Legacy: A Hero Has Come

Book 1: Chapter 7

The shattered moon moved from its usual spot with the twilight of the sky wading. The night air grew colder as Roland remained in place. The condensation of his breath appeared while rubbing his arms to stay warm, wanting to call it a night and return to bed. Nevertheless, he continued waiting for Brunhilda to return, knowing that he had to be patient if he wanted to learn from her. Fortunately, it didn't have to wait any longer than he thought.

"It's the first time in my life a boy waited this long for me." Brunhilda mused. Roland turned and jolted up, seeing the dwarf woman approached him slowly. "I told my dad I was heading to bed. So, now we have all the time to ourselves."

Looking to her side, Roland noticed that she held two wooden swords in both her hands. Brunhilda tossed one to Roland, catching it before he fumbled over and almost dropped it.

"What is this for?" Roland asked, confused.

"Before you can properly use a real one, you must first use this prop sword to get a handle on it," said Brunhilda. "According to you, humans, swordsmen are disciples of Orthos."

"Orthos?" Roland became befuddled, the name seeming alien to him.

"The god of order and discipline," said Brunhilda, matter-of-factly. She placed her prop sword over her shoulders. "All swordsmen are trained by his teachings, using his tenets bestowed without remissness. At least, that's what my mother explained when she trained me."

Roland scratched his head while trying to absorb the information, remaining dumbfounded with a slacked jaw. It was like he was back in school, and the teacher was already hounding for answers from her student.

Brunhilda waited for his input but quickly moved on. Picking up one of the logs, she tossed it into the air. She shifted her hand to the side, flexing her muscles before waiting for the right moment, and then wholly obliterated the wood with one sing, and immediately after that, the chips scattered all over the grass. Her palm gripped tightly, and the movement, to Roland, brought memories of how Josephine sliced against the trunk of a tree, waving her ax with such incredible strength.

Brunhilda brushed the dust off her clothes, some of the chips landing in her bodice as she picked them out. She remained unfazed, maintaining a stern demeanor; it was as though it was second nature to her. Roland shielded his face from the blast as he took aback, not wanting it to hit his eyes but spat out some of the debris. He stayed stock still, remaining astounded with his jaw nearly hitting the ground.

Alright. I'm impressed.

"With the right amount of strength and precision, you too can do such tremendous feats, with the right practice, that is," said Brunhilda. "Many warriors of old cannot channel such incredibility on their own. Every hero and adventurer learned to do so from somewhere and someone, and they were able to defeat the most dangerous foes that have ever arisen in history."

"Just like how Leo defeated the Eldritch King," muttered Roland, shifting his gaze with wonder in his eyes to White Fang on his back, and then turned back to the dwarf blacksmith. "You're saying anyone can accomplish such feats? How long does it take?"

"Usually, like any other practice, years."

"Wait. What?" Roland blinked.

"Fortunately, since I'm the one teaching you the beginner's level, it'll still be enough for you," Brunhilda reassured him. She sauntered close and raised her sword, preparing to fight with her posture firm. "Alright. The class is now in session. Show me what you got."

Roland hesitated, trying to mimic his trainer's stance while his hands shook, trying to find a natural grip against his prop sword. Brunhilda's lectures felt oddly comforting, but her goading him to start on the spot made the situation more intense. Nevertheless, Roland didn't back down as he ceased his shivering and charged, flashing a determined scowl while swinging his sword aimlessly. That was his greatest mistake. Brunhilda quickly blocked him and pushed him away.