Chương 178: 2. Pain and Failure

It's not always easy to find open space on a ship. I mean, I guess it's easy to find, just not easy to use. The only place is the main deck, but that's pretty much swarming with sailors at all hours. A ship never really sleeps, but the night crew is at least thin enough that they don't mind giving me a bit of space to practice with my spear. I haven't forgotten the lessons that Draga tried to teach me, nor how easily I was humbled by Talla's younger brother.

I'm under no illusions that just going through the motions every night will improve my skills in any meaningful way, but it's a relaxing form of exercise that feels oddly familiar. Maybe if I drill enough I won't hesitate in an actual fight, but I probably need to at least do some sparring to really internalize the practical skills. Plus, I've got a skill for it now, thanks to my new class. [Tier 0 Ranger's Legacy]** An apprentice without a master.

You have chosen to carry on your discipline in honor of your teacher's memory. Skill - Remember the Lessons: Increased Awareness and Ego when recalling or putting into practice lessons learned from your former mentor. Skill - Practice the Forms: Increased Power and Resilience when using techniques derived from your former mentor's drills. Attribute bonuses: Resilience, Will. Advancement: Complete your training.

I thought that I'd have a tough decision ahead of me when picking a new class, but even if this hadn't been an advanced class, I don't think I could have convinced myself to turn it down. At least, not unless we had a pressing need for something else. As it happens, one of our biggest weaknesses is a lack of Will, so an advanced class that helps raise it works out nicely. This isn't the first time we've seen an advanced class, though it is the first one with an unusual combination of tier and grade.

Although, if I can remember some of the conversations I had with Anna over our chess games correctly, this is actually the standard. It figures that we'd manage to do even abnormal things extra abnormally. Since it's tier zero, it still needs to be mastered, upgraded, then mastered again before being ready to fuse with a more typical class, but that still saves us the trouble of mastering another tier zero class.

In theory, it's also possible to fuse multiple advanced classes of the same grade, or to get advanced classes of even higher grades to save exponential amounts of time and effort, but they're rare enough that the potential is considered to be more academic trivia than useful information. Something to watch out for, I think, given that we've seen at least three in the span of a couple months where most people go their entire lives without seeing one.

I wonder if our original [Unified Collective] class would count as advanced. It wasn't a higher grade or tier, but we've come to learn that interface-modifying meta skills like [Parallel Wills] are basically unheard of. The fact that we're able to train so many classes at once is still enough of a secret to make Talla nervous of anybody discovering it. I think Fargo already knows, though, and Jira's perceptive enough that it wouldn't surprise me if she figured it out.

Still, by unspoken agreement, we try not to let it slip that we effectively have triple the usual number of class slots. As I wind down my drills, the sound of quiet applause snaps me out of my thoughts. I complete the last few movements with a flourish that even my skill-enhanced memories haven't quite managed to stamp out, then turn to greet my audience. The serpentfolk that helped us flee Stebaari holds their powerful upper arms behind their back as they wave with their smaller lower arms.

Their scales are a pale green color, except for their front which is a sort of beige color that isn't quite flesh-colored, but close enough to make their lack of clothing slightly uncomfortable. Fa'aun already dress light, but serpentfolk barely bother at all, and this one is no exception, wearing little more than a sort of loose toga hanging off of one shoulder and tied at the waist with a sash. Not that it matters.

There's not much to hide, and even if they were naked I'd have no way to tell their sex—something they tend not to share with others outside of their own species. I return their greeting with a nod, fruitlessly trying to wipe the sweat from my brow. Turns out that the heat is even worse out on the ocean. In the desert, the nights got cool and our sweat could evaporate, but out here the temperature barely changes after dark and the air is thick with moisture.

Not even the sea water offers a reprieve, as Maggie's mishaps demonstrated for us—the water is almost as warm as the air. The snake person says something to us in their sibilant tongue, but I have no idea what it means and have to duck my head apologetically.

"Sorry, I'm not Allie," I explain in Fa'aun.

"I don't know what that means."

"Ah, my apologies," they reply, switching to the same.

"I am still getting used to that interesting skill of yours. I was just complimenting your skill with the spear." I grunt dismissively. My old muscle memory keeps getting in the way, adding pointless flair to the practice that makes an already impractical training method doubly pointless. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"I still need a lot more practice," I sigh.

"To be perfectly honest, what I'm doing is only really good as exercise."

"Would you like a sparring partner?" they offer. Tempting as that is, I shake my head.

"That's a bad idea. I don't have a practice weapon, and even if I did, I'd be getting used to fighting with a weapon with the wrong weight and balance." Draga's last gift to us was this spear, and while I have no idea what it's made of, it's so light that it's hard to find a good replacement for practice spars.

