Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

said, hastening to steer the conversation away from the controversial topic. “A couple of years ago, we were on our way to the plain, intending to join the traveling artists, when we came across this groove. After a little thought, we decided to stay here. I mean, what better place for two people who don’t want to be with anyone else except each other? The fact that the Forest of Shadows is so close is just a bonus.”

After that, the conversation turned into jokes and stories. Ash was mostly silent, listening to the Stumps talk about their adventures, which, to no one’s surprise, differed from the rumors and ballads told and sang about them. His favorite story was when the Stumps, at the request of the dwarven chief, searched all over the coast for a blue pearl.

Contrary to the rumors, they didn’t fight the sea king there, but spent several months shoveling the sand, only occasionally running into merfolk. These vile creatures, able to fight both in water and on land, resembled goblins, only hunched, with gills, and covered in scales.

By the evening, the girls were helping Elanor clean the table, while the boys had already gone to bed. Their hosts were nice enough to let them spend the night in the hayloft, for which the travelers were immensely grateful. Soon enough, Mary and Alice also went to bed, as did Elanor. At the table were only Lari, devouring every word spoken by his idol, and Ash, smoking and drinking mors[1] made of tart berries.

“Sir Arlun,” Lari said, looking away in embarrassment, “I know I’m overstepping, but… Would you show me a couple of moves?”

He waited to be scolded because a warrior’s training procedure was a sacred and private matter as magic was to a mage. No one had the right to ask someone to demonstrate their skills.

“Of course!” Arlun replied as if he had been just waiting to be asked this question.

He grabbed the scabbard propped against the table leg and pointed it to the door. Lari, beaming with joy, immediately ran outside, followed by Ash, who didn’t want to miss seeing this.

Arlun stayed in the house for a bit longer. With a slightly sad smile, he looked toward the closed door where his lovely wife was sleeping. Running his hand over the logs he had cut to make this cabin for the two of them, he stepped outside. He seemed to be saying goodbye to the house even though he’d be out for only a couple of minutes.

Ash sat cross-legged on the grass and lit his pipe, habitually exhaling whitish smoke that flowed somewhere into the sky, covered with heavy, black clouds. It was going to rain soon. He had never liked rain, especially downpours. Water and fire were, after all, natural enemies.

The two swordsmen began their training. They warmed up by stretching and then stood still in identical poses for a couple of moments before they began the impromptu duel. They moved in an identical fashion, copying each other’s movements. The swords glinted in the light pouