"Teach me how to fight."

Elin choked on her porridge, and then wiped her mouth off with a napkin.

"Come again?"

"Teach me how to fight," Walter repeated himself. He stared at his untouched food.

A complicated expression darkened Elin's face, "If this is about being a supplier, then, once we link up with a party, you'll make more money. When we graduate from the beginning dungeons, I can slay enough monsters to live on. That won't take long."

"That's not it."

She pressed her lips together, dropped her spoon, and crossed her arms. Walter continued to stare at his bowl.

"Why?"

"Because I'm weak."

"I don't think so," Elin said, "It takes a lot of willpower to resist a [Charm Person] spell as you did. Well, it's not like I didn't see this coming, you're a man, after all. I would be disappointed if you didn't ask."

"If I'm honest, I'd rather study magic," Walter said, "I don't mean any offense, I know you're proud of your skill, but it's all I have left."

"I won't begrudge you that," Elin's voice became steel, "Don't look down and ask. Look me in the eye."

For whatever reason, her command didn't trigger the scales.

He looked up and asked a third time, "Please, teach me how to use a sword."

She searched his face for a moment, with the same look she wore when she fought the goblins. Walter's intention nearly unfrayed under her scrutiny like an old rope. Somehow, a thread managed, and she nodded.

"Very well. We'll need to buy you some protective gear."

The weight of the gambeson wore down on Walter. In terms of defense, it was a glorified winter coat. Armorers constructed it in three layers, an outer canvas shell, a middle wool layer to absorb impact, and an inner silk layer, quilted together with a diamond pattern. The entire set included boots, leggings, a coat that went down to his knees, mittens, and a hood.

After testing it on, he felt like he could get hit with a club and shrug it off. Once, anyway.

Walter showed her the inside.

"Giant Spider gossamer is water-resistant. It won't absorb your sweat, and the armor will last longer."

It was also much more expensive than he expected, considering the frugality of the sword. Elin invested eighty silver in his protection. Their wallet emptied to a fourth, factoring in their previous spending. True to her shopping nature, she methodically sorted the pieces.

"Think about it, Walter," she explained, "We might source gear from monstraculture, but it won't fit. Not to mention, to kill the monster, we have to ruin the armor. It's expensive because it has to be sized and repaired, or made from scratch."

Stupid logic ruined fantasy, again.

"Why not get armor for yourself? Aren't you worried?"

Elin tilted her head and shot him a, 'are you insulting my skill,' look.

"Never mind."

Out of the way, citizens, he thought, I'm a real adventurer going on a real adventure.

"It's a bit stuffy. Carrying the supplier's pack will be a pain."

"Of course," she said, "You're wearing your clothes underneath. You should have taken them off."

Click.

"Walter, you realize I can hit you harder now that you're wearing armor, right?"

"I'll behave."

The two of them visited the Adventurer's Guild training yard. A group of four practiced in a corner, and, although they studied Walter and Elin when they entered, they otherwise focused on their practice. The other adventurers are harvesting during the middle of the day.

"We will spar," she said, staking out a mat, "and I will assess your talent."

Her attitude changed. She moved like a coiled spring, and, at any moment, she could unleash an attack. From a nearby rack, she collected two wooden swords and tossed Walter one.

Walter followed her, and she saluted.

"Swing your sword at me."

Weights fell on his side of the scales when he mentally declined her command.

"What?" Walter asked, "No way."

"You asked for this. Don't make me repeat myself. Make no mistake, Walter, I will train you, whether you want to or not."

Will she trigger the scales just to make me attack her? It has to be a bluff.

She remained unwavering, and Walter realized she meant it. Without a way out, Walter wound up and slashed.

When Elin didn't move to defend herself, he panicked and yanked the sword back at the last moment. Too late, the sword hit her shoulder with a sickening slap. She winced.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I didn't mean to!"

"Yes, you did. So did I. Now swing your sword to kill me."

"No! Forget it."

"Stay on the mat."

Clack. Elin, what the hell are you doing?

"This was a mistake," he followed up.

"You better take this seriously," she warned and slashed at him.

Her wooden sword struck him in the same place, and the difference was immediately evident. He crashed on his side, laid out flat. The gambeson prevented a broken arm but didn't stop the bruise.

One of the other adventurers in the training yard whispered, "Holy shit, is he dead?"

"What do you think I'm training you to do? I'm training you to hurt people, Walter. Get up," she commanded.

He rolled to his knees and rocked to his feet. When his vision stopped rattling, he said, "I don't want to hurt you, though."

"It's pretty obvious you lack the nerve. I don't need to block. I could stand still all day, and you would never find the will to knock me down. Now swing."

Clack.

He raised the sword, but the strength in his arms melted away. He could get as far as winding up and then froze.

"You're too empathetic to be a swordsman. Swing!"

"Fine!"

His sword made a sound as it disturbed the air this time, but stopped with a margin. It never connected.

Hers did. Once again, Walter climbed off the ground.

"I've been fighting since I was a child. You can't trick me. You're not leaving until I allow it, and I won't do that until you really use that weapon."

Why am I so afraid to use this? Even if I do hit her, it's not like I can strike with the same force she can. Most likely it'll bruise, but she'll shrug it off, or get healing magic cast on her. It's natural to avoid confrontation, isn't it?

"You asked me to train you."

I did. This is how this world is. If I stay soft, I'll just die.

"Okay," he said, "One more try. I know you don't really want to train me, so if I can't this time, I'll give up."

Her mouth dropped, and then she nodded, "Fair enough."

I can't pretend she's not there, and I have to swing through. If I can't get over the fear of hurting others, then I'll have to be too afraid not to.

He wound up and twisted. The sword came out of his hands. Before he started to swing, Elin extended her sword and knocked it clear.

"Next time," she smiled, "try a tighter grip. Let's start with the basics."

The four adventurers applauded.

One of them, a man in full plate mail and carrying a tower shield, said, "Good show," and before Walter could say thanks, he followed up, "I've never seen someone strike so accurately."

Right, he was complimenting her, not me.

"My name is Adem Rolfe, and this is my party, Resurrection. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"