Chapter Twenty-One: The Sparring Partner

Setting aside past deeds and judging only by ability, it would cost a fortune—even for a noble—to hire a professional of Swain’s caliber to teach swordsmanship to someone who had never learned before. Such an opportunity was both extravagant and exceedingly rare.

Yet Wade, without paying a single silver coin, could have Swain act as his sparring partner.

Although he had not yet obtained that extraordinary longsword, in a sense, this was an even more precious treasure. After all, a sword is but an external possession: it could one day be broken or lost, but the skills and knowledge gained would belong to him forever.

Wade understood this well. As a baker, he wielded his chef’s knife with skill, yet he had never studied swordsmanship. Yearning to refine his swordplay, he raised his blade and faced Swain beneath the burning cathedral.

When he killed the pirates, he had used his sword mostly for ambushes from behind, never clashing blades head-on. Anyone who can chop carrots with a kitchen knife can instinctively hack and jab with a sword, and so it was possible to kill. But should he face a true master, his paltry sword skills would become a fatal weakness.

An ordinary baker, busy each day before ovens and cupboards, need not worry about ever dueling a swordmaster in a ring. But now Wade was a skeleton, and if he wished to cross that door and return to the outside world, he needed to become stronger.

To blend in among humans, to seek the whereabouts and secrets of that die, to find a way for his true self to leave the wasteland and reach a place where sunlight and clouds could be seen, he would inevitably face countless threats.

As one of the undying dead, a skeleton was by nature an object of human fear and enmity. To withstand those threats, he would have to grow powerful.

In this, Swain’s creed was not wrong: only absolute strength brings victory. Tricks and schemes are only for use when there is no choice. If Wade had been stronger than Swain, would he have needed to lay careful traps, to lure Swain to the reservoir and struggle so hard to kill him?

Not to mention surpassing Swain—even if Wade had the skill of an iron-ranked professional, killing Swain would not have required such effort.

To grow stronger was essential, and so Wade now stood before this remnant of memory.

He would begin with the most basic sword swings, to learn the way of battle.

Come, then.

At last, the revenant moved. Swain’s shadowy echo picked up a knight’s sword and strode forward.

Wade saw the blade sweep through an arc, and then his skull was cleaved in two.

For a moment, it seemed as if a red “Death” symbol floated before his eyes.

Again.

Wade refused to accept defeat, resetting the scene to challenge once more. This time, he anticipated Swain’s opening circular slash, ready to duck and counterattack.

But the instant he ducked under the round swing, his skull was shattered.

The memory did not obey any predictable pattern; what seemed the beginning of a circular slash suddenly became, as Wade bent low, a crisp flourish and a double-edged spinning strike.

Unable to evade the variation, Wade was broken apart. He had no power to resist; the gap between him and Swain was terrifyingly vast.

But that was a blessing—it meant there was much to learn from Swain.

No need for discouragement; what does not kill me can only make me stronger.

This was, after all, only a “dream.” To have one’s skull smashed without dying could happen only here.

How many have the chance to hone their swordsmanship through death as Wade did?

A chance not to be missed, not to be found again.

With such a unique advantage, he resolved to treasure it.

Time and again, Wade challenged Swain. By the twelfth attempt, he managed to evade Swain’s first attack.

He learned to judge the direction of a blow by observing Swain’s wrist.

So, when a wrist turns in this way, the sword will swing in that direction.

Wade improved, little by little. On the thirty-sixth try, he survived the second attack. Perhaps it was mere luck, but indeed, with subtle skill, he managed to parry a powerful downward cut.

He remembered the sensation, striving to recreate it in combat, and by the fifty-sixth attempt, he could counter a tenth of such strikes.

He was making steady progress. Being split apart was unpleasant, but the sense of improvement was exhilarating.

On the one hundred and twenty-sixth attempt, he managed, for the first time in direct combat, to injure Swain.

He discovered something: he need not swing a sword as a human would. He was a skeleton, and in the struggle between life and death, a skeleton allowed for more angles of attack.

That time, he wounded Swain by having his right arm detach on its own, allowing his sword to slice Swain’s ankle.

A new breakthrough.

He had died countless times, but Wade felt only joy, and gradually, he found pleasure in it.

He wished to continue training, but the time was nearly up.

He sensed Mia waking, already leaping about on his ribcage.

The burning cathedral crumbled, flames shrinking into a sphere, and the dream faded into emptiness.

Wade’s “rest” was complete; he felt refreshed and could rise and move about the cave once more.

The time spent fighting Swain today was about as long as a previous rest spent tossing the die twenty-six thousand five hundred times.

Before leaving the dream, he glanced at the die one last time.

The progress of the heart soaking in red was swifter than he expected—about a tenth of it was now saturated. This change in color occurred every time Wade entered the dream, but the first time it filled completely, it had taken far more than ten days.

Why was it so fast this time?

Was it because it had filled once before, opening a channel and speeding the process?

Wade recalled the day the door opened, and wondered what was different from other periods of rest.

He remembered the final skeleton he had defeated while digging.

He had slain sixty-four skeletons, consuming the soul fire of each. That day, all the cracks in his body healed, and his control over his form reached a new level.

Was it this transformation that charged the die and opened the door?

If, one day, he advanced further, would something new occur?

Wade could not help but wonder; this mysterious die filled him with curiosity.

Where did it come from? Why did it appear in his dreams?

He could not yet know the truth, but he set it as a long-term goal to uncover the answer.

Before leaving the dream, he made a habit of summarizing what had occurred.

For now, his tasks were to hone his skills and rebuild his new home.

Then, to wait patiently for the day the heart was filled with crimson.

At the current pace, it would not be long. When the time came, he would try again to cross that door.