Chapter 39: Progress

Chapter 39: Chapter 39: Progress

"Discipline is choosing between what you want now and what you want most." — Abraham Lincoln

Winter settled over the frontier settlement, bringing with it a bitter cold that seemed to grow worse with each passing day. Frost covered the rooftops, frozen mud hardened along the roads, and the wind swept through the narrow streets with enough force to make even the townspeople hurry indoors.

For Riven, however, there was little time to worry about the weather.

Over the next month, the Adventurers’ Guild training yard became his entire world.

Every morning began before sunrise. While most of the settlement was still asleep, Riven was already outside the Guild, waiting for Aiden to unlock the training yard.

The old man never arrived late.

Neither did Riven.

Their routine rarely changed. First came the work, then the training. Only after both were finished was Riven allowed to return to the inn.

At first, the labor had seemed manageable. A few crates, some cleaning, and a little maintenance around the yard.

That changed quickly.

Aiden began assigning him heavier tasks as the days passed. Riven hauled equipment between the armory and storage shed, carried bundles of firewood, and helped repair the wooden barriers surrounding the sparring rings. When snow accumulated, he was expected to clear it before training began.

On particularly cold mornings, Aiden made him use a weighted wooden mallet to break the thick sheets of ice covering the water troughs.

The work was exhausting.

Riven’s small body struggled beneath the weight of the equipment, and his recovering shoulder often throbbed after a particularly difficult task. His right palm, which had been pierced during the goblin hunt, was still sensitive. The cold made the scarred skin stiff, and the repeated strain sometimes caused it to split open again.

Whenever that happened, Riven wrapped it as best he could and continued working.

Aiden noticed.

"You’re bleeding again."

Riven glanced at his palm.

"It’s nothing."

"Didn’t ask whether it was something."

Aiden pointed toward the bench beside the armory.

"Rewrap it before you touch anything else."

Riven obeyed, using a clean strip of cloth from his supplies.

He had learned that arguing with Aiden was a waste of time. The old man was stubborn, and once he had decided something needed doing, he rarely changed his mind.

That didn’t mean he was careless, though.

If Riven’s shoulder began shaking too badly or his injured hand started bleeding heavily, Aiden would stop him. He never made a show of concern, simply ordering him to sit down until he could continue safely.

Riven hated those interruptions.

Every minute spent resting was another minute he wasn’t getting stronger.

But Aiden had made one thing clear from the beginning.

"If you break yourself, you won’t be training. You’ll be lying in bed, and I won’t waste my time teaching someone who can’t even stand."

Riven knew he was right.

So he learned to work around his injuries.

He used his legs whenever possible, kept heavy objects close to his body, and avoided putting unnecessary strain on his right shoulder. It wasn’t always enough, but it was better than blindly pushing himself until he collapsed.

By the time the sun rose over the rooftops, the yard was usually ready for training.

That was when the real work began.

For the first several days, Aiden refused to let Riven touch a sword.

Instead, he made him practice footwork.

At first, Riven couldn’t understand why.

"You’re confusing surviving a fight with knowing how to fight."

The old man stood in front of him, holding a wooden stave in one hand.

"Your opponents were either stupid, careless, or already weakened. You survived because you were desperate enough to do whatever it took. That doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing."

Riven frowned.

Aiden noticed.

"Don’t like hearing that?"

"No."

"Good. Maybe it’ll motivate you to improve."

He pointed toward the ground.

"Now, move."

Riven stepped forward.

"Too much."

He stepped back.

"Too little."

Riven adjusted his position.

"You’re locking your knees again."

Aiden struck the ground with his cane.

"Again."

Riven repeated the movement.

"Again."

He did it once more.

"Again."

The drills seemed endless.

Aiden made him move forward, backward, and sideways while maintaining his stance. He practiced shifting his weight without losing his balance and learned to keep his feet beneath him rather than planting them too firmly in the ground.

Whenever he made a mistake, Aiden corrected him.

Sometimes it was a sharp command.

Other times, the old man simply tapped his shin with the cane.

Riven quickly learned that the latter usually meant he had made the same mistake several times.

"You’re fighting the ground, boy. Stop trying to force every movement."

