The first few rounds against Max ended roughly 50/50. Well, maybe 40/60 in his favor.
Without the Rage stacks, we were roughly equally strong and fast, but the Sergeant significantly surpassed me in experience. Furthermore, he possessed the basic technique of weapon handling, something Javier hadn't managed to teach me.
— You feel the distance, you swing the sword vigorously, — Max concluded when I hit his forearm again. — Now it's time to take you seriously.
Is this the second boss phase, like in Dark Souls?
Max rushed at me, quickly closing the distance, and moving into a close-quarters exchange. He deftly hooked my shield with the corner of his own, immediately landing several blows on my right side and arm.
— Break! — the Sergeant said, stepping back a couple of paces, and then commanded again. — Start!
The scenario of the previous round repeated itself, only this time Max didn't hook my shield, but pressed hard with his. I tried to back away, but the Imperial was faster. And again, the exchange ended in a shutout, as did the next two. Max's blade came from places it shouldn't have. My entire defense seemed to be full of holes. I barely had time to counter.
Catching my breath after another round, I asked:
— Can you explain now what I'm doing wrong and how to do it right?
— Tired of taking hits, conqueror of sorcerers and monsters? — the Sergeant grinned cheekily.
He was genuinely young. Much more of a kid than me, who had years of life in another world behind him. So, I had absolutely no desire to be offended by him.
— Tired, — I replied calmly. — So, what's the deal? Are you going to teach me?
— Don't run from my onslaught. You keep backing up. Moving forward is always faster. Look… — Max took a standard stance. — My right foot is forward now. To hold the charge, you take a step back. Left foot forward, brace with your right, lean your torso forward, hold your shield firmly. Let's try it!
He attacked again. This time, I tried not to jump back but to follow his advice. A step back, brace, and…
The round still went to Max, but I no longer felt so helpless. I even managed to hit his leg, though weakly.
— See, — the Sergeant said in a didactic tone, stepping back. — In formation, it's also better to stand with your left foot forward. Cover your profile as much as possible with your shield. Brace yourself. Now, about the strikes. You strike a lot. You even connect, but the blows are weak. This is just training now. We count any touch. But in a fight, a Beastman won't even notice your scratches.
— That's a problem, — I agreed.
Then I told Max how often I involuntarily caused a bloodbath in a fight. I couldn't put an enemy down with a single blow and kept hacking, hacking, hacking…
Max chuckled, scratching his heavy chin.
— When I was first told about some detachment of refugees who allegedly killed a bunch of scum and became a mercenary company, I didn't believe it. I thought you were fraudsters. Scammers.
— And what do you think now?
— I think you're bloody lucky sons of bitches to still be alive. Now you attack. Start!
For the next half hour, I relentlessly, persistently, and beneficially took a beating. From time to time, Max paused for short explanations of what was wrong again. Then we continued the execution.
— Don't strike horizontally under the shield. Watch. Your blow flies and I just need to lower my shield a little… That's it. You missed. Strike from bottom to top. Then your sword will immediately get past the shield. Understand? Start!
I literally sweated seven buckets, but Max was also gradually tiring. He probably wanted to wear me out. Yet another way to prove the superiority of a trained soldier over an amateur novice. However, my physique was pumped up by the ancient hypno-toad. Therefore, Max moved slower and slower, breathing heavier and heavier, and I sweated, but held on. All those Goblins I sliced weren't for nothing. More and more rounds were going to me.
Max didn't want to admit defeat in the endurance contest. He tried to put a good face on a bad game. Adding as much magnanimity as possible to his tone, the Sergeant said:
— That's probably enough for you today. You're barely standing.
— Nah, — I countered with a smile, catching my breath. — I can still dance with you for another hour or two.
The Sergeant frowned, but found a way out.
— Then come over to this tree. We'll work on your strike.
— Alright.
Not sparring, but very useful too.
