Takemikazuchi's line was like telling an elementary schooler who'd just cracked open a textbook to skip grades and sit the college entrance exam. Keyaru couldn't think of a better way to put it.
Back in his original world, kendo was a high-end sport only the financially free could really access.
And now—
No fundamentals, straight to live sparring.
Worse, the opponent was the war god Takemikazuchi, whose martial skill alone could rival high-level adventurers.
For real…?
"Let's give it a try."
Keyaru decided quickly. If he didn't even have the guts for simulated combat training, how was he supposed to fight for his life against monsters in the Dungeon?
As for getting hurt—
He didn't care. With "Heal," he basically had free health pots. Plus, high-intensity sparring would raise his stats, which was like leveling for free in a safe zone.
With no basics to lean on, all he could do was imitate. He studied Takemikazuchi's grip, then set his right hand near the guard and his left at the end of the hilt—natural two-handed hold.
…
Takemikazuchi noticed the mimicry and wasn't surprised. If the kid were truly mediocre, Hestia wouldn't have recruited him. He gave Keyaru a once-over.
"Mind your balance and coordination. Drop your shoulders. Body and blade should move as one."
Following the cue, Keyaru relaxed his tense shoulders and tried to keep his posture natural. He drew a breath, then sprinted the five meters to Takemikazuchi and, as a right-hander, lifted the sword over his head and chopped hard to the left.
He moved fast enough to raise a faint whistle of air.
"Clack!"
Wood met wood—followed by a dull thud. With an effortless difference in raw strength, Takemikazuchi angled a one-handed parry, absorbed the force, pressed forward, and was on him in a heartbeat.
A light push sent the thin boy staggering back several meters.
"You really haven't studied swordplay," he said, frowning. "That kind of swing only works on someone weaker than you. Against equal strength, those big, sweeping cuts are nothing but openings."
…
Keyaru barely held his footing. The web of his thumb tingled numb. He reset his grip, ready to rush again—when Takemikazuchi lifted a hand.
"That's enough for now. What you need are fundamentals. Best is to burn them into muscle memory."
He looked at the still-youthful face. "I'll teach you the key points next."
"Okay."
Keyaru had never expected to win. For a true beginner, even touching Takemikazuchi with a wooden practice blade would have been the real miracle. Seeing the gap clearly was the only way to build the drive to close it. Getting coached by a "war god" at all was thanks entirely to Hestia.
"Grind the basics hard… And if I wreck my muscles, I'll just heal up with 'Heal.'"
He reset his focus and dove into a tight, fast-paced fundamentals block under Takemikazuchi, trying to memorize every cue.
With the detailed instruction, he sorted basic sword work into three phases:
Get a feel for the blade—consistent grip and handling to improve weapon control.
Train power through the core and upper body.
Repeat core moves—cut, chop, thrust, tap, lift, beat, and so on—until each one is etched into muscle memory.
"That's about it."
Takemikazuchi didn't stop until Keyaru could loop the whole drill without a single sloppy detail. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders: as Hestia's first child, anyone she'd ask him to help mattered to her. Since he'd agreed, he'd shoulder the job properly—that was his principle.
Once they were out of "lesson mode," he relaxed, patted Keyaru's shoulder, and asked, "Any questions?"
"My head's got it," Keyaru said with a shrug, easygoing. "Just not sure my body will still remember it in the morning… Thank you, Lord Takemikazuchi."
"Think nothing of it." Accepting the thanks as only right, he added before they parted, "Once you've got these basics down, you can try the Dungeon's shallow floors. If you're worried about live combat, come find me here at night."
—
After saying goodbye to the war god, Keyaru left the dorms and headed back toward the Familia base on South Main, cutting through side streets to the avenue.
The bustle of evening had faded. Near midnight, most shops along West Main had shuttered. Silver moonlight washed Orario, giving him just enough to see.
Up ahead, The Hostess of Fertility hadn't fully closed; a few lights spilled through the half-latched door onto the threshold.
As Keyaru was about to pass, a girl in a green maid dress with a white apron stepped out, carrying a tray. Hearing footsteps behind her, she paused and turned her head.
"Adventurer, are you here for dinner?"
"I've eaten," Keyaru said with a small shake of his head. With pockets cleaner than his face, he couldn't afford fried potato balls—let alone the top-priced Hostess of Fertility. Eating on the house, then failing to pay… he didn't want to imagine how "exciting" that would get—in a very physical way.
But when he followed the voice and saw the girl's sweet face, he actually spaced out for a beat.
Gray hair loosely done up into a single ponytail; a touch of baby fat setting off her lively charm. Very "girl next door."
Syr Flova.
The name surfaced at once. The hostess bar's poster girl—flawless looks and personality. Or rather, only as "Syr Flova."
Because…
The girl in front of him was very likely the leader of Orario's strongest Familia:
The beauty goddess Freya.
Keyaru didn't feel much of anything. With a soul that had soaked up the Redo of Healer's past-life memories, if you had to give it a color, it was decidedly murky—hardly the kind Freya favored. He wasn't worried about catching her eye.
"Oh?" Syr's lips curved, a playful idea popping up. "Then you're in luck. Want to try something Syr cooked—on the house?"
"Nope."
He refused at once. If he remembered right, only the "rabbit" with insane poison resistance could stomach Syr's bentos—shoving weird things into his mouth wasn't on Keyaru's agenda.
Facing her plaintive, inviting look, he decided to invoke Hestia.
"My patron goddess doesn't allow me to eat food from strangers outside."