Macegaki! (2)
I was curious what kind of "practical training" Forsell had prepared, but first things first — I had to warm up.
Mace and shield in hand as always, I started my run.
Nearly three weeks had passed since I began my conditioning regimen.
Recently, though, I'd noticed the pace of my physical growth slowing down. That had to be the level 0 cap approaching — after all, stats in Soul Academy worked like proficiency, with a set ceiling for every level.
To get any stronger from here, I'd need to level up, plain and simple.
I had roughly two months left before the entrance exam. Factoring in all the training I'd need to keep my stats climbing, I figured I should aim for at least level 10 in the Evans dungeon.
But wait — how was I supposed to know whether I'd leveled up in a world without a status window?
...Hm. This is a problem.
Playing Soul Academy at maximum efficiency required a certain amount of level management. Mindlessly grinding to the highest level wasn't the answer.
And right now, I couldn't even tell if killing a monster had pushed me over the threshold.
You've got to be kidding me. If this keeps up, I'll have to pass up on all sorts of events!
Absolutely not. With no guarantee I could even make it back to my old world, I needed to grab everything I possibly could while I was here.
Wasn't there some way around this? Even if I couldn't see a status window, I had to find out my level somehow.
As I mulled over this critical dilemma, a set of footsteps came up behind me.
"Lady Lucy. It has been a while."
"Good morning, Carl."
"Hey. Loser."
Even after being called a loser, Carl simply smiled.
That reaction — treating loser like a compliment — threw me off. Fine, I get it, you've sworn to become my loyal knight from here on out, but nobody said you had to be happy about being called a loser.
Deciding to become a masochist from this point forward, are we?
"You enter the dungeon tomorrow. Have you been practicing your combat?"
"Of course. I've grown a lot, you know."
"Ha. Obviously. I've grown so much a hopeless loser like you couldn't even imagine it."
Technically speaking, growth had been inflicted upon me, but details.
You know that saying — if you can't do it, keep doing it until you can?
Forsell had made that phrase reality, half by force.
Thanks to his philosophy of "if you're clumsy at fighting, keep rolling around until you're not," I had been through absolute hell.
The upside was that compared to a week ago, I'd become skilled enough at combat that I barely recognized myself — but I was not grateful.
Every single day had been genuinely torturous.
That was the first time Harne's lessons had ever felt like a vacation.
"I see. Then I look forward to the dungeon."
With that, Carl took off running ahead of me, all on his own.
How was his breathing that steady while sprinting faster than me with all that weight on his back?
The kid is genuinely a monster.
How long would it take me to reach that level?
No idea. This was reality, not a game.
Once I'd finished my running quota and headed for the training grounds, I found Forsell standing next to a portable iron cage.
So that's the practical training he prepared? What on earth is in there? Did he go catch a monster or something?
"You're quick, my lady."
"So about that—"
"So what's this test supposed to be?"
"That's a secret."
Hah? I'm going to find out the second I look in that thing anyway. Secret, my foot.
When I glared up at him, Forsell chuckled.
You're just messing with me, aren't you?
Fine. I'll play along.
"You look exactly as sleazy as your face suggests."
"Forsell, you dummy. You look exactly as sleazy as your face suggests♡"
"My lady. What do you mean, exactly as my face suggests?"
"Like a pervert."
"You look like a total pervert♡"
"A pervert?!"
Putting the Mesugaki Skill to aggressive use, I taunted him until Forsell's face flushed red and splotchy.
Over the past few days of sparring with him, I'd learned a few things about the skill.
The Mesugaki Skill's taunt effect grew stronger the less assistance it gave me.
In other words, the more I already talked like a mesugaki on my own, the better my provocations landed.
For now I kept a line drawn, stopping at the mild annoyance level — but if I truly spoke and acted like a full-blown mesugaki, even Forsell would get angry.
Not that I'd ever pushed it that far.
The one time Carl exploded, I'd genuinely feared for my life. Imagine if Forsell blew up.
Who on earth could stop a man that size?
I am not ready to die yet, thank you very much.
Having lost the exchange, Forsell seemed to realize it, cleared his throat a few times, and changed the subject.
"That was a joke. Let's have a look inside, shall we?"
He led me over and set me down in front of the cage.
A wild animal's stench wafted out from within.
Tusks jutting from a protruding jaw, thick drool trailing down from them. Eyes gleaming with barely contained agitation, and hide far thicker than any human's.
It was my first time seeing one with my own two eyes, but the moment I laid eyes on it, I knew exactly what it was.
The thing bound in ropes inside that cage was, without a doubt, what people called an orc.
The instant the orc's gaze met mine, I stumbled backward without meaning to.
The raw, undisguised bloodlust radiating off the beast turned my spine to ice.
"An orc. One of the ones living in the nearby forest. This is the practical training I promised you before we depart — defeat this orc."
That thing? Me?
I stared at the orc behind the bars, blinking.
It was nothing like what I'd seen on a monitor.