Riven wiped sweat from his forehead.

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Move naturally."

"That’s not very helpful."

Aiden raised an eyebrow.

"Would you prefer I explain it while someone cuts your legs out from under you?"

Riven fell silent.

"Thought so. Again."

The next few days were little different.

Riven spent hours moving around the training yard, repeating the same basic steps until his legs felt like they were made of stone.

He learned how to shift his weight without leaning too far forward. He practiced stepping offline when Aiden attacked rather than trying to block every strike. He learned that a small movement was often enough to avoid a blow.

That last lesson took the longest.

Riven’s first instinct was always to retreat as quickly as possible. Whenever Aiden swung at him, he would try to put as much distance between them as he could.

It rarely worked.

Aiden would simply follow him, forcing him backward until he stumbled or ran out of room.

"You’re not running away from a monster," Aiden told him after knocking him into the dirt for the third time that morning. "You’re moving out of its reach. There’s a difference."

Riven pushed himself up.

"Then how do I do that?"

"Stop moving like you’re terrified of being touched."

Riven stared at him.

Aiden tapped the ground with his cane.

"Again."

The next time Aiden attacked, Riven forced himself to remain calm.

Instead of retreating, he stepped sideways.

The wooden stave passed in front of his chest.

He stumbled slightly but remained standing.

"Better."

It was the first time Riven had successfully avoided one of the old man’s attacks without losing his balance.

The small victory stayed with him for the rest of the day.

The training became more difficult as the weeks passed.

Aiden began combining the footwork drills with simple defensive movements. Riven had to move while keeping his eyes on his opponent, maintaining his balance even when he was forced to change direction.

At first, he struggled to do both.

Whenever he concentrated on his feet, he lost track of Aiden’s weapon. When he focused on the incoming strike, his posture fell apart.

Aiden showed little patience for either mistake.

"Your eyes are up here!"

His cane struck Riven’s shin.

"Watch my shoulders. Watch my hips. Stop staring at the weapon!"

Riven gritted his teeth and returned to his stance.

The old man attacked again.

This time, Riven watched his movements more carefully. He noticed Aiden’s shoulder shift before the stave moved and managed to step aside.

The strike missed.

Riven immediately tried to counterattack.

His movement was too slow.

Aiden’s stave tapped him across the ribs.

"Dead."

"I dodged."

"And then you stood there admiring yourself."

"I was trying to attack."

"Then try faster."

Riven sighed.

Aiden’s eye narrowed.

"Something to say?"

"No."

"Then get back into position."

The lessons continued.

Some days, Riven made noticeable progress. Other days, he seemed to forget everything he had learned. His body was constantly tired, and the cold made his muscles stiff in the mornings.

There were times when his legs trembled so badly that he could barely hold his stance.

Aiden would make him stop, inspect his posture, and order him to rest before continuing.

Riven hated those moments.

He wanted to improve faster.

He wanted to become strong enough that nobody could ever force him into a situation like the one he had escaped.

But strength didn’t come simply because he wanted it.

It came from repeating the same movements until they became familiar. It came from correcting mistakes he didn’t even realize he was making. And sometimes, it came from accepting that he couldn’t do everything in a single day.

That was a lesson Riven found much harder to learn than footwork.

By the second week, Aiden finally allowed him to use a wooden practice stave again.

Riven was eager to begin.

He had spent so long practicing without a weapon that he wanted to make up for the lost time.

Aiden quickly put an end to that idea.

"Slow down."

Riven raised his stave.

"You’re not fighting yet. You’re learning how to hold the damn thing."

He demonstrated a basic grip, showing Riven how to position his hands and keep his wrists relaxed.

Riven copied him.

"Too tight."

He loosened his grip.

"Now you’re going to drop it."

Riven adjusted again.

Aiden sighed.

"Gods help me."

The first few lessons involved little more than basic swings and controlled movements. Riven practiced bringing the stave forward, returning it to a guard position, and keeping his balance throughout the motion.

Aiden paid close attention to his feet.

Whenever Riven swung too hard and lost his balance, the old man stopped him.

"Power doesn’t mean anything if you can’t recover."

