The dawn after the raid brought no relief. The cold, pale light of morning exposed the grim reality of their failure. While they had managed to disrupt the Blackfang camp, the mage's appearance had been a sobering reminder of just how outmatched they were. The villagers whispered in fear of the looming retaliation, their faces pale and drawn.
Alex sat on a fallen log near the forest's edge, staring blankly at the short sword resting across his lap. His body was sore, his arms heavy from the strain of last night's frantic retreat. The blade itself was dented and dull, a far cry from the gleaming weapons carried by the bandits. Yet it wasn't the sword's condition that gnawed at him—it was his own inadequacy. He'd frozen when it mattered, stumbled where others acted with precision. If Mira hadn't pulled him out, he would've been killed.
"You're still brooding," Mira's voice broke through his thoughts.
Alex glanced up to see her approaching, her steps deliberate, her green eyes scrutinizing him. She looked as tired as he felt, her armor still bearing the dirt and blood of the night before, but she carried herself with the same quiet confidence she always had. It was hard not to feel small in her presence.
"I'm just… thinking," Alex muttered.
Mira snorted, crossing her arms. "Thinking won't do you much good if you're not acting on it. I told you last night—this world doesn't care about people who hesitate. If you're serious about getting stronger, you can't afford to waste time wallowing."
Her bluntness stung, but Alex knew she was right. He let out a slow breath, gripping the sword tighter. "Then what do I do? I've never fought before—not really. I don't even know where to start."
Mira tilted her head, considering him. "You start with the basics. Learn to hold a blade properly. Learn to move without tripping over your own feet. It's not glamorous, but it's the foundation. Without it, you're dead weight."
Alex frowned. "And you're going to teach me?"
Mira raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering across her face. "I'm not a teacher. I'll give you a few pointers, but you're going to have to figure out most of it on your own. You want strength? Then you'd better be prepared to earn it."
They began that very morning, just outside the village in a small clearing surrounded by trees. The villagers were busy rebuilding barricades and fortifying their defenses, but Mira seemed to think Alex's training was just as important.
"Start with your stance," Mira said, circling him like a predator sizing up prey. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your knees slightly bent, weight evenly distributed. You need to be able to move quickly in any direction."
Alex did his best to follow her instructions, adjusting his footing until she nodded. She stepped closer and tapped his sword hand with her finger.
"Loosen your grip. You're holding it like it's a lifeline. If your hand cramps up mid-fight, you're dead. Think of the sword as an extension of your arm. It should feel natural, like it belongs there."
He adjusted his grip, though it still felt awkward. Mira stepped back, crossing her arms. "Now, swing."
"What?"
"Swing," she repeated, her tone firm. "You'll never land a hit if you're afraid to attack. Start with a basic overhead strike."
Alex raised the sword and brought it down in what he hoped was a convincing motion. Mira immediately shook her head.
"Too slow. And you're putting all your weight into it—you'll overbalance and leave yourself wide open. Again."
He tried again, and again, and again. Each time, Mira pointed out a new flaw. His strikes were clumsy, his footwork uneven, his movements telegraphed. It was frustrating, exhausting, and humbling all at once.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, Alex's arms were shaking from the effort. He lowered the sword, panting. "This is harder than it looks," he muttered.
"Of course it is," Mira said, leaning casually against a tree. "If it were easy, everyone would be a fighter. But that's the point—you don't become strong by doing what's easy."
Alex glanced at her, wiping sweat from his brow. "Why are you helping me, anyway? You don't strike me as the charitable type."
Mira's gaze hardened, her casual demeanor slipping for just a moment. "I'm not. But I don't like useless people. If you want to stick around, you'd better make yourself useful. Otherwise, you're just another liability."
The words stung, but Alex nodded. He didn't want to be a liability. He didn't want to rely on Mira—or anyone else—to pull him out of danger. If he was going to survive in this world, he needed to stand on his own.
The days that followed were grueling. Mira's "pointers" quickly became full-fledged training sessions, each one more demanding than the last. She taught him how to strike, how to block, how to read his opponent's movements. It was far from polished instruction—Mira's approach was practical, born from experience rather than formal training—but it was exactly what Alex needed.
His body ached constantly. His muscles burned from the endless repetitions, his hands blistered from the rough hilt of the sword. But slowly, he began to improve. His strikes became faster, his footing more stable. He still had a long way to go, but the small progress he made each day was enough to keep him going.
Mira wasn't the only one keeping an eye on him. The villagers watched his training with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Some muttered about the strange outsider wasting time when he could be helping with the defenses. Others seemed impressed by his determination. Alex ignored them. He wasn't doing this for them.
On the fourth day of training, Mira handed him a small wooden shield. It was old and battered, its edges splintered, but it was sturdy enough for practice. "Time to work on your defense," she said.
Alex raised the shield awkwardly, his arm already protesting the additional weight. Mira didn't wait for him to adjust—she swung her sword at him without warning.
The blow struck the shield with a loud thud, nearly knocking it out of his hand. Alex stumbled back, his heart racing.
"Too slow," Mira said, stepping forward and swinging again.
This time, Alex managed to block, though the impact sent a jolt through his arm. Mira didn't let up, attacking again and again, forcing him to react.
"Keep your shield up!" she barked. "Don't drop it, no matter what!"
Alex gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face as he blocked each strike. His arm ached, his movements becoming sluggish. But he refused to stop. Each time Mira's blade connected with his shield, it was a reminder of how fragile he still was, how easily he could be overwhelmed.
By the time Mira finally lowered her sword, Alex was on the verge of collapse. He dropped the shield and fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
Mira stood over him, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You're improving," she said quietly. "But don't let that go to your head. Strength takes time, Alex. You're not there yet—not even close."
Alex nodded, his chest still heaving. He didn't need her to tell him that. He knew how far he still had to go. But for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt like he was moving in the right direction.
He wasn't strong yet. But he would be.
And when the time came, he wouldn't hesitate.