Dungeon 42

Training Standards

Cord knew he wasn't anything special even after his class changed. Going from warrior to fighter wasn't that different. He was certainly stronger than before, could probably make it as a mid tier mercenary with a bit more training, but it wasn't an earth shattering change for him.

"Keep keen!" Roksolana chidded, hitting him hard upside the helmet. She and a couple others were moving around him, looking for openings and weaknesses to exploit. They'd alternate tactics, sometimes coming from the front, others splitting up for flanks. All of it was meant to help him get used to his more armor's more restrictive field of vision.

The weight had been easy to adjust to, the armor was light for full plate, and designed well enough not to be as restrictive as the cheap kind. Not that it was ever actually affordable, let alone cheap. Still, there was a huge difference between "made to fit" from spare bits like most had and "made to order" for you personally.

Every few moments there was a dull metallic thud as a blow was landed. Some would ache, others wouldn't, but there wasn't a sting of a cutting injury. So long as he avoided letting one of them get in a more vital strike, the exercise would continue and he was getting better at guarding his weaknesses.

"How much fuckin-" Cord stopped cursing as a chime went off. That sound signaled a break was in coming, but he kept fighting. He'd learned not to take for granted that the others would stop immediately the first time he'd let down his guard and got a kick in the back. Two weeks in he was more vigilant than he would have been with outright demonic creatures. His attackers broke off and Cord was relieved to get to take his helmet off.

"Not bad, you didn't puke or faint this time," Cintia said cheerfully. She went without armor or shield but was a deadly thing in her own right. She struck hard and fearlessly and for all that his armor wasn't terribly restrictive for the type, she was a great deal faster and more nimble.

"Thanks," Cord said sarcastically. She just grinned and gave him a pat on the back, the scar on her face bunching oddly as she did.

The thing he was having the most trouble with was honestly just how hot wearing all of the layers were. It was strange too, how it felt. He could probably have cooked an egg on his back from the sun beating down on the metal, but the inner layers were relatively cooler until he started fighting. That was when he felt like he was properly in an oven. His sweat would turn it cool again after a bit though.

"She's being honest. You've got the stats to handle it, but getting used to it, adapting, is something else," Roksolana offered. She patted Cord on the opposite side that Cintia had. Without another word the pair of them got him under the arms and moved him under the shade of a shelter 42 had added along with a bench.

"Oh, that is better," Cord sighed. He helped himself to water while the two women perched on the barrier. They didn't need such things and while he could use a potion to ease his training, he'd agreed when 42 advised against it. He needed to find his current limits and push as far past them as he reasonably could. He wouldn't improve properly if he didn't.

The third one, Jeffery, waved goodbye before climbing the barrier and heading off. Roksolana was his teacher but who all joined her varied. They sat quietly for a while while Cord just breathed.

His training was hard, more physically demanding than the rest of the Daggers, but Cord didn't mind. He was aware enough to realize he didn't have head for tactics or finesse. He'd gotten by with a sword, but the maul he'd been given suited him much better. The tower shield too, now that he was getting the hang of using it properly.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

It wasn't just a defensive item, it could be used as a weapon too, though it could be a bit unwieldy. Still there had been a profound satisfaction the first time he'd managed to bash one of the skeletons with it straight into the barrier. They'd ended up having to respawn and it had been the first of his real victories in training.

"So, aside from beat up, how do you feel?" Roksolana asked.

"Fine," Cord said, the same answer he'd given the prior day and every one since he'd started training. "How's being dead?"

Cord regretted the question immediately. He'd disliked being asked how he was doing, but it wasn't worth the beating he was probably going to get for being rude. It was just irritating to be asked that when he was doing his utmost not to think about anything other than what was happening in front of him.

"Pretty nice really. I don't get hungry or thirsty, never have to shit," Roksolana replied.

"Right?" Cintia chimed in, laughing.

"You don't miss it then, being alive?" Cord asked, curiosity overriding caution. Being a street child and then a mercenary, Cord hadn't had much to do with women unless he paid for the privilege. He'd also never had coin enough nor interest in anything more than a tumble to get himself off.

His understanding of them was they were generally more noisy than men during the day, but quieter at night, and nosey. Like asking how he was every day. He didn't honestly know what to make of them beyond that or understand why they were curious about him. Though in fairness he supposed the fact they were female was the least of their differences at the moment.

"Not really. A few things would be nice to have back, but I wouldn't trade feeling no pain for them. The poets are full of shit or never starved or suffered a gut wound, carrying on about how it's important to suffer to know joy," Roksolana said, shrugging.

"Ugh, yours sound like a bunch of fucking idiots. Ours had the sense to sing about drinking and fucking to forget it, not praise it," Cintia said, nose scrunched in distaste.

Silence lapsed for a while while Cord drank a bit more water and enjoyed his break. He still wasn't going to answer if they asked, but truthfully he was essentially fine. He didn't like the fact he was contracted with a dungeon, but the conditions weren't bad. It was about as uncomfortable as working with a noble, though why was slightly different.

"Well, breaks up," Roksolana said. Cord didn't question it until he noticed someone approaching the training ground. Kabenla Narh, a fighter who'd prestige to Berserker.

"I take it I offended you," Cord said bleakly. He'd made the mistake of asking for a match up with him out of curiosity and needed three healing potions to be put back together again afterwards.

"What? Why would you think- No, this was planned from the beginning. You're fairly used to the armor and heat now, so the main thing will be building up awareness of your injuries and pain tolerance. It's why Cintia has been assessing you. We wanted to make sure you were ready to move on. Tanking isn't for the faint of heart," Roksolana explained.

"We muzzled him this time though. I'm not a bitter myself, so I really wasn't expecting him to just tear into you like he did that first time," Cintia added.

"Why would you be?" Cord asked, caught off guard.

"That's the spirit, don't assume all berserkers are alike," Cintia said, grinning. Cord didn't know what to think of that for a moment, when the realization kicked in. She was one too, just like Kabenla.

"Now, remember, there's no such thing as a cheap shot nor shame in a fight. Piss yourself or whatever you need to do to keep going. It ends when you kill him or we see a serious potion drop for you," Roksolana reminded him. Advice she'd given at various times but not all at once before.

"I think I'd be better off fighting a bear," Cord said, meaning it honestly.

"Depends on the bear," Cintia said, giving him a pat before climbing over the barrier. Roksolana was already on the other side and they both flashed him encouraging smiles and thumbs up. He looked back to find Kabenla throwing himself at the barrier on the opposite side like an enraged boar.

It wouldn't take him long to break through and Cord could see the leather harness with some kind of metal mouth cover. With cold clarity he understood that just how brutal his training was going to be going forward, offense or not.

"Well, fuck this and fuck me," Cord said, getting his helmet on and drawing his maul. He was going to go down fighting even if he did piss himself.