Riven tried again.

"Your arms are doing all the work."

Again.

"You’re leaning forward."

Again.

"You’re leaving your side open."

The corrections were constant.

Still, Riven began to understand what Aiden had been trying to teach him.

Swordsmanship wasn’t simply about striking an opponent. Every movement affected the next. A poor swing could leave him open, while a bad step could make it impossible to defend himself.

He had never thought about fighting that way before.

During his previous battles, he had relied on desperation. He attacked when he saw an opening and tried to survive whatever happened afterward.

Now, he was learning to think several movements ahead.

It was difficult.

But it was beginning to make sense.

By the third week, Riven was allowed to draw his short sword again.

Aiden inspected the weapon before handing it back.

"Not exactly a proper training blade."

"It’s what I have."

"I know. Just don’t expect me to replace it if you break it."

Riven accepted the sword.

The familiar weight settled into his hand. He had carried it for weeks, but now it felt different.

He understood how he was supposed to stand while holding it. He knew how to shift his weight and how to keep his feet from locking in place.

His movements were still rough, but they were no longer entirely uncontrolled.

Aiden made him practice the same basic strikes he had learned with the wooden stave.

Riven moved slowly at first, concentrating on his footing.

Then he began to increase his speed.

His sword cut through the cold air.

He stepped forward, struck, and returned to his guard.

Aiden watched.

"Again."

Riven repeated the movement.

"Again."

He did it once more.

"Now move."

Aiden stepped forward with his cane raised.

Riven immediately shifted sideways.

The cane passed close to his shoulder.

He brought his sword up, but Aiden had already moved away.

"Too slow."

Riven followed him.

Aiden tapped his ankle.

"You’re still putting too much weight on your front foot."

Riven corrected his stance.

"Again."

The exercise continued until Riven could barely feel his legs.

Even then, Aiden wasn’t finished.

He began combining the attacks with sudden changes in direction, forcing Riven to react rather than simply follow a memorized pattern.

It was frustrating.

Sometimes Riven reacted correctly but moved too slowly. Other times, he anticipated the attack and stepped directly into it.

But gradually, the mistakes became less frequent.

He began noticing the small shifts in Aiden’s posture. He learned to recognize when the old man was preparing to move and started reacting before the attack fully developed.

He wasn’t fast.

He wasn’t particularly strong.

But he was beginning to understand what he was doing.

The final week of the month brought another change.

Aiden allowed Riven to practice Shadow Veil during his sword training.

Until then, Riven had mostly practiced the technique separately. He would spend time coating the edge of his sword with shadow mana, then release it before continuing his physical exercises.

Combining the two was much harder.

The first time he tried, the mana flickered and disappeared as soon as he moved.

Aiden watched the attempt with a frown.

"What happened?"

"I lost control."

"Then do it again."

Riven focused on his core.

He could feel the mana gathering inside him, responding to his concentration. He guided it toward the sword and formed the familiar dark coating along the blade.

For a moment, it held.

Then he stepped forward.

The mana wavered and vanished.

Riven lowered his sword.

Aiden shook his head.

"You’re treating the spell like something separate from your movement. It isn’t. You need to maintain your control while your body is doing something else."

Riven looked at the sword.

He had spent weeks learning how to move without losing his balance. Now he had to do the same thing while controlling mana.

It was another challenge.

He tried again.

This time, he moved more slowly, keeping his breathing steady as he guided the mana through the sword.

The dark coating flickered but remained.

He took a step.

It held.

Another step.

The mana thinned slightly.

Riven concentrated harder, trying to keep it from dispersing.

Aiden watched without speaking.

Riven raised the sword and performed a slow, controlled strike.

The Shadow Veil vanished halfway through the movement.

He stopped.

"Again," Aiden said.

Riven tried once more.

And again.

And again.

By the end of the session, he was exhausted. His head throbbed, and his mana reserves were nearly depleted.

But he had managed to maintain the technique through several basic movements.

It wasn’t perfect.

Far from it.

Still, it was progress.

Over the following days, he continued practicing the combination. He learned to use less mana when moving and stopped trying to force the technique to remain perfectly stable.