— You can strike with full force, putting your whole body into it, — Max explained. — You can use just your elbow, or you can just leave a cut. Learn to apply force as you wish and hit where you intend. Strike the tree from different sides. Like this. Top, bottom, top.
He started showing simple strike combinations. Then I repeated them several times.
— Now stand farther back. Yeah. A strike with a step. Legs and arms work together. Then a second strike with a retreat. Approach, one, two, retreat.
I diligently performed all the exercises, memorizing them at the same time. Finally, I could get a good workout with someone knowledgeable. Add technique to my physical capabilities.
Evening was approaching. Twilight was slowly creeping in. Max sat on a fallen tree, giving me commands and swatting away particularly brazen mosquitoes. The voices of people drifted from the road, and birds sang many-voiced songs in the forest thicket. My training sword hit the tree with a ringing sound, gradually stripping the bark from it.
— Be careful with women, Jurgen, — Max chuckled, taking a swig from his flask. — Put an hourglass or a candle next to your bed.
— What for? — I inquired, catching my breath.
— With that kind of stamina, you might screw the unfortunate girl to death, — the Sergeant replied.
— Why unfortunate? — I feigned offense. — Very happy, even.
Max's face changed. In the blink of an eye, he became serious and pulled out a long knife. I turned to where he was looking. A tall, dark figure had silently emerged from the woods there.
— It's fine, — I addressed the Imperial. — That's Liandra. She's in my detachment.
The Elf silently lowered her hood and with a movement of her left hand, she threw something heavy onto the center of the clearing, which was flattened by our training. It turned out to be the head of a Beastman with a pair of crooked horns.
— The scouting went well, — Max grunted, rising to his feet. — My name is Max Kress of Hauser. Sergeant. His Lordship Olger Hawk sent me to assist Captain Jurgen with drill and disciplinary matters. How about a training duel?
Liandra glanced at him briefly and replied:
— No.
The Elf's refusal clearly stung the young man. He tried to argue his idea.
— It's important for me to understand who in your detachment is worth what. Understand? It's my official duty… erm… Lady? Did you train where you were?
I'm sure it wasn't about official duties. Max was simply curious to cross swords with the pointy-ear. Perhaps she was the first Elf he had ever seen in his life.
— A training duel between us is meaningless, — Liandra replied. — I have nothing to learn from you. You will not be able to learn anything from me. It would simply be a waste of time and energy.
— Just a couple of minutes, — the Sergeant shrugged. — You live for a very long time, Lady. How old are you? A hundred years? A thousand? It's not an insult, just…
— I am thirty-seven, — the girl unexpectedly replied.
A girl, really, by Elven standards, if not a teenager.
— See! — Max grinned. — You still have plenty of time ahead of you, and I don't mind a couple of minutes. Come on. I want to see the famous martial art of Ulthuan.
I barely suppressed a chuckle. Liandra looked at me, as if expecting intervention. A silent question was in her eyes:
"What does this hu… human think he's doing?"
— Well, how about one round, — I asked. — You control yourself better now, right?
The Elf nodded. It seemed my opinion mattered to her. She put down her battle longsword and took the training gear from me.
— One round, — the Elf said sternly, standing opposite the satisfied Max, who was stretching after his rest.
The Sergeant was slightly shorter than Liandra, but wider in the shoulders. However, comparing the physiques of two different races is a thankless task.
— Alright, Lady. You're not wearing a helmet, so we won't hit the head. Up to two hits. Knocked down—victory. Okay?
The Elf nodded, took the shield off her left arm, and tossed it aside. Max frowned.
— Well, that's not fair. I don't need a handicap.
— Just do it already, — I demanded.
— Fine, — Max frowned. — Start!
They started and finished in about a second and a half. With an incredibly fast strike, Liandra hit the Sergeant in the crook of his right arm. He dropped his sword. But even before Max's weapon fell to the ground, the girl managed to tap his kneecap and place the blade at his throat.
