Chapter 39: Seeking Guidance, Questions

A Glimmer of Hope

If the efficiency was too low, making the “Sun-Moon Rose” insufficient for advancement requirements, then, according to the text, perhaps a solar or lunar eclipse could work. The book Studies and Possibilities of Dome Magic dealt with celestial magic. Who had the time to research this—adding filters during battles? But now, she might actually use it.

If the moon and sun were tangible celestial bodies in this world, driving them with meager magic was a pipe dream. Wenger buried her focus in the book. Unfortunately, the theory was lengthy, and even after hours, she hadn’t finished it. It was like drawing a sphere—she’d only drawn a circle. Progress, but slow.

She could read for a day and night, but after poring over the enchanter’s manual, her focus was waning. Yet, here was a clue for her advancement. Reaching the fourth tier was her most persistent goal. Even gathering magic herbs was this hard—perhaps the developers intended some “puzzle-solving” for class changes. Great job.

At first, she was exhausted from reading. But a turn of events gave her a chance. She went to the warehouse downstairs, grabbed a wooden sword, and trained in the clearing by the giant tree. Compared to before, she’d grown lax. Without imminent threats, she’d become idle. Wenger swung her sword, inwardly scolding herself, but her movements didn’t falter.

Others might understand—such efforts with no visible reward felt like wasted energy. Physical training didn’t show clear tiers, easily leading to negativity. She had to push herself from time to time.

A Quiet Observer

Vick enjoyed Maple Whisper Village’s tranquil atmosphere, where he could sit and do nothing. Strictly speaking, he hadn’t done much these past few years. Drawing a sword and slaying enemies was as routine as eating or drinking. Being away from Sarding City was like giving himself a long vacation.

He stood, moved his stool back inside, tapped the house’s structure to ensure its stability, and headed toward the giant tree. The tree was massive, though smaller than those he’d seen in the royal city. Lost in thought, he heard a familiar sound—one he knew well from past sword training. At the tree’s base, the girl was practicing her swordplay with meticulous focus. No particular style, just pure simplicity. Purity was a strength in itself.

He hadn’t noticed last time, assuming she only trained her body. He didn’t expect her to have an interest in this. Wenger sensed his presence without needing mental energy. When focused, she could vaguely perceive things within dozens of meters. She swung her sword, the motion sending a wave like a gentle breeze, warm but not fierce.

The man approached, standing silently to watch. When the girl stopped and turned, they nodded at each other. “Mr. Vick, off to fish again?” “There’s not much else to do… You practice swordplay too?” Vick’s gaze was unguarded. Wenger glanced at her wooden sword, shyly hiding it behind her.

Compared to a master, her skills were basic. She rarely fought others; her swordplay for killing monsters was much more direct. “Could I ask for your guidance?” Vick noted her demeanor. Though hesitant to trouble him, Wenger was thrilled at the chance for pointers, especially since she was clueless. His polite invitation aligned with her own desire, so she didn’t refuse.

They agreed to a friendly spar, stopping short of harm, and quickly took their stances. The wooden sword wasn’t ideal, so Vick used the blade he’d recently brought. He placed his right hand on his chest and bowed. Wenger, seeing this, clumsily mimicked him, bowing politely.

After the courtesy, Vick noticed she hadn’t switched her sword and stayed still, not striking. The girl smiled faintly as a signal, lowering her stance as her silver hair fluttered, partially hiding her movements. In the next moment, she darted forward, a silver sword appearing in her hand. She spun, channeling her body’s full force into the strike.

Vick calmly raised his hand, deflecting the blow with a tricky angle, not pursuing but waiting for her to retreat and steady herself before acting. It wasn’t that he lacked the intent to counter. Even restraining his strength, her physique and experience were no match for his. But in a spar, not taking an opponent seriously was disrespectful.

At close range, he felt an almost tangible killing intent from her blade. Failing to respond earnestly would truly be an insult to the girl. The man’s aura surged suddenly. Wenger grew even more focused, unaware that in that instant, something made him change his approach. Vick’s strike was still a test. He kept suppressing his strength to match hers.

Wenger seemed to anticipate it, dodging with an odd movement and countering with another slash. His reflexes were fast—despite holding back, his instincts blocked it effortlessly, his stance unshaken. Vick was slightly surprised. Wenger pressed her attack, each move parried, sometimes forcing her to respond hastily. As if returning the courtesy, when she paused to catch her breath, Vick attacked with crisp, deadly strikes.

She was nearly overwhelmed. Even knowing he’d hold back, his aura was intimidating. Her game-based moves deviated greatly in reality. She’d anticipated some actions, but they were useless. The gap in skill was crushing. It forced Wenger to rethink—direct killing moves were too simple against people. Once the strength gap exceeded a small threshold, they were ineffective.

Vick, meanwhile, furrowed his brow. He didn’t quite understand. Her responses weren’t split-second reactions but seemed premeditated. It was just a spar, yet countering his ordinary strikes left her nearly exhausted. Unlike facing the rift beast, this pressure was even greater.

Wenger retreated sharply to gain distance. Vick, who’d been standing still, appeared before her in an instant as he raised his sword, too fast to react. He seemed to close in deliberately, forcing her to face his presence. His sword rested at her neck. “You don’t remember me?” “What?” He slowly withdrew his blade, as if nothing had happened. “Your swordplay is pure. I hope it improves next time.”

Wenger heard him. …But did meeting in the game count? The twisted, unspeakable thing at his neck in her dream—she couldn’t recall clearly. She couldn’t find a reason to know him. But she noted it, like grasping a clue. It might come in handy later.

Though not as meticulous as a teacher’s guidance, the spar was perfect for her. Summarizing and reflecting was a vital skill, helping her find her own path in herbs, planting, and more. “Thank you.” She stored her sword in the void—thanks to Vick’s spatial gem, it looked more reasonable.