Chapter 35: Three Musketeers
A week had passed since Nith joined The Guild of Valor and began his training under the experienced old master.
From day one, the old man had been getting a kick out of pummeling Nith’s face with the other end of his spear. He’d strike Nith’s nose, forehead, cheeks, or even lips, threatening to knock his teeth out.
All because Nith didn’t match the others’ flow.
In this misfortune, Nith wasn’t alone. There were other disciples consistently getting smacked by the old master, but the other two, along with Nith, particularly stood out from the rest. Some believed they had won the old man’s favor or that he saw talent in them.
The three of them became known as The Three Musketeers, who had sworn an oath of vengeance on the old man, not caring about his elderly age at all.
They’d at least get even with him.
Their vocal nature about it resulted in them earning that moniker.
Nith walked past the gates of The Guild of Valor and headed straight to the training hall belonging to the old spearmanship master. On his way there, he noticed a man with short blond hair and long arms.
He wore a spear on his back, pounding the pavement.
Nith picked up his pace and caught up to him.
“You really came early today,” Arman said, his voice betraying blatant hints of jealousy. “Won’t Kyouka be mad at you?”
“She threw me out of bed and has been mad for a while now, but I don’t give a fuck,” Nith replied, his eyes narrowing at the hall looming over them.
Out of nowhere, the last musketeer joined the gang.
He hit Nith’s back with a fist and shouted at him. “You abandoned your daily dates with Madame Kyouka?! How could you, you heartless bastard?! You don’t deserve her!”
He brimmed with jealousy, both in his voice and reactions, unlike Arman.
That said, these two had been pretty close with Nith and had seen him numerous times with Kyouka. She also visited him during his training to cheer him on, causing all the singles to seethe with envy.
“Cut your crap,” Nith glared at Edgar, his second friend in the guild.
After some bickering, the three entered the training facility, changed clothes, and stepped onto their battlefield with their spears clenched tightly.
The old master stood across from them with his loyal disciples behind him, while other students flooded the field.
When everyone stood upright in their spots, one of the instructors took the front and began the warm-up. The man didn’t look much older than Nith, but there was at least a twenty-year gap between them, his good genes hiding his real age.
“ONE! TWO! THREE! STRETCH YOUR ARMS LIKE YOU MEAN TO SWEEP WITH A SPEAR! NITH! I SEE YOU! STAND UPRIGHT!” the middle-aged man screamed at Nith during the warm-up, forcing sneers from others.
Nith muttered to himself, “No, you old fuck. You know I don’t care about standing upright. You didn’t even bother looking at me.”
Edgar sneered, “He keeps talking about spears. I bet the spear in his pants is small.”
Arman sucked in his lips to avoid laughing aloud.
“You really laugh at that?” Nith side-glanced at Arman.
Following the warm-up was basic practice. That was the worst part of the training, as everyone was forced to match the old man’s flow.
His loyal disciple would then take over, allowing the old master to batter anyone who failed to meet his expectations.
Nith had grown a lot in the past seven days, but he still received plenty of smacks to the face. On the fifth day, however, he learned how to swallow his pride and focus solely on controlling his muscles and weight, becoming closer to his weapon.
The three important basics—thrusting, slashing, and cutting—dwelled within Nith’s muscles and became quite solid muscle memory, thanks to the old man’s technique and experience.
Two hours later, the old man and his disciples scattered across the hall.
“Three Musketeers, to me,” the old master said, walking to the middle of the hall, where a large space had been reserved for him and those he wanted to personally train. “I told you to think about your strong points. Arman, first.”
Arman nodded. “I have long arms, so I can leverage the spear’s longer reach and perfect the defensive style with more focus on slashing!”
The old man sighed, “Disappointing, but you’re heading in a good direction. Edgar?”
Edgar said, “I’m the opposite! I have long legs, so I can use my body for a more versatile style and vault myself with the spear, using it as a foundation to transfer all my weight into my legs to deliver a heavy kick! I can also use high jumps! I want a high-speed style with a focus on thrusting! You know, hehe, we men love thrusting, right?”
The old man smashed the end of his spear into Edgar’s crotch. “I didn’t need that comment. You’re also disappointing, but you’re thinking in a good direction. Will the last musketeer be the same? Nith!”
Nith said a single word, “Everything.”
As the old man’s intense stare bore into Nith, he remained in his usual posture, glaring back. A second later, the old master harrumphed and introduced two versatile styles to Arman and Edgar.
He showcased the defensive form, parrying, and how to use a spear’s long reach to their advantage. Then, he thrust his spear into the floor, hauled himself up, and delivered a perfect kick to Nith’s face, toppling him backward.
“Practice this, you two,” he said, standing over Nith. “Everything?”
Holding his face in his palm, Nith glared at the old man through his fingers and replied, “Yeah, everything. All the basics, two-handed style, and even single-handed style! Throwing, vaulting, spinning, and more—whatever there is to spears!”
“You’re heading in that direction. I see. Why’s that? What drives you there?” the old man asked in a serious tone, lacking any hint of his usual playfulness.
Nith sneered, “Frustration.”