The Sergeant coughed. Apparently, the Elf had slightly nicked his Adam's apple. Max stepped back, rubbing his neck. His eyes were wide with surprise.
— Done, — the Elf said strictly.
Then she tossed the training sword aside, retrieved her battle blade, and, pulling her cloak tight, walked away.
— Are you okay? — I asked Max.
— Yeah… Just… Let me get some water.
The Sergeant sat down in the same spot, taking a generous gulp from his tin flask with the Imperial Griffin.
— She fought a Werewolf and won, — I added. — She took down a bunch of cultists.
— Yeah, — Max grunted. — She's a firecracker. — The Sergeant's eyes suddenly became very sly. — That ass… whoa!
— Where did you see her ass under that cloak? — I asked.
— How could I not! If she's that strong and agile, then her butt is firm. You know, muscles there? — Max mused, and then asked — Listen… does she, like, have a husband?
This time I couldn't hold back my laughter.
— What are you laughing at, trashy Reiks-Marshal? — Max was stung by my reaction. — Pointy-ear or not, a woman is a woman. I know how to approach different girls.
— I believe you, — I agreed, still lightly chuckling. — But no chance here. Elves… How should I put it gently… Even if they aren't malicious, they still don't perceive humans as their equals. We are like animals to them. Understand?
Max, sulking, nodded and suddenly found a way to retort:
— So they're animals, so what? They say the miller in the next village liked to screw a sheep. One woman, a witch or something, gave herself to a dog. Get it? So if this pointy-ear also needs a dog or a sheep, I'll be right here!
My abs, tired from training, seized up in pain from laughing too loudly.
— Just shut up already! — Max was completely offended. — Go put your host to bed. And don't forget the sentries, Captain-boy!
— Alright, alright… — I replied, breathless.
However, I didn't manage to get back to the camp. On the way there, I ran into Liandra. She looked agitated.
— Has something happened? — I whispered, making sure Max wouldn't hear.
The girl gestured for me to follow her. We moved about fifty meters away, concealed by thick foliage.
— I thought it would take less time, — the Elf said, clearly nervous.
— What would take less time?
— Achieving harmony. I needed to calm down. Regain self-control.
— And you're succeeding, — I decided to cheer the girl up.
— No. I… The third strike. It happened against my intention.
The third strike? Was that when she put the sword to Max's throat? The Elf continued:
— I intended to land two strikes. Arm, leg. Carefully. Not to hurt him. But my hands automatically… I almost killed that man, Guilliman.
Guilli… what?! Oh, wait. That's how I introduced myself to her. It was hard to think straight after the training. So, Liandra wanted to end the fight in two strikes, but automatically almost delivered a third, nearly breaking the poor "dog's" Adam's apple.
— But you didn't kill him, — I tried to revert to the theme of optimism. — I understand it's difficult for you. In my home world, those who have experienced traumatic events seek specialized…
— Priests?
— Not exactly. More like scientists… — though there are plenty of info-hucksters and other scammers among them. — I wasn't systematically trained as such a specialist, but let's talk. Acknowledging your own problems is the key to getting rid of them. What did you say last time? You must walk this thin bridge to the end, right? Pull the fear out into the open.
Liandra lowered her eyes. She was breathing heavily and audibly. It seemed a real struggle was unfolding within her.
— Yes, — she finally uttered. — I am afraid. I am afraid of failing again. Of missing the last chance Fate gave me. It's disgusting. It's a weakness that is unacceptable for a warrior. I was taught to be flawless, swift, furious when allowed. I was good with a weapon. Truly good, — she stated with pride. — But at the same time…
The girl stumbled. Sorrow and anxiety overshadowed her beautiful pale face. I felt sorry for her. So strong, but hardly a drop of joy or other positive emotion remained in her. Only a sense of duty on one side of the scale and despair on the other.
