflict. And that she might be a good person. The fact that she had helped him fight the sect testified to that.

Little did he care, though. Because since then she had never talked to him again. When she did come to the third floor, Sheyla would stay as far away from him as possible.

During the afternoon, with wooden weapons in hand, Aito would train with Ogoro. It proved extremely beneficial, but also painful. Not physically, but physiologically.

Each time, his pride would take a beating. Having survived the island, inherited Ogoro's memories and, as a past martial artist, he thought he had reached a good understanding of how to fight with a weapon.

"Wrong."

Ogoro's favorite word to describe Aito's issues and bad habits. The Asian man was an excellent teacher, albeit ruthless.

His apparent kind, respectful personality was nowhere to be found during training. Instead, a demonic partner doubling as an instructor faced Aito.

"Wrong! You've moved your foot too far from your center of gravity!"

"Why are you using so much strength when half of it isn't even necessary? You think you won't deal any damage? Yes, it might be true in some situation that require brute force. But in your case, this is wrong! You're wasting stamina on useless movements!"

"A jumping attack? Really? Did you think you were an anime main character or something? Wrong! Being airborne means your legs have no contact with the ground. Thus, no control over your movements. It might work on ignorant fools. But a true expert could easily exploit this opening! Unless you can fly, don't do it!"

At first, Aito thought Ogoro was exaggerating. Ogoro would also point out details he had never paid attention to before. Those were things most people usually thought were effective.

However, those were misunderstandings spread by popular culture, mainly thanks to the entertainment industry. Something he came to rapidly realize with Ogoro's memories and sparring sessions.

One event truly opened his eyes to the truth.

Aito's wooden ax blade met Ogoro's wooden sword. The sparring came to a standstill when both men applied pressure on each other's weapons. Truly a scene worthy of an anime where the protagonist and antagonist crossed swords.

"What are you doing? You think crossing blades with an opponent is cool? Well… it kinda is. But still wrong!" Ogoro said. Spitballs flying towards Aito's face. "It sucks ass and only result in a useless staring contest. It's not a gods damn date! You're only creating a big opening!"

Immediately after, as if to show what he was talking about, Ogoro stopped applying pressure, resulting in Aito's ax to fall towards him.

Taking advantage of that momentum, Ogoro effortlessly changed the ax trajectory with the back of his blade, creating an opening in Aito's guard.

A painful grunt escaped Aito's throat when Ogoro stabbed his chest with the wooden sword.

"And you're dead." Ogoro said, "If you really have to cross blade with someone else's, only apply a slight pressure. And if that idiot is foolish enough to put all his weight and strength behind his blade, it'll be easy for you to deviate his weapon using his own strength."

At that moment, Aito realized the rumors about Ogoro being the strongest warrior class in the Tower weren't unfounded—moderators excluded.

Despite being classless, even if Aito was stronger and faster, Ogoro could kick his ass if no skills were involved in the fight.

Ogoro was truly a league above his own when it came to weapon mastery. Not that Aito didn't know before. He just couldn't accept it. A matter of pride was all it was.

Once he understood that and left his pride in a chest double locked. He progressed by leaps and bounds. Accumulating, comprehending, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.

Knowledge he already knew of thanks to the memory bead but had yet to make it his own.

For that purpose, he sparred with Ogoro in the afternoon, only stopping to practice Whirlwind.

At night, they would spar again, until both were too tired to move. Thanks to that, Aito was able to figure out how to better use that Italian chain attack of his. By the end of the week, he felt on the verge of breakthrough concerning fusing it with Whirlwind.

Then Aito would practice his skill Weight Control while Ogoro slept, before falling asleep himself while using visualization. 

***

First day of the third week during lunch time.

While Aito was talking about combat techniques with Ogoro over lunch, someone he hadn't expected to see again walked towards him with heavy steps.

Sheyla stopped in front of him. Towering over Aito, who was sitting on the bench eating dried fruits.

His gaze traveled up to her face as he continued chewing. He hated to admit it, but she truly had a great figure. Even the plain white linen shirt under her light leather armor couldn't hide this fact.

Too bad her personality was rotten to the core.

She stared at him, appearing unsatisfied for some reason. Then she said, "You really don't remember me?"

In a good mood, and curious about what would happen if he said "no," Aito shook his head with a poker face.

"Fine, then I'll make you remember."