NOVEL NEXT Chapter 27: Assignment.
Michael's voice came softly. "This is not an insult," He replied calmly. "That's a starting point for you, if you're willing to bleed for this, then one day even your enemies will recognise the man you used to be."
He lowered the sword, and it dissolved back into the thin air from where it came.
"I think that this will be enough for your first lesson," Michael said. "Now, practice, a technique is not learned by just watching, but by repeating it until your bones remember the shape of it."
The panel through which the video of Michael was showing started to disappear slowly, and the peaceful garden in which Michael stood vanished.
The apartment of Silas was back in sight; the ceiling was cracked. The cheap ceiling fan was spinning, producing the creaking sound. His body was still in pain from the boss fight, and his muscles already felt heavy; just thinking about moving them stung his ego.
A new system panel appeared in front of the eyes, shimmering brightly.
[Assignment: Archangel Michael – Lesson 1]
[To Do:]
• [0 / 1000 – Sword Swings]
• [0 / 1000 – Sword Slashes]
• [0 / 1000 – Sword Strikes]
Silas stared at the numbers that were in front of his eyes; his hands trembled a bit as his eyes widened slightly. "You have to be FUCKING KIDDING ME…" His voice came out a bit loud, feeling of disbelief was buried inside of it.
Just then, his phone vibrated on the table. His hand reached out, slowly grabbed the mobile and checked the notification, which was from the bank.
*Amount deducted: $2000.00
A new notification came from the system:
[Transaction: Divine Instruction Channel – Archangel Michael (Lesson 1)]
Silas froze, his eyes widened a bit more, a state of shock took over him, and sweat swelled up on his forehead. The colour of his skin went from normal to pale in just a few seconds. He stared at the panel as it had just slapped him.
"Two thousand dollars… just for the thirty minutes of his lecture," He whispered under his breath, slightly shifting his stance. "It was so quick… what the fuck?"
Silas's voice came, hitched. "System… will it be like this in the future too?"
[No host.]
Silas took a breath of relief. "Phew… thank goodness." A low sigh escaped his mouth; he lowered his shoulders as if trying to relax them.
But before he could relax, another text from the system came.
[Host, it'll increase the cost per lecture. So next lecture of yours will cost more than it does now.]
Silas's body froze, his eyes went blank as the white colour took over them, and he fell backwards as his soul had just escaped from the body.
[Host fell into a state of shock, body went numb.]
[Initiating Instant Shock™.]
BZZZZZZZT!
Plugged his soul into a power outlet.
"AAAAAAGH—MY FUCKING SPINE!!"
[Welcome back, Host. (｡•́‿•̀｡)]
"STOP. USING. THOSE. FUCKING. EMOJIS. YOU. DUMB. FUCK." He held a hand over his heart, still twitching immensely. "I swear I'll download a virus into you and watch you suffer like a bitch, you blue fucker."
Silas took a few breaths, his hand fell to his lap as he leaned back onto the couch, his eyes were hollow, staring at the blank ceiling.
Then the sudden realisation came, the money that got deducted from his bank account flashed inside his mind once again. "AHHHHHHHH…." A loud groan escaped his mouth, from somewhere deep in his chest. "I FUCKING GOT SCAMMED BY HEAVEN… THE GODS ARE FUCKING SCAMMERS.
He turned his head slowly to the system panel, voice flat. "System. I'm going to sleep. I'll do it tomorrow—"
[DING!]
[Initializing: Bolt Treatment for Motivation.]
"wait… no, not again. What the fu—"
BZZZZZT!
A sharp jolt of electricity shot through Silas ' body. His back slightly arched off the couch, teeth clenched as a strangled shout forced its way out of his throat like it was stuck in there like a prisoner.
"AAAAAAAA–AH–WHAT THE SHIT—!"
The shock vanished as quickly as it came, leaving his muscles slightly trembling with the aftereffect.
[Host, you cannot sleep without doing your assignments.]
Silas lay still on the couch for a few seconds, chest rising and falling in a small rhythmic manner. Then he slowly turned his head towards the floating panel of the system, eyes dead.
