Swordsmanship Sparring (1): The Mock Battle
Mock battles. We'd run them countless times over the eight years of hunter training—from middle school through high school and even after graduation.
The format was simple. Both sides picked from the school's arsenal of "training weapons" and went at it. There was a huge variety to choose from, depending on your preference. Swords alone ranged from daggers to kukris, arming swords, broadswords, katanas, sabers, bastard swords, and even the greatswords like the one I used. And that was just swords—if you factored in spears, shields, axes, and every other melee weapon imaginable, it was basically a full armory.
They made sure you couldn't whine about unfamiliar weapons. It was only natural for a high-tuition specialist hunter academy, but still impressive.
For the record, the difference between training weapons and real ones was lethality. Training blades couldn't kill or seriously injure anyone—or any living thing, for that matter. The striking surfaces (excluding the hilt) were made from a special material: a mix of white slime secretions and ghost cores. It mimicked a weapon's shape thanks to the slime's copying ability, but when it hit flesh, it phased right through, harmless. Perfect for sparring. Plus, the material repelled itself, so clashing blades worked great too.
Of course, ghost cores and white slime secretions were rare, driving up the cost. Especially for greatswords like mine or Kang Eunyoung's, with their massive blades requiring tons of material. Equipping the place must've cost a fortune.
Kang Eunyoung picked up the spare greatsword she'd set aside and asked,
"Aren't training greatswords expensive?"
"They sure are. I already had one—the auntie's—but making yours set me back a bit."
"I could've bought it myself... Wait, making it?"
"Once you hit S-rank, it's normal to know a blacksmith or two. I sourced the materials myself, so it wasn't that bad."
"Huh?"
I'd just meant to thank her for the thoughtfulness, but her casual bombshell hit me: she'd gathered the materials herself in the last few days.
"You sourced them yourself? Does that mean you're back on active duty?"
"Pretty much. My strength's back, and holing up at home isn't my style. Not official yet—just test runs in empty dungeons for rehab."
It hadn't even been long since we'd had sex and restored her power, but here she was, jumping right back in. Her decisiveness was unreal.
"An S-rank returning to the field draws useless attention. At my age, who wants that hassle?"
"Fair point."
"Handy having a company president for a friend. I'll stick to this low-key for a while. Haven't fully regained my combat edge yet~."
Even without perfect battle sense, she'd hunted B-rank white slimes and A-rank ghosts solo. No wonder they called her "Berserker" in her prime.
"I had them size it like yours. How's it feel?"
"Pretty much matches what I've been using. Weight too."
"You've been using others? Did you pick up something new while I wasn't looking?"
"Yeah, circumstances led to it."
"Don't go making excuses later like 'it didn't match my weapon' and botch the swings."
I answered her needless worry flatly.
"No chance. This is plenty."
"You sure?"
"And my goal to become the world's top hunter still stands. Means I need to master fighting with anything. Greatsword or dagger or axe."
"Still got that shameless nerve, vowing to support a 40-year-old auntie's remaining years."
"Take both as gospel."
"...Ahem."
She flushed slightly but pressed on from her spot in the sparring ring.
"You asked me to teach you greatsword arts, so I'll do it right. Auntie brute-forced her way to S-rank with just a blade—no side gigs."
"That's why I came to you."
"To focus purely on swordplay, let's set some rules for this mock battle."
One. Her index finger extended with a snap.
"One: Son fights only with swordsmanship today."
"No other awakenings or buffs?"
"Right. Versatility shines in real fights, but it hampers pure sword growth. Stick to the blade for now. To be the world's best, you gotta beat auntie with it first, yeah?"
"...Can't argue."
The logic was ironclad; I nodded.
"Two: Slices to my armored spots don't count. Only unarmored areas."
"Applies when I'm hit too?"
"As if. This is the edge full hunter gear gives. Imagine whining 'it sliced my armor' against plate—ridiculous. Think it's unfair? Suit up. Hyeun's old set might fit with adjustments."
So that's why she wore full gear for a mock battle. Armor slowed swings and footwork noticeably. It sounded like she was nerfing herself by invalidating armored hits, but I saw it backward.
In pure sword-vs-sword, limbs are easiest targets—exposed, hard to guard. Unarmored spars rack up limb hits fastest. Rookies could luck into wins slicing a pro's arm or leg once in ten tries.
I'd exploited that as a non-awakener, snagging "wins" on careless classmates' openings. Got me occasional victories through middle school. High school vets made it impossible, though.
Her rule seemed to block those fluke limb slices. Or maybe I was overthinking.
"No armor for me."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
Mismatched gear would just hinder me. Besides, I needed her to gauge my style first—best to show my peak.
Satisfied, she raised her pinky.
"Finally: No round limit today."
"Pardon?"
I blurted before she clarified.
"I'll end it when you score three points on me. Fail, and you're stuck here all day. I cut Hyeun loose at one—third-year middle schooler back then. You should manage three now."
"...Three?"
"Too few?"
I shook my head at her confident grin. I'd seen her feats in media forever; at ten, I'd watched her fight live. Post-sex power restoration or not, three points against her wouldn't be easy.
But I'd logged more recent field time than her. Exploit that, and points were doable. Hyeun managed one at her age—I had to match her resolve for my dream.
"Alright then. Rules set..."
She took position at the ring's starting line.
"You strike first, son. Then we alternate. Got it?"
"Yes."
Just three points. That's all I needed.
The moment my foot kicked off for the opening strike...
Three eternal hours later, the underground training hall felt like hell.
"Hah... ha, ha, haa... haa..."
"Good work, son. Faster finish than I expected."
"Th-thank... you..."
She tidied up without a hint of fatigue. I was too wrecked to even scoff.
Final tally: 68 losses, 2 wins, 1 draw.
What did she mean her combat sense wasn't back? My battered brain couldn't compute.