"Talking is pointless if you can't use it," Zald said, rising to his feet. He set the paper aside like it no longer mattered. Even without armor, his thick frame still looked like an iron tower planted in the cabin.
"Kid. What weapon do you like?"
Duncan answered on instinct.
"A 7.62-caliber rifle."
The words left his mouth before his brain could stop them.
Zald paused for half a beat—then nodded as if Duncan had given a perfectly normal answer.
"A spear, then. A good weapon," he said thoughtfully, already turning toward the door. "But for beginners it's a two-handed weapon, which means fewer options to save yourself. It's easy to learn, hard to master. And in narrow spaces you'll find long weapons don't have room to work."
He spoke as if delivering a textbook lecture.
"I recommend starting with a one-handed weapon and a shield. You won't expose yourself just because you can't reach your target."
It was phrased like advice, but there was not a single millimeter of room to disagree.
Duncan muttered under his breath, voice barely audible.
"That's not the kind of gun I meant…"
Zald didn't even acknowledge it.
"Old man," he called to Zeus, "where's your weapon stash?"
Zeus bristled. "I'm retired. What do I need a weapon stash for? But there are a few pieces made by local smiths in the storage. We'll make do."
He grumbled the whole way, but still led Zald to the storeroom. A moment later he returned carrying a simple iron sword and a shield.
The storeroom was thick with dust, yet the weapons were clean—barely any grime on them at all. They'd been carefully stored in boxes, protected. Whatever Zeus said, he hadn't truly thrown his past away.
Zeus placed the sword and shield on the table.
"This is the best one-handed sword in this village."
"…"
Duncan's eyelid twitched.
Damn web novels. Everything becomes a meme if you read enough of them.
He picked up the sword and shield anyway. Under Zeus's impatient urging, he tried to imitate the flashy swings he'd seen in games—short slashes, a stiff shield raise, a clumsy stance that looked brave only if you were generous.
Because his body was too small, too light, too undeveloped, the result was more "windmill" than "fighter."
The expressions around him said it all: resignation, pity, mild disbelief.
Zald let out a slow breath.
"Do we really have to start from the basics?" he asked, sounding genuinely troubled. "In your world… you weren't taught how to use weapons?"
"Our world is peaceful," Duncan said with an awkward smile. "No monsters."
"Peaceful…" Zald's face softened. For an instant, something like longing surfaced in his ruined eyes—then vanished as quickly as it came.
He looked at Zeus.
"It has to be you, old man. Alfia and I can't judge force properly. I'm afraid we'll cripple him—or kill him—without meaning to. And there's no healer out here."
It was an absurdly dangerous statement delivered as calm common sense.
Alfia nodded, as if yes, that sounds correct.
Duncan's internal threat scale for this world quietly ticked higher.
Zeus instantly protested.
"I'm a retired old man. I'm not dealing with this—weren't you brats raised by getting beaten into shape—"
"I was never beaten," Alfia said, eyes turning sharp. "Or do you want to try again, you disgusting old man?"
Her tone carried nothing exaggerated—just quiet certainty.
Bell was clinging to her leg with a blank, innocent expression, making the contrast even more unsettling. Alfia's gaze held an edge that looked dangerously close to killing intent.
On one side: she wanted Bell to live like a normal person, not a knife-edge adventurer.
On the other: she feared Bell wouldn't be able to protect himself.
That tension coiled in her like a blade.
Zeus folded instantly.
"Alright, alright, I'll do it!" He jerked his head at Duncan. "Kid. Come out. I'll teach you a few things."
Duncan followed as Zeus marched outside without another word, stopping in an open patch of grass.
Zeus stood there empty-handed, relaxed—so relaxed it was insulting. He didn't flinch even when Duncan's sword glinted in the light.
"My teaching is simple," Zeus said. "Get hit. Endure. Then find the moment to put the other guy down."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"If I talk fancy you won't understand it anyway. There aren't fixed 'moves.' Especially against monsters—killing them is the best technique. If you cling to a set form, you die. People with bad intentions will read your habits and counter them."
He pointed at Duncan's sword and shield.
"So don't leave openings."
Then he smiled.
"Now take your sword and shield and figure out how to knock me down."
"Understood," Duncan said, swallowing hard.
Zeus being this casual didn't mean Duncan could afford to be. This was a legendary war god. If he was unarmed and still unafraid, it wasn't bravado—it was a fact.
Duncan inhaled, forced his nerves down, and walked toward Zeus.
At around two meters, Duncan suddenly burst forward.
He abandoned defense entirely, betting Zeus would hold back and avoid serious damage. Both hands gripped the sword hilt as he swung a horizontal cut toward Zeus's waist.
Just as he expected—
He never felt the blade "touch."
In the instant Duncan swung, Zeus slid back two steps, narrowly clearing the edge. Then Zeus surged forward like he'd been waiting for exactly that mistake, turned his back into Duncan's chest—
—and threw him.
A clean shoulder throw.
Duncan's world flipped.
He hit the ground with a crack of pain exploding through his back. The sword and shield flew out of his hands and skidded away across the grass.
For a moment, he couldn't even breathe properly.
It was only one throw—light, controlled—and yet the gap between them felt like a canyon. If Zeus hadn't held back, if there hadn't been grass to soften the landing, the fight would already be over.
Even so, Duncan realized something else:
The Blessing mattered.
His stats were still zero, but his body was undeniably tougher than before. Without it, he wasn't sure he would've gotten up at all.
Zeus walked up and nudged him lightly with a foot.
"Your body and your awareness are both garbage," Zeus said bluntly. "In real combat, your first job after being knocked down is to stand up. Your enemy won't wait while you crawl around."
Duncan struggled—gritting his teeth, one hand clutching at his aching back—until he finally forced himself upright. A child's frame taking a shoulder throw from an adult martial monster… even with a Blessing, it was brutal.
He glared through the pain.
"Can't you build up gradually? I'm in a kid's body right now."
Zeus's expression didn't change.
"Forget that," he said. "You're in a world where the strong eat the weak. Every 'excuse' you give yourself just puts you closer to death."
He pointed at Duncan as if carving the words into him.
"You chose to become an adventurer. A man makes his choice, and then he doesn't whine about it."
Duncan swallowed, voice tight.
"…How long is training today?"
Zeus bared his teeth in a grin—rough, almost savage.
"…Until the sun goes down."
Duncan's skin prickled.
Then Zeus added the line that made Duncan feel colder than the wind.
"Until you can get thrown—and still keep your weapon in your hands."
-------
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