Eventually, he could perform several controlled strikes without the spell breaking.

He still couldn’t maintain it indefinitely, and more complicated movements made it unstable. But he was no longer limited to standing still while using it.

For the first time, Shadow Veil was becoming something he could use in an actual fight.

By the end of the month, the training yard had become familiar to Riven.

He knew where the frost gathered first, which boards creaked beneath his feet, and how long it took the sun to reach the central ring.

He also knew Aiden’s habits.

The old man complained whenever the yard was dirty, drank bitter tea from a battered metal cup, and never missed an opportunity to criticize Riven’s posture.

He was strict, blunt, and rarely offered praise.

But Riven had come to understand that the old man was paying attention to far more than his mistakes.

Aiden noticed when he was exhausted. He noticed when his shoulder hurt and when he was favoring his injured hand. He also noticed when Riven was pushing himself too hard.

Whenever Riven crossed that line, training stopped.

The old man never explained why.

He simply ordered him to rest.

Riven had learned to obey.

Not because he enjoyed it, but because he was beginning to understand that discipline wasn’t the same as blindly pushing himself until he collapsed.

There was no point in becoming stronger if he destroyed his body in the process.

Still, the month had been difficult.

His hands were rough and calloused, his legs were covered in bruises, and his muscles ached almost constantly. The scar across his right palm had healed further, though the skin remained sensitive.

His shoulder had improved as well, but it still became sore after particularly demanding sessions.

Yet, despite the pain, he was no longer the same boy who had stumbled into the training yard a month earlier.

His movements had become more controlled. His balance was better, and he no longer swung his sword with the reckless desperation that had defined his earlier fights.

He was still weak.

He was still inexperienced.

But he was finally learning how to fight.

Late one evening, after Aiden had dismissed him for the night, Riven returned to his inn room.

The streets were quiet beneath the winter sky. A few lamps remained lit, their amber glow reflecting off the frost covered ground.

Riven climbed the stairs and entered his small room.

He shut the door, removed his cloak, and sat on the edge of the bed.

Every part of his body ached.

His legs were sore from the day’s drills, his arms felt heavy, and his shoulder throbbed faintly beneath his clothes.

But it was a different kind of pain from the one he had experienced in the slave camp.

Back then, pain had meant weakness. It had meant being unable to fight back, unable to escape, and unable to do anything but endure.

Now, it meant something else.

Progress.

"Status."

A faint interface appeared before his eyes.

[STATUS]

Name: Riven

Age: 5

Core: Level 1

Affinity: Shadow

[SKILLS & TECHNIQUES]

Shadow Veil: 34%

Basic Swordplay: 41%

Riven stared at the numbers.

He remembered the first time he had checked his status. Back then, Shadow Veil had barely registered any progress, and his swordsmanship had been practically nonexistent.

Now, both had improved considerably.

Thirty four percent.

Forty one percent.

He didn’t know exactly how the system measured proficiency, but he could feel the difference in his own body.

His movements were more natural. His sword no longer felt entirely unfamiliar in his hands, and controlling Shadow Veil while moving had become noticeably easier.

He still had a long way to go.

His core remained at Level 1, and his physical strength was nowhere near where he wanted it to be. Even with a month of training, he would still struggle against an adult.

But he had made progress.

Real progress.

Riven dismissed the status window and looked toward the small window overlooking the street.

The winter night was quiet.

For a moment, he thought about the old man who had helped him escape the slave camp. He wondered what the man would have thought of him now.

The thought lingered before he pushed it aside.

There was still too much to do.

He needed to become stronger. He needed money, better equipment, and more experience. Eventually, he would have to leave the settlement and find a way to survive on his own.

But he wasn’t in a hurry to rush into another fight.

Not anymore.

He had learned what happened when he relied on desperation alone.

Tomorrow, he would return to the training yard.

He would carry the crates, clean the rings, and practice until Aiden was satisfied.

Then he would do it all again.

Riven lay down and pulled the blanket over himself.

His body was exhausted, but for the first time in a long while, he felt that he was moving toward something rather than simply running away from his past.

He closed his eyes.

Excited for what tomorrow would bring.