Chương 7

Rudra lay flat on his back in the dirt for exactly five minutes. As soon as his heart rate finally stabilized, he dragged himself off the ground and marched straight to the dining area. He ate like a starving animal. He easily consumed three times the rations of the other players, shocking even himself with his bottomless appetite. But his stamina bar was completely empty, and his real-world hunger translated directly into his avatar's stomach.

Once he was full and happy, he headed to the weapon racks a few minutes early. He wanted to test the inventory before the chaos started. In the real world, he had zero experience with cold weapons. Aside from swinging a cool-looking stick around like a sword when he was ten years old, he was a total amateur. He picked up a standard iron sword first. He gave it a few test swings, slashing at the air. Nothing. It felt awkward, heavy, and totally unnatural. He put it back and grabbed a spear.

He tried a piercing thrust, but the length was too hard to manage. His footwork immediately got tangled. He went down the line. Axe. Mace. Dagger. None of them clicked. Finally, he reached the very end of the rack. Sitting there, looking completely unremarkable, was a smooth, heavy wooden staff. In virtual reality games, a staff was a magician's tool. It was meant to cast spells, not crack skulls.

Even in the Murray Militia, staff-wielding infantry units were incredibly rare and usually considered weak compared to swordsmen. Rudra picked it up anyway. The moment his fingers wrapped around the polished wood, a weird spark rushed up his arm. It felt just like the lingering weight from that crushed soul he absorbed on the street. It just clicked. Rudra spun the staff in a quick, fluid circle. His freakish hand-eye coordination took over instantly.

His fingers naturally found the exact center of balance, twirling the heavy wood with the same ease he used to spin a pen at his IT desk. Okay, this feels great, Rudra thought, stopping the spin with a satisfying smack against his palm. But my actual technique is probably garbage. I need to learn how to hit things. He sat down on the doorstep of the armory, resting the staff across his knees while he waited. The rest of the recruits dragged themselves into the yard shortly after.

Kaelen was muttering to himself about "stamina efficiency percentages." Luna was aggressively trying to fix her hair, clearly embarrassed by how much mud she had eaten during the agility drills. Brick and Galahad were arguing. Brick had completely dominated the strength drills but intentionally failed the agility ones, loudly claiming that "A true man only needs to hit hard!"

Galahad, meanwhile, had purposely taken sandbags to the face during evasion training, shouting in terrible medieval English that "A knight doth not dodge!" Gareth looked ready to murder both of them. Finally, the quiet girl, Echo, slipped into the yard unnoticed and stood in the back. Rudra just kept his eyes down, avoiding eye contact with the loud players. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"Recruits!" Gareth's voice boomed.

"Pick your weapons and assemble in two minutes!" The players scrambled. Kaelen immediately grabbed a standard sword. Luna chose a bow. Brick grabbed the heaviest two-handed axe available. Galahad took a greatsword, and Echo silently slipped a dagger into her belt. Rudra stood up and casually walked over with the wooden staff. The other players stared at him. Even Gareth's perpetually unimpressed face twitched with genuine surprise.

Gareth opened his mouth, likely to yell at Rudra for picking a spellcaster's weapon, but he stopped. He looked at Rudra's calloused, blistered hands gripping the wood, shook his head, and decided to let nature take its course.

"Recruits. You will practice the basic techniques of your chosen weapon until I tell you to stop," Gareth announced. He pointed to the veteran militiamen standing nearby.

"Instructors will demonstrate. Pay attention." A heavily scarred soldier walked over to Rudra. He looked at the staff, then looked at Rudra, and sighed.

"Recruit," the soldier began, his tone surprisingly gentle.

"I watched you push through the morning drills. You have raw potential. So, let me give you some advice: that is a magician's crutch, not a warrior's weapon. If you want blunt force, take a hammer. We cannot properly guide you with a staff." Rudra listened quietly. He genuinely appreciated the NPC's concern.

"Thank you for the advice, sir," Rudra said politely, offering a respectful nod.

"But this weapon feels right in my hands. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm sticking with it. Just show me what you know." The soldier saw the stubborn glint in Rudra's red eyes. He gave a resigned nod.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," the soldier grunted, grabbing a staff of his own.

"There are five basic movements. Pay attention. I'm only showing you this once." Rudra tightened his grip.

"First: The Thrust," the soldier said, jabbing the wood forward like a spear.

"Keep your distance. Fast damage."

"Second: The Strike." The soldier stepped forward, bringing the staff down in a heavy overhead arc, followed by a sweeping diagonal blow.

"Direct impact. Use both hands."

"Third: The Sweep." The soldier dropped his hips and spun the staff horizontally.

"Wide attack. Used for crowd control."

"Fourth: The Deflect." He brought the staff up at a sharp angle.

"Use the wood to redirect force. Let their weapon slide off."

"Fifth: The Hook." The soldier hooked the end of the staff around an imaginary opponent's ankle and jerked it backward.

"Control their movement. Put them exactly where you want them." The soldier lowered his weapon.

"Now. Practice." The instructor walked away, casting one last doubtful glance over his shoulder. But Rudra didn't notice him leaving. The moment the soldier demonstrated the final move, everything else faded away. The annoying chatter of the other players, the sound of wooden swords clashing, the smell of the ocean—it all vanished. Something deep inside his mind unlocked. The fragmented memories merged into a strange, rhythmic hum. Rudra moved. Thrust. Strike. Sweep. Deflect. Hook.

His stance was completely amateurish. His footwork was clumsy. But his speed, coordination, and focus were insane. He began repeating the motions over and over, his brain forcing his muscles to memorize the flow. He didn't care about looking cool. He just wanted to see how fast and how perfectly he could chain the moves together. He didn't stop. He didn't blink. He just swung....

"Recruit." Rudra flinched, the sudden voice snapping him out of his trance. He gasped, his lungs burning like fire. His arms were shaking violently, and his virtual shirt was completely soaked in sweat. He looked up. The sun was setting. Gareth Rowan was standing in front of him, his arms crossed.

"Training is over," Gareth said quietly. Rudra looked around in a daze. The other players were gone. The training yard was empty.

"Wait," Rudra panted, leaning heavily on his staff to keep from falling over.

"What about the supervised sparring session?"

"You missed it," Gareth replied, his eyes studying Rudra with a strange, intense curiosity.

"You've been swinging that piece of wood at the empty air for four and a half hours." Rudra stared at his blistered hands.

"Fuck me," he breathed out. He hadn't even noticed the system notifications quietly piling up in the corner of his vision. But as he looked at the wooden staff in his hands, a massive, exhausted grin spread across his face.