Chapter 141: [BONUS] - Intensive Sword Training!!

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Earth, Military base.

Inside the camp, several white-haired men in their fifties and sixties stood on the dirt, each holding a different kind of sword or blade.

"Get up. Is that all you've got?" one of them barked, gripping a dagger-like short sword as he glared at the young man sprawled on the ground.

The other veterans watched closely, each holding a different weapon. Besides the short sword, there was a gentleman's straight sword, a bronze longsword, and a flexible whip-sword.

For curved blades, they had a heavy executioner's broadsword, a katana, and a short tantō.

All of these old men were weapon masters.

"Old man, you should be asking yourself that," August retorted.

He pushed himself up and spat out blood. As he wiped his mouth, fresh cuts on his skin stung. Training in close-quarters swordplay like this had left him covered in wounds.

Without his healing magic, he would not have survived such intense training.

These men were national weapon masters brought in by the military. Except for the old man with the heavy broadsword, most had never killed anyone before.

Today was the first time their blades had actually drawn blood, even if it was just August's. That experience made their strikes sharper, smoother, and more dangerous.

Without his magic or any physical advantage, and using only his custom rebar longsword, August still could not keep up with them. That was the difference between years of training and someone just starting out.

"You've still got plenty of breath to talk trash, kid," the short-sword master chuckled.

He was not bothered by the taunt. A master of the short blade needed total patience, channeling any frustration into his weapon.

"Good spirit."

August was here to learn how to counter swordplay, not to spend years perfecting forms. The veterans liked that he could stay focused under pressure. Now that they had drawn blood, they stopped holding back.

Every attack was meant to kill. If August missed a dodge, a blade could pierce his heart.

"Looks like you've finally figured out how to evade our strikes," the short-sword master noted, pleased with the progress.

They all saw it. August was now reading and dodging their attacks.

After two days of constant training, they were happy with his progress.

"I appreciate it." August dropped his bravado and gave a genuine thank you for the tough training.

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Two days earlier, when Hestia returned that night, she had outlined the parameters of the War Game.

Urban combat.

The Guild would choose an abandoned town where the Apollo and Hestia Familias would battle in a free-for-all siege. It was not a set attack-and-defend match or capture-the-flag. It was a brutal fight in narrow alleys.

The only allied God with sword expertise Hestia could ask was Takemikazuchi, but messy urban brawls were not his specialty. So she turned to August's world for help.

When Commander James learned the War Game only allowed swords and magic, he gave them the military's full support. He quickly called in blademasters and weapon experts from across the world.

They lived in peaceful times, but their deadly skills had been carefully preserved.

At first, they were not interested. But when they heard it would be a real, full-contact course where they did not have to hold back or worry about hurting anyone, they changed their minds.

For those who had never faced a real fight, the chance to fully test their skills was too tempting to pass up. They agreed right away.

At first, they hesitated when they saw blood. But once they learned August could heal instantly, they used their full strength without holding back. They taught him through pure violence.

Nothing makes you remember a lesson like getting stabbed.

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"Our curriculum here is finished. How you apply it moving forward is entirely up to you."

The master with the bronze sword said their part of the training was over. They had shared all their skills and ideas about fighting. Now, August had to rely on his own instincts.

The masters knew August was not normal. When they first met, he wanted to learn flashy, anime-style sword moves. But real life was different.

On Earth, real swordplay had no flying energy slashes or wild spins. It was close, fast, and brutally simple. How August used these basics in a fantasy world was up to him, but the core skills stayed the same.

Fancy long-range sword attacks needed energy that just did not exist in the real world.

After they finished, the masters looked at the man sitting quietly nearby. He wore a faded olive uniform and rested his hands on a heavy executioner's broadsword. He was the strongest of them all.

Unlike the others, who had only learned their skills, this man was a real war veteran. He had killed before.

August followed their gaze.

"Kid, you've survived two days of classes. Now it's time for mine."

The veteran with the broadsword stood up. Unlike the others, the old soldier could sense the violence in August. Anyone who had killed before and could still joke while bleeding was a true fighter.

"Yes, sir." August gripped his sword and offered a respectful nod. This man was his final instructor.

"Let's go."

The old soldier led August out of the building to the open training field. The other masters followed, eager to see what kind of tough training the veteran would give him.

At the dirt field, two soldiers approached, leading a pair of massive, muscular roan horses.

"My curriculum is simple. You're going to fight from the saddle."

The veteran walked over to one of the horses, stepped into the stirrup, and vaulted smoothly into the saddle.

"Hey, hey! Owen, do you have a death wish?? Mounting a horse at your age??"

The other masters grew worried. They had taught a lot of theory in the last two days, but fighting on horseback was different.

It wasn't only about swinging a sword—it took real riding skill, and at his age, a fall could be deadly.

"What do you know?" Owen scoffed, skillfully handling the reins to keep the big horse calm. He glared at the others, then looked back at August.

"Urban combat isn't just crossing swords in an alley. The enemy might use throwing knives or light projectiles to stop you from moving. If you underestimate the chaos of a street fight, you're a dead man."

Owen drew his heavy broadsword. The blade looked worn and dull, but its dark finish made it seem deadly. This was not just practice. It was a real combat drill.

"?" August had not expected to train for fighting on horseback.

Honestly, he knew nothing about riding a horse. But the old man was right. The Apollo Familia had skilled leaders who were experts in tactics.

