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"Raaaaargh!" Grall roared, charging forward with unyielding determination.
His blade flashed as he sliced clean through the fingers of an orc's axe-wielding hand. The severed digits fell to the ground along with the weapon. Grall seized the moment, driving his sword deep into the orc's chest with a resounding thrust.
Another orc loomed behind him, its jagged blade swinging down in a deadly arc. Grall caught the shadow of the attack in the corner of his eye. It was too late to dodge. As time seemed to slow, his mind was drawn back to a distant memory.
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"This is how you achieve success," a familiar voice bellowed.
"It's eight out of ten points hard work," declared Guile Freuge, the former Royal Knight Captain. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight, his orange beard radiating authority. He stood in the royal training grounds, addressing a group of knights.
"Hey, Captain, what about your hard work?" one of the knights joked as he pointed towards his own head signifying the captain having all worked his life to lose his hair.
"Think you're real funny, huh, kid?" Guile replied with a smirk.
"What about the other two points, Captain?" Grall asked, his voice cutting through the chatter.
Guile turned sharply, his eyes locking onto the younger knight. "Oh, finally talking, are we? You've been practicing all alone in a corner this whole time."
"....." Grall said nothing, his focus unwavering.
"Hmm," Guile murmured, studying Grall's serious face. "The other two points don't come from hard work," Guile began, his tone growing serious. "They come from talent."
He pointed at a nearby knight. "You!"
The knight blinked, startled. "Me?"
"Yes, you! Attack me with your strongest strike," Guile ordered.
"C-Captain, are you su—?"
"I said attack me!" Guile's booming voice silenced the knight's hesitation.
The knight reluctantly raised his wooden practice sword and delivered a downward vertical strike. Guile moved his body effortlessly, letting the blow hit shoulder.
"Again!" Guile barked.
The knight swung upward this time, only for Guile to block it with his forearm. "Step back!" Guile commanded, and the other knights retreated instinctively.
Grall, already standing at a distance, felt the air grow heavy. He watched as Guile exhaled deeply, his muscles tensing.
"Aaaaaargh!" Guile roared, releasing a surge of power. His skin turned a fiery red as cracks formed beneath his feet. A wave of wind pressure erupted from him, scattering dust and debris across the field.
"This," Guile declared, standing amidst the chaos, "is my personal combat skill. BIDE."
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Back to Present
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Time resumed as Grall braced for the orc's strike. Though too slow to dodge, he raised his sword to block. The impact was immense, cracking the blade but not shattering it. The force drove Grall back, and he fell to one knee, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"Talent?" Grall muttered as he wiped the blood away. "To hell with that."
He grinned, his voice rising defiantly. "Hard work?" He laughed, the sound harsh and guttural.
The orcs around him snarled, drawn by his defiance. Grall slowly rose to his feet, his eyes blazing.
"You idiot, Grall," he muttered to himself with a smirk.
An orc charged at him, its jagged sword swinging downward. In an instant, Grall moved.
"Sever" he growled, his voice cold and resolute.
The orc froze mid-strike as its arm flew through the air, severed cleanly at the shoulder. Blood sprayed as the dismembered limb landed with a sickening thud.
For a moment, the battlefield was silent. Then came the sound—"Crack… crick!"—as glowing fissures appeared on Grall's body.
They say that when one becomes strong enough, they're own personal skill would then form, something supernatural but native to just humans in this world.
"Since I've used Hard Work to get here…" Grall said, his tone calm yet deadly.
"…might as well let it take me to the Grave," Grall finished, his grin widening.
This was Grall's personal combat skill—SEVER.