"You fucking tased me motherfucker, you're on my side or my opponent," Silas said, gritting his teeth.
[Of course, I'm on your side, host. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)]
[And Correct. Bolt Treatment has a 97% success rate for short-term motivation.]
"I fucking hate you, I hate you a lot." He whispered under his breath, his voice filled with the feeling of hatred.
[Hatred is acceptable. Laziness is not.]
He dragged himself up from the couch, joints popping, and walked over to the corner of the room where his sword leaned against the wall. His hand wrapped around the hilt, and he closed his eyes for a second, letting the weight settle in his palm.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, exhaling a small sigh. "You heard the angel, right? Let's see if I can learn the letter S of the sword."
He stepped into the middle of his room, the floor was old and uneven, with slight cracks clearly visible, but it was enough for him to practice.
He took his stance the way Michael had shown in the video.
Feet shoulder-width apart, left foot slightly forward, knees shouldn't be locked. Shoulders relaxed, grip firm, not too tight and not too light.
The system panel hovered to the side, tracking all of his movements.
[0 / 1000 – Sword Swings]
Silas inhaled deeply, then performed his first swing. The first cut was a bit awkward, felt like a baby who held a sword for the first time in its lifetime.
The angle of his swings was too off, but he still completed it.
[1 / 1000 – Sword Swings]
He then came into the position of his stance once again and swung.
[2 / 1000 – Sword Swings]
Time started to pass by at a faster speed than usual.
At around the twentieth swing, his shoulders began to ache. At the fiftieth, his grip started slipping slightly. At the hundredth, sweat dripped from his chin and hit the floor.
His breath started to get ragged as the time passed; his T-shirt was completely drenched in sweat, sticking to his back.
[100 / 1000 – Sword Swings]
He paused for a second, trying to get his breath steady, breathing heavily.
"Only… nine hundred more," he muttered under his breath, laughing weakly.
He then kept going for more; the mark of two hundred came by. His writers started to burn.
Three hundred. His spines complained. Four hundred. His legs felt like they were slowly sinking into the ground.
By the sex hundred, he had stopped thinking about the number, just moved with the hope that it would be done soon.
• Swing.
• Reset.
• Swing.
• Reset.
His world shrank to the rhythm of breath and steel.
He remembered the way Michael's shoulder stayed relaxed the whole time, the way the sword flowed like it was a part of his arm instead of a heavy piece of metal.
Slowly, his own movements started to get smoother than before. His body adjusted, his muscles began to move together, not as separate, clumsy parts, but as one line.
He barely noticed when he crossed the mark of eight hundred. His arms were shaking with each swing, and the sweat rolled down his cheeks.
His forearms felt like they were filled with hot sand. His fingers were numb. His palms stung. He knew he would have blisters tomorrow.
But he kept swinging. "Come on… just a bit more… more." He muttered to himself.
His final swing came out cleaner than his first ten combined.
[1000 / 1000 – Sword Swings]
The progress bar popped up right after he completed. Silas let the sword fall freely from his hand; it hit the floor with a dull thud.
He stumbled back and dropped onto the bed, chest rising and falling like he had just run a marathon. Sweat soaked his shirt. His hair stuck to his forehead.
"Haah… haah…" He stared up at the cracked ceiling, his eyes were half-closed. "Phew… at least.. It was worth it." A small, tired smile curled up on his lips.
He raised his right hand weakly. "System, did anything change inside of me… or did I just torture myself for fun?"
[Minor improvement detected.]
[Muscle memory for basic swing pattern established.]
[Strength increased slightly.]
A small chuckle escaped Silas's mouth, it wasn't too loud. It was soft, real—something which comes only after you have worked hard to achieve.
"That's Good," he whispered. "One step towards the actual goal."
Then he turned his head and saw the rest of the assignment.
[0 / 1000 – Sword Slashes]
[0 / 1000 – Sword Strikes]
The moment he realised that he had two more tasks to do, his smile wore off.