Ryu held his sword with closed eyes. For a time, the blade had been his only companion, and even after his introduction to Marshal and the others, he was not sure much had changed. They talked to his right, discussing the placement of the traps provided by their guild. The thought made him snort. Their guild- an association of Classers meant to provide aid to the local population- had provided them with traps. His family had provided him with a sword he’d already owned, a pack filled with a few essentials, and one headache of a fatherly goodbye.

He curbed his annoyance with a swipe of his sword. He’d leave the others to their traps, favoring his sword instead. That was the nice thing about swords. They never abandoned you, never judged. He imagined killing a banshee, trying to push down the wave of fear and sickness that came with the image. He didn’t want to be scared. He wanted to fight. Who had ever heard of a cowardly Master Class? Nobody. Even the crafter Classes were hard people.

“Hey, Ryu! Come here for a second, will you?” Tam called, breaking Ryu from his practice.

Ryu sheathed his blade and walked over. “Yeah?”

“We’ve got to have a plan for this next wave,” Marshal said, pausing to lean on the shovel he’d been digging with. “And well… we had an idea.”

---

Ryu rolled his neck, sighing at the soft cracks. Fuck. For a clever plan, he felt pretty stupid. Not that he ever felt particularly smart, either. Still, he supposed there were worse positions to be in. He could be like Marshal, after all.

His thoughts of the man seemed to summon him. The pounding of boots reached his spot in the dim jungle light, followed by the soft sound of clawed feet. Ryu waited. One, he counted. Two. Three. His sword flashed forward severing the rope. The sound of screeches came, and the pounding boots continued to run. Ryu followed with a soft sigh.

He triggered trap after trap, doing his best to put the sounds of dying banshees from his mind. They soon emerged into the small clearing the group had claimed as their own, and Ryu marched to his spot in front of their fire, giving Cynthia a small smile. It never hurt to have the healer on your side, after all. Not to mention, she was pretty…

The weight of the sword in his hand was a sharp reminder of the task at hand. He couldn’t run from this fight, and no amount of distractions would change what the future held. The banshees came from the trees like a swarm of angry trees, Marshal running ahead of them with all he had. The dark man passed him, and Ryu stepped forward to meet the charge of the banshees. Stupid, indeed.

His dagger carved a trench into a banshee’s throat, and with a jerk of the small blade, he made it a canyon. The spluttering monster dropped to the ground, only to be replaced by another. Its shriveled, bat-like face was harsh in the dim light of the fire. His dagger twirled through the air between them, hitting the banshee hilt-first and clattering to the ground uselessly. Undisturbed by his failure, Ryu used the banshee’s hesitation to tug his sword out of a third banshee, one he’d slain previously.

Fights, Ryu thought as he carved into the monster’s chest, really played with a man’s emotions. He’d been one step removed from a stuttering mess in the hours before, yet now, a calmness had descended upon him. The calmness of insanity, maybe, but a calmness, nonetheless.

Then a weight from the side threw him to the ground, and Ryu realized he was still a nervous wreck. His arms were pinned to the ground. His legs scrambled for purchase in the dirt to no avail. Worst of all, snapping teeth were lodged in his cheek. He screamed.

Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes, clouding his gaze. He jerked his head, and the teeth pulled free, taking part of his cheek with it. It felt like his tongue was peeking into the outside world. He could just make out the banshee’s head above him. Ignoring the pain in his face, he leaned his head back and snapped it forward. The banshee’s snout broke with a snap. Then he did it again. And again. Claws scratched against his arms, but with a buck of his hips, he threw the banshee off.

It tried to scramble to its feet. Ryu was faster. His boot clattered against its head. Once. Twice. It stopped moving, and Ryu lifted his sword with a wince. His armor had spared him most of the pain, not all of it.

An arrow whizzed by his head, taking a banshee in the chest. Ryu waved his hand in acknowledgement of the archer behind him. Marshal was somewhere to his right, facing the wave leader with Cynthia’s aid. Probably Keira’s too, though the dark-skinned woman was supposed to be helping them mop up the remaining banshees. Guess they only followed the plan when it was convenient for them.

He vented his frustration on a banshee. Stupid plan and stupid him for following it. His cheek radiated pain, and he tried to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. It didn’t seem to work. Or maybe it had, and the bitterness had traveled up his sword arm to brain the banshee in front of him. Ryu quite liked that idea.

After that, the banshees broke. For a moment, he’d almost believed it was him. Then the screen appeared, and the bitter taste returned.

Triumph

The second wave of Grimnir’s Horde has been defeated!

Calculating loot…

Loot dropping in 3, 2, 1.

The third wave of the horde, one led by Grimnir himself, will arrive in 23 hours, 55 minutes, and 34 seconds.

Gods, but did his cheek hurt. He’d found there was a particular type of pain in having a piece of one’s face torn out, and it was far from desirable. He was not even the type of man to worry about his looks. The fact they might be damaged just reinforced his ill mood. So ill was his mood, he almost ignored the booklet that had popped into existence near his head. Almost.