I really wanted to help her, but how? What important thing could I say now? The info-hucksters from my home world came to mind again. Their empty, often unfounded words brought them millions into their accounts (and sometimes years in prison, but let's not dwell on that now). They simply confidently spouted the nonsense that people wanted to hear. Why am I worse? By the way, their guru statuses are fake, while I was actually chosen by some supernatural power! I even got a personal hypno-toad.
Come on, Guilliman, comfort your Eldar.
— Listen to me, Liandra, — I said, switching to the Elven language. — You have already won one of the most important battles of your life by cutting off that Werewolf's head. I promised to go with you to Ulthuan. To the White Tower of Hoeth. You will return to your homeland in triumph when they understand who I am and what power is contained within me.
Right… What else to add? I need vivid, poetic images. All kinds of metaphors. Elves seem to like that kind of thing. She herself often adds something similar to her speech.
— Liandra, — I continued soulfully, looking directly into the girl's black eyes. — It is not only about my ability to destroy magic. I have seen things that you, the inhabitants of this world, have never dreamed of. Attacking ships, burning over the void of space; beams piercing the darkness near the Gates of Tannhauser. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.
I'm not sure if I quoted accurately, but it seemed to sound impressive. And now we come to the conclusion:
— But you… you alone can deliver me to a place where my knowledge and memory will acquire a new meaning. They will not perish in the filthy turmoil of the wild expanses, but will shine as jewels for those who can appreciate these treasures.
While delivering this speech, I myself became emotionally charged. Perhaps the recent training contributed to it. In the process, I became so engrossed that, as I finished speaking, I took the Elf by the shoulder. She flinched, pulling away. I thought I noticed a fleeting look of disgust on her face. Damn. I seem to have ruined everything or…
The girl unexpectedly covered her face with her left hand and said:
— Forgive me. I shouldn't have… Sometimes it's hard not to believe your eyes. You look like a human. I perceived you as one at first. But now in your speech, I hear a voice of wisdom accessible to few beings.
That's called bullshit.
The girl tentatively reached out to me, also touching my shoulder for a few seconds. That's some progress.
— The trials that have fallen to your lot had meaning, — I added. — It is embodied in my very essence. The sunset of Ulthuan can turn into a new dawn.
— Sunset… — she repeated after me. — Yes. I always felt it. I am not old, but my eyes have seen the ancient palaces of my people. Marvelous strongholds, combining power, majesty, and refined taste. High ceilings, solemn halls beneath elegant spires. They were practically empty, Guilliman… — Liandra said with clear distress in her voice. — We are disappearing. In the port cities, where other races are allowed, there are often more humans than Elves. Something is deeply wrong with us. I feel it. What if we defeat our ancient enemies, avenge ourselves on them, but still disappear?
"Of course, they will disappear," Loom-Pia kindly stated. "They have strayed beyond the role assigned to them in the Great Plan. Extinction is inevitable."
I would say they just overthink things too much and don't reproduce enough. Of course, the demographics will drop if young women prefer wielding swords and getting captured by Skaven instead of marrying. But oh well. I'm far less interested in the fate of Elven civilization than my own. Right now, the main thing is to get firmly into Liandra's pointy ears.
— Disappear? No. That must not happen… — may the Dwarfs forgive me, oh wait, they don't know how to forgive. — You have the power to change not only your own destiny, Liandra. Let my potential be fully realized.
— I… I will do everything possible. Just believe in me, — the Elf replied resolutely.
That sounded good. I tried to say what she wanted to hear. Next, the Placebo effect should do its job, imbuing my words with a therapeutic property.
— I believe you, Liandra. I believe in you.
With these words, I placed my hand on her shoulder one more time. Now she did not try to pull away, but mirrored my gesture. The dynamic is positive. Perhaps I'm not such a bad xenopsychologist. Calling myself Guilliman wasn't for nothing. I need to learn how to cook soup from Erik, but that can wait until later.