Commander James had told him that a blade is a blade, whether sword or saber. That was why they brought in masters of different weapons to teach him many styles.

Now, learning to move better was the next step.

"Let's do this."

August tried to copy the veteran's easy jump onto the saddle, but he couldn't.

The horse moved, his foot slipped, and he almost fell.

"Looks like you need to learn how to steer before you swing," Owen sighed. "Hey, you boys, get this kid on the horse."

He called the nearby soldiers over. The kid couldn't even get on the horse right. Owen got it—most city kids hardly ever saw horses.

"Yes, sir."

The soldiers rushed over and helped August get settled. While Owen sat calmly, August's tense grip made the horse uneasy.

"You're gripping the reins too tight. You're hurting the animal," Owen barked.

"Right. Got it." August tried to loosen his grip and connect with the horse.

When he got used to the movement, Owen rode ahead and lifted his broadsword. "Kid, you know how to sit in the saddle now. So spare me the chatter. Draw your sword and charge me."

Owen held his broadsword upright in his right hand and kept the reins loose in his left. August nudged the horse's sides with his boots.

"Go."

The horse began to gallop.

August grabbed his rebar longsword, held it tight, and stared at the veteran. He had no plans to hold back just because his opponent was older.

"Young... But he's got fire in his blood. That's enough." Owen muttered.

He spurred his own horse into a charge.

The two riders met in the middle of the field. August's rebar longsword struck the broadsword, but the heavy blade held firm. The force caught on the grooves of August's sword and pulled it from his hand.

Off balance, August lost the reins and was thrown back, landing hard in the dirt.

"Gah!"

He hit the ground and coughed up blood. His healing magic started working, mending his broken ribs and damaged organs.

'Is this old man really that strong?' August was stunned.

He had spent two days learning from other blademasters, but he couldn't last a single round against this veteran.

The other masters watched from the sidelines as August was knocked down and nodded in approval.

"As expected of Owen. Those brutal wartime broadsword techniques haven't rusted one bit."

"He perfectly bypassed the kid's downward slash, caught the sword's structural weak point, and disarmed him."

"A crash course only takes you so far. The kid isn't transferring his momentum properly."

"His horsemanship is sloppy, and his one-handed grip is worse. He needs more drilling."

The masters talked about August's mistakes, their voices carrying across the field. He heard every word.

'If a one-handed grip won't work, I'll switch weapons.' August took a standard longsword from his spatial inventory, brushed himself off, and ran back to his horse.

The horse looked at him in surprise. It had felt the hard fall, but now its rider seemed fine. Sensing August's strange energy, the horse waited quietly for him to get back on.

This time, August vaulted smoothly into the saddle without help.

"HYAH!" He gripped the reins and spurred the horse into another charge.

"Swapping blades? Interesting." Owen saw the change.

August had swapped the rebar for a regular, smooth longsword. The veteran smiled, pleased. He respected fighters who didn't give up after a hard hit.

'Show me what you're really made of, kid.' Owen snapped his reins, driving his roan forward.

"Hyah!"

The two horses thundered across the dirt, closing the distance in seconds. Blades flashed in the sunlight. Steel clashed against steel.

Owen's broadsword technique shifted into an even more aggressive tempo.

"Good! Just like that! Let's see how much you can take!"

They fought up close in the saddle, sparks flying as their weapons clashed again and again.

August clenched his teeth and faced the attack.

"The rebar sword is terrible for mounted combat!" he shouted, pulling his horse back to open some distance. "It's built for heavy, two-handed swings. Against a master like you in a one-handed duel, the threading on the steel is a massive liability. It just gives your blade something to catch onto!"

He explained why he lost earlier. He thought the heavy rebar would help, but the threads made it easy to parry. Owen caught the edge on the grooves and used the force to disarm him.

Unless someone had superhuman strength to break the lock, the rebar was useless. August wasn't built for that. If he had that kind of power, he'd already be a legend.

"Looks like your brain works just fine. Not bad at all, kid." Owen rolled his shoulder.

He was old, but his willpower kept him going. Facing a tough, determined young opponent without holding back was the best feeling he could imagine.

The two fighters looked at each other, respect clear in their eyes. It was a classic standoff.

...

Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Major Jay's colleagues had to hold him back.

"Take it easy on them! Those are our regiment's prized roan horses! Do you know how hard it is to breed those?? You're going to ruin them!"

His eyes were red.

Why couldn't these two calm down? Those were the regiment's best military horses, purebreds better than any racehorse and carefully raised by the army.

Using them for rough combat drills felt like a huge waste.

"Relax, Jay. They only borrowed two horses," the Logistics Chief scoffed, holding him back. "You're acting like they took a kidney."

If he remembered right, the base had plenty of horses in the stables.

"Shut the hell up! I handpicked those two myself! I personally fed them! How the hell was I supposed to know that old geezer had the eyes of a hawk and would grab my best stock??" Major Jay roared.

He had cared for those horses like his own children.

Watching the old man and the reckless kid push them so hard was heartbreaking.

"You've got issues, man." The other commanding officers rolled their eyes.

Out on the field, August and Owen ignored Major Jay's furious shouts.

Owen, especially, was very pleased with his choice of horse!

In the sunlight, they sent their horses into another fast charge. The sound of steel rang out across the field, marking another tough fight.

The top-quality horses kept going, making the duel possible.

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