This Ascent to Divinity is Lewder than Expected (A Futa LitRPG)

4.05 - Strip Spars

Rosalie wasn't sure how she'd been goaded into this.

'Strip spars'. Heavens above. What would Father—or her sisters—think? Even disregarding the inappropriate nature of the event, the duel itself was offensive. Or, rather, the stakes. Stakes implied she might lose. Her? The heiress to the Deepshunter Guild?

She couldn't imagine the shame. Fortunately, it wasn't something she needed to worry about. As if she would lose to this annoying woman. Delta was more than competent enough, but not only was the match-up unfavorable—Rosalie's class was nearly ideal for dueling, and Delta's high-damage, low-survivability style was not—but 'competent' didn't mean she was on an even playing field with her.

She didn't mean that in a disparaging way. Simply, Rosalie had been pushing herself to her limits—or rather, Father had been, and then Rosalie herself, once old enough to realize the purpose of her training—since the moment she could walk. By Delta's lackadaisical views on how they should be spending their time, clearly her upbringing was not remotely on the same level of Rosalie's. It wasn't her fault she was worse.

Then why was she nervous?

Because Delta's taunts held credence? How Rosalie might become 'distracted' as the event progressed?

"You ready?" Delta asked.

The fox-eared girl stood across the dueling arena, bow drawn but held down and to the side, arrow nocked. Delta preferred ranged combat, but in this fight, she wouldn't get to use her bow much. That disadvantage wouldn't be too crippling. She was more than competent with her dual knives. But still a disadvantage. She excelled when she could stay back, not engage in a melee.

Hence, closing the gap would be crucial. Though, as a spear wielder, that would have been a goal of Rosalie's regardless of Delta's talents.

Even with her advantages detailed, this spar of theirs wouldn't be completely free. For all of Rosalie's complaints about her hastily-acquired teammate, she wasn't a poor, or even mediocre, combatant. Rosalie would have minor—minor—difficulties fending her off. Just nothing to truly worry about.

"Begin whenever," Rosalie said. Her grip tightened against her spear, which she had planted into the ground. Her muscles were tense despite her relaxed, intentionally taunting words.

She wished she had a better weapon. For most of her upbringing, she'd trained with a spear of almost incalculable value, a prize of Father's own adventures. Dragon's Tongue. It was too powerful for Rosalie to inherit its passive benefits, but despite that, it had an enviably perfect balance. Father had, perhaps, crippled her by giving her such an outstanding weapon to practice with. He did have blind spots, in that regard. Why not train her to be competent in any situation? Though she supposed he had. Just, the inferior weaponry she'd been faced with recently was irritating.

Then again, Rosalie had been supposed to return immediately. Her lingering in Treyhull—with Zoey and Delta—was against his directive. She grimaced, then, like usual, pushed the thought away. She'd made her decision. Father would understand. Maybe. After explanations. Zoey—and even Delta, though less so—would be talent he appreciated. Or ... probably. Also a maybe. Rosalie wasn't sure if she wanted to share the full details of Zoey's class with Father, for numerous reasons, and so he might not see why Rosalie had paired with her.

And paired in a different way. Girlfriends.

What a disaster. Dating. Rosalie wasn't supposed to be dating anyone. Ever, probably, but certainly not until she'd carved an appropriate name for herself. She didn't have time for that kind of frivolity.

"I'll start, then?" Delta asked. She'd raised an eyebrow, as if noticing Rosalie's wandering thoughts.

Shaking them away, and fighting off a flush—distracted already?—Rosalie replied, "Whenever you wish."