The only person on this ship that I'd be comfortable doing live blade sparring with is Fargo, and even then I have no idea how good a fighter he actually is—just that he's the second highest tier person on the ship, after the captain herself. Not that either of them has actually given us specific numbers. A lot of people in this world wear their tier like a badge of honor, but at higher levels they get more circumspect.

Considering that the master artisan who made our boots didn't mind informing us that he was tier ten, our affable adventurer may well be a lot stronger than he lets on.

"A shame," the serpentfolk sighs.

"I am hoping to gain a class to help with fighting." I blink.

"Why?" They spread their lower hands apart in a helpless gesture.

"Now that I am a fugitive of the empire, it seems only appropriate, no?" They're very casual about it, but I feel a pang of guilt. They dropped their entire life—including a partner back home—for a total stranger. Yes, it was because we'd done their community a favor, and yes, there was some ulterior motive there.

The serpentfolk of Stebaari want to improve their image in the aftermath of the riots without betraying the debt they owed us, and smuggling us out of the city is a way to repay that debt while also putting a very real distance between us. And the one to pay the price for that is the one standing before me. I don't even remember their name.

"It's probably not too late for you to go back," I hedge.

"You don't need to go this far for us." Their tongue flicks out and their eyes crinkle in an expression that I can't distinguish between a smile or a grimace.

"I told you before," they say.

"I've made my choice. Besides, the Goddess is generous. The paths she provides are myriad, and they merge as often as they branch. A change in career can be a hidden blessing." It takes me a moment to pick apart the meaning in that. I'm not sure if it's a serpentfolk thing, or just this particular person, but they often speak in abstracts like that.

"Switching core classes means you can fuse to a higher grade when your new one catches up," I surmise.

"It's not as convenient as a noble who can afford to spend extra time in education to get a four-star class, but the end result is the same." They incline their head in acknowledgement.

"It is the Goddess' blessing that when our paths lead to strife, we emerge stronger for it."

"Assuming you survive," I add.

"Just so," they agree with a sharp-fanged grin.

"Hence my request for tutelage." I purse my lips. We do owe them a favor—more than a favor, really.

"Why me?" I ask.

"Captain Jira and Fargo are higher level, and Talla could teach you magic if you asked."

"Lady Talla, despite her skill as a ranger, is a scholar first," they reply.

"What she offers is more academic than martial. Jira and Fargo are powerful, but they are not warriors."

"Neither are we," I argue. The snake person cocks their head and rears back slightly in a gesture that's only possible with their serpentine body. I wish Allie was awake, because I have no idea what that means.

"As a whole, no," they agree.

"Maev is not a warrior. But Violet is. It is you who holds the spear—you who set fire to the river to sink our pursuers. When I look upon you, I see who you are by the fire in your eyes—the look I've learned to see in my own people as a sign that they grew up in the jungles, rather than the city. So it is you who I ask." I hold their gaze for a long moment, their yellow reptilian eyes watching me, almost warily I feel. Are they nervous?

That's a weird thought, considering that they're probably three times my size and could squeeze the life out of me with their upper arms alone. I haven't forgotten the time they effortlessly dragged me off my feet with their tail. If anybody should be nervous it's me. The silence grows awkward as excuse after excuse dies before they can make it to my lips. Even if they fight unarmed, it would be dangerous for both of us.

There's a reason they hold their upper arms behind their back like that—it's considered a sign of aggression for them to bare claws in civilized society. If one of us gets hurt, we do have Talla around for healing, and if it's really bad, then I have options even without using our [Savior] class directly. Not that they'd be pleasant for either of us. I'm not a teacher. I can't even figure out how to fight properly by myself, despite Draga's lessons and my own class supporting me.

They wouldn't be a student, so much as a fellow disciple of a master that neither of us have. But maybe there's value in that. If I can't teach myself, and Draga's memory isn't enough to fill those gaps, then maybe we can teach each other.

"What's your name?" I ask finally. Their whole body droops suddenly, and even without knowing their body language I can tell they're disappointed.

"You know my name." I flush with embarrassment.

"Sorry. I'm kind of bad with names. I usually rely on Allie to remind me." They flick their tongue and sigh.

"Msshi."

"Welcome to the Draga school of martial arts, Msshi," I reply, extending my hand.

"We're fellow students now." Rather than shaking my hand, Msshi reaches out with one of their lower arms to clasp my forearm, almost up to the elbow, and I awkwardly return the gesture.

"If we are the students," they ask, "then who is to be our teacher? I mean no disrespect, but I don't believe our eponymous founder will be able to fill that role."

"No," I agree, stepping back and leveling my spear.

"We'll be studying under the oldest and cruelest teachers of all." Msshi slithers back and brings their upper arms out in the approximation of a fighting stance. It's sloppy, but those claws are sharp and their upper arms are almost as big as my torso.

"Which teachers are those?" they ask nervously.

"Pain and failure," I answer simply. They bare their fangs, and this time it's definitely a grimace.

"Ah. I'm beginning to reconsider my choice of tutor."