"I don't know them. And trust isn't something I can afford yet."
Arthur remained crouched behind the thick tree trunk, his breathing shallow, eyes narrowed. Every motion the group made—their precise teamwork, how they divided loot, the efficiency of their coordination—he absorbed like a sponge. This was the kind of real-world experience he lacked. But for now, observation was the only luxury he could afford.
"System," he whispered softly, "can you analyze their strength and identify what paths of power they follow? And compare them to me… and those monsters."
A familiar chime echoed faintly in his mind.
Ding!
[Answering to the host—scanning complete.]
> Sword & Shield user: Follows the Path of Aura. First real of aura
> Spear wielder and Knuckle brawler: Follow the Path of Cultivation. Body Tempering realm.
> Dagger wielder: Walks the Path of Assassins. First realm of assasin
> Staff bearer: Practices Magic - Support Branch (Healing specialization). One star in magic.
[Reminder to the host: These individuals, though only at the first step in their respective paths, possess combat training, refined techniques, and honed instincts. Engaging them in your current state is inadvisable.]
[Based on current scan results, Host is not yet at the first stage of cultivation. Against a full pack of Fang Beasts, survival probability is below 3%. Host may be able to engage one Fang Beast with difficulty, considering limited combat experience and incomplete mastery of body tempering.]
Arthur's mouth twitched slightly at the report.
"Who said I wanted to mess with them? Do I look suicidal to you?" he muttered under his breath, glaring mentally at the interface. "I know my limits. I've only been training for three days. And I'm not some bloodthirsty lunatic who wants to fight every stranger I meet."
His voice trailed off. He wanted to say more, to unload his irritation at the system's blunt honesty—but sighed instead, shaking his head.
"Forget it. I need to focus on what I can control."
He opened the system shop, filtering through the hundreds of categorized martial techniques. But as he scrolled, disappointment began to mount. Most were flashy, high-rank arts that required refined internal energy—or monstrous physical strength and extremely high price....
He lacked all three of them.
Just as frustration was setting in, one entry caught his eye. It wasn't flashy. It didn't promise destructive power or overwhelming speed. But it was doable.
---
1. Basic Swordsmanship
> Type: Sword Technique
> Rank: White
> Description: A foundational sword technique designed for beginners. Teaches core fundamentals such as slashing, thrusting, parrying, and riposte. A critical stepping stone to more advanced swordsmanship.
> Price: 50,000 System Points
---
Arthur leaned closer, eyebrows raising in interest.
"This… is perfect. No internal energy required. Just pure form, motion, and precision. And I do have a sword now—Beast Fang should serve well for this."
Still, the price made his expression twitch.
"Fifty thousand for something *basic*? That's ridiculous."
Ding!
[Host hesitation detected. Explanation initiating—]
> 1. Martial Techniques hold far greater value than breathing or energy absorption methods. No matter how much energy one gathers, it is wasted without a proper technique to wield it.
> 2. Basic Swordsmanship lays the fundamental groundwork for all higher-tier sword techniques. Mastery of this technique can increase combat efficiency by 200% for beginners. It also enables access to advanced sword skills in the future.
Arthur blinked. Then his eyes narrowed again.
"...So the system can read my thoughts now too. Great." He sighed in mild exasperation. "I really need to control my inner monologue."
But even with his complaints, Arthur didn't hesitate for long. He confirmed the purchase, watching as the sword manual materialized before him in a soft, radiant shimmer. The text was embedded directly into his mental sea, the knowledge seeping in like ink through parchment.
Basic swordsmanship. It wasn't glamorous. But it was a start.
"Now," Arthur whispered to himself, gripping the Beast Fang sword strapped to his back, "before I throw myself at monsters, I'll make sure this blade becomes an extension of me."
He turned his eyes back toward the forest. The adventurer team had already moved on, fading into the foliage ahead.
Arthur stood alone, at the edge of the forest, surrounded by towering trees whose leaves whispered in the wind. He took a slow breath, grounding himself as he unsheathed the Beast Fang Sword. The bone-white blade shimmered faintly under the dappled sunlight, its edge cruel and jagged like the fangs of the creature it was carved from.
The technique had already been engraved in his mind through the system, but technique alone meant nothing without practice. He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent slightly, and began to move.
Slash. Thrust. Parry. Riposte.
Again and again.
Each movement was awkward at first—his grip too tight, his stance slightly off. The sword felt alien in his hands, uncooperative, as though it resisted his will. But repetition wore down resistance. His arms began to burn, sweat soaked his shirt, and blisters formed where his skin met the hilt. Yet he didn't stop.
Slash. Thrust. Parry. Riposte.
An hour passed.
Gradually, the sword stopped feeling like a burden and started becoming an extension of his arm. The blade sang through the air. His footing grew steady. His strikes—measured and purposeful.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, panting lightly.
Ding!
[Congratulations host, you have learned the white rank sword technique— basic swordmanship.]
"Now I can stand a chance against a Fang Beast… right?"
He wasn't entirely sure, but confidence had to start somewhere. Readjusting the strap on his shoulder, Arthur began moving deeper into the forest, eyes scanning for signs of movement.
And not long after, he found it.
A small clearing opened before him, where a pack of Fang Beasts—low-slung creatures with bony protrusions and glowing red eyes—were prowling, gnawing at the remains of some poor animal.
Arthur peeked from behind a tree and blinked.
"Great… I can barely handle *one*, and here I've hit the jackpot—a whole pack."
He rubbed his temples dramatically, sighing as if the universe had personally wronged him.
"What's next? One of them has wings and breathes fire?"
Still, he wasn't about to give up.
"Alright… let's try to pull just one of them out. Operation Solo-Snack begins now."
He reached down, grabbed a fist-sized rock, took aim, and hurled it.
Thunk!
The stone hit one of the Fang Beasts squarely on the side of its skull with a satisfying *bonk*. The beast stopped mid-snarl, turned its head slowly, clearly confused.
Arthur ducked behind a bush and whispered, "Oh-ho, target acquired."
The Fang Beast sniffed the air, eyes scanning, until it caught a flicker of movement in the nearby shrubs. With a low growl, it began prowling toward the disturbance.
Arthur grinned like a devil.
"Yes, yes… that's it. Follow the rustling leaves, you brain-dead lizard mutt. Come to daddy…"
His whisper was half-gleeful, half-insane, like a kid laying a trap for a squirrel—with a sword.
The beast crept closer, muscles taut and fangs bared.
Arthur crouched in the shadows, adjusting his grip on the hilt of the Beast Fang Sword. His heart thudded with excitement and anxiety—but his grin widened.
"One-on-one. You and me, buddy. And spoiler alert—only one of us is leaving with all their limbs intact."
The beast pounced toward the bush—and Arthur sprang out with blade in hand, ready for his first true fight.
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