He snatched the booklet from the air, his brows furrowed in confusion. Was he to read it? Logic seemed to dictate that yes, one did in fact read books, but it seemed a bit… useless. He could barely see past the reach of his arms, much less the small print of the booklet. Still, he opened it. It turned into dust.

Success

Cultivation Style: Blood Hunter’s Guide has been learned. Upon increasing cultivation, Strength, Agility, Endurance, and Perception will be altered to match your Cultivation Style. Unlocking the full benefits of cultivation now requires the Style’s meditation technique.

The notification caused a smile to cross Ryu’s face. Cultivation Styles were rare, and their benefit was incredible. His strength, for example, would no longer increase equally across the board upon raising his cultivation. Instead, specific muscle groups and types of strength would receive more focus. The same went for his agility, endurance, and perception, too. Not to mention, the Style matched his attunement. It was with subdued happiness he walked to the group’s fire, the aching in his cheek pushed to the back of his mind.

“Ryu,” Marshal said, inclining his head with a grin. The man was stripping his armor off with Tam’s help. “Won again, eh?”

“Oh my,” Cynthia said. A golden glow was already spinning to existence around her hands. His cheek throbbed a little, and he could feel the skin mending. He sighed. A proper hero needed a scar, after all. The thought almost made him laugh.

“That’s a nasty one,” Tam said, thumbing his cheek. Damn. Apparently it had left a scar. Just not the noble, dashing scar he’d hoped for. It turned out a wound grievous enough to leave a scar wasn’t exactly the neatest thing to begin with.

“My body feels like one big bruise,” Marshal said with a wince. He let his vambrace fall to the ground, now free from his armor.

Keira held up a black staff in triumph. Like her old one, it was made of some dark wood, but this one had a head carved to look like a panther. Its eyes were purple gemstones. “Least the loot was worth it.”

Ryu’s tongue explored the inside of his cheek, checking for any differences. “Aye.”

“So,” Marshal said, drinking from a large canteen. “Just under twenty-four hours. Got close to half our traps, maybe. Of course the number of banshees will increase too…” The man wore a thoughtful look as he pondered.

“We’re also stronger,” Tam interjected with a smile. He was taking parcels of food from Cynthia’s storage ring, only stopping to add his piece to the conversation.

Not in any meaningful way, Ryu thought. He wanted to say it, to convince these fools just how weak they all were. But he didn’t. Death was the only thing that’d prove him right, and he wasn’t exactly looking to be an ugly corpse at the moment. He had goals, after all. They were just… vague.

“I’m close to gaining another Skill,” Cynthia said, suppressing a yawn. The healer threw Ryu a knowing look. “And sword boy over here doesn’t seem to be getting any weaker, scars or not.”

Ryu smirked. Sword boy… He supposed he could tolerate it. “That’s what fighting for your life is for, no?” That was… almost witty. Small victories, he supposed.

“I’d hope so,” Marshal said with a chuckle. “Banter aside, I feel like we should be doing more, you know.”

“Rest is another form of preparation. You know, sleep is critical for being a human punching bag,” Keira said, smiling, “Not to mention-”

“I haven’t gotten my full beauty rest,” Cynthia finished, already waddling up in her bedroll. Ryu didn’t blame her. Their sleep had been very limited the night before in order to wake up in time for the attack.

Keira shook her head with a laugh. “Yes, that was definitely what I was going to say.”

“No, I can’t sit. Ryu, care for a spar?” Marshal insisted.

“You just took your armor off, didn’t you?” Ryu asked.

“Yes… Well, you’ll just have to take it easy then,” Marshal said, smiling. He snapped his fingers in front of Cynthia’s face, and the healer blinked weary eyes.

“Hmmm?” The woman had somehow already dozed off.

“Practice swords, please.”

“Mhmm.” Two swords popped into existence after a moment. Ryu made a mental note. He was going to have to get one of those storage rings one day.

“Will that work?” Marshal said, tossing Ryu one of the wooden swords. It was straight and a little shorter than he preferred, but it would work. He nodded.

Standing across from Marshal, Ryu realized he was taller than the man. It was strange, actually. The warrior just gave off a large impression. Maybe it was the armor.

“So, is it typical for First Ring factions to send their heirs alone?” Marshal asked as they crossed swords.

“Heir?”

“Too well trained to be anything else. So I’m right?”

Ryu parried a probing lunge. “Something like that.”

“And do they normally send you alone?” Marshal asked.

Ryu thought for a moment, feinting a cut high and going low. He cracked Marshal’s thigh with the flat of his practice blade. “Why?”

Marshal quirked an eyebrow, deflecting a follow-up strike. “A curiosity for foreign cultures, let’s call it,” he said, mirth creasing his eyes.

“No,” Ryu said, “They don’t. I’m a… special case.”

“Oh, yes. The Second Ring has those, too. High expectations, eh?” Marshal asked. He was backing up now.

Ryu blocked another blow, dashed Marshal’s sword aside, and tapped the man’s throat with the edge of his practice blade. “Something like that.”