Back in the game, meeting an orc meant nothing more than trash mob. Something you farmed for early-game EXP, and later on, a nuisance you avoided on sight.
But reality was different.
That orc was a living, breathing creature.
The moment those ropes came off, it would be a beast ready to do absolutely anything to survive.
"Lady Lucy."
Forsell's voice made my back jolt.
"What."
"What."
"There's no need to be nervous. I'm right here. No matter what happens, you will not be hurt."
Nervous?
So I was nervous.
Only after hearing Forsell say it out loud did I realize — and I couldn't help but laugh.
Pfft. Getting worked up over an orc. Pathetic, honestly.
I'm about to play through Soul Academy in the flesh. What am I doing getting spooked by an orc?
That thing is early-game trash. From here on out, I'm going to face countless enemies far more dangerous than it.
I smacked both my cheeks and looked up at Forsell.
"I'm ready."
"Ready when you are."
"I can see you've steeled yourself, my lady — but first, put this on."
Forsell held up what he'd set down beside the cage.
It was a suit of iron armor.
Not the size an ordinary knight would wear — clearly a small set, crafted specifically to fit my body.
"A gift. I had it made for you."
"When did you even have time to make this?"
"When did you make this?"
"Didn't your maid take your measurements a while back?"
Oh, that did happen. The day after I started sparring with Forsell, if I remembered right.
She'd shown up with a measuring tape, saying she needed my measurements, and I'd gone along with it without a second thought. That was for this?
"Please don't scold her too harshly. I was the one who asked — I wanted to give you a present."
When my expression cooled slightly, Forsell hurriedly came to the maid's defense.
Relax. I'm not planning to chew anyone out. I was just thinking I might feel a little more mischievous than usual, that's all.
When I answered with a silent smile, Forsell gave a wry grin.
"I'll teach you how to put it on. At the estate, someone else will dress you, but once you're at the academy, you'll have to manage on your own."
The armor, fitted to my body, was heavier than I'd expected.
The Lucy from right after the possession would have collapsed straight to the floor just trying to wear it.
But not the me of now.
After weeks of desperate conditioning, a suit of armor this light couldn't break me.
If anything, the comfortable weight wrapping around my body felt good.
"Well? Does it fit?"
At Forsell's question, I moved this way and that. Walked around, jogged lightly, swung the shield and mace.
It was fine. Comfortable, even.
"Yep. Fits perfectly."
"Not bad, I guess."
"Glad to hear it. Worth entrusting it to a skilled smith."
In the game, armor auto-adjusted to your body the moment you equipped it. Apparently not in this world.
Hold on. Then what happens when I pick up armor-type items as loot?
Do I have to take them to a smithy for refitting? But there's no way a run-of-the-mill smithy could reforge mithril or orichalcum gear.
Something else to puzzle over later, I suppose.
"How is the fit, my lady? Do you have a general idea of how to wear it?"
"Not even a little."
"Nope. Not even a little."
Not even a little was a slight exaggeration, but confused was accurate.
So this is why putting on armor was so complicated. No wonder medieval knights dragged squires around everywhere.
On my own, there's no way I could manage this.
"Haha. That's perfectly normal, my lady. Putting on armor is a complicated business. We'll keep practicing until you enter the academy."
"Sounds like a plan."
"Sounds like a plan."
Fully suited up, I took my mace and shield and stood before the cage.
"Are you ready?"
When I nodded, Forsell — uncharacteristically grave — opened the cage.
The instant the door swung wide, the orc inside surged to its feet and came charging out — and Forsell blocked its path.
"Halt."
At his firm, single word, the orc froze mid-stride, flinched, and stumbled backward.
That's the Intimidation skill, isn't it?
The one that cows monsters below a certain level relative to the user and sends them fleeing. A skill you pick up late-game specifically so you can ignore trash mobs.
That shouldn't even be learnable until the endgame. Just how strong is this man?
Overwhelmed by Forsell's presence, the orc couldn't move a muscle, trembling in place where it stood.
Forsell studied it for a moment, untied the rope binding its arms, and stepped back.
"My lady. When I give the signal, the orc will charge you. Its easiest escape route runs straight through you, you see."
"Understood."
"Got it."
My grip tightened around the mace.
Forsell had told me: take down that orc.
Which meant ending that creature's life with my own hands.
Could I actually do it?
I didn't know.
In all my years of living, I'd barely ever killed anything.
The worst thing I'd ever done was wring a chicken's neck with my own hands on some trip out to the countryside.
Even that had disgusted me so thoroughly I couldn't touch chicken for about a year afterward.
Naturally, I'd never been hunting in my life. To me, the word hunting meant nothing more than watching some burly bear-hunter on Tube and thinking, wow, impressive.
Could someone like me really smash that orc's skull in?
"I'll count down. Three."
Forsell wasn't giving me time to hesitate.
"Two."
Can I do it?
No — wrong question. The point is that I have to.
This is something I'll be doing over and over until I'm sick of it.
"One."
This is only the beginning.
I took a deep breath and adjusted my grip on the mace.
"Begin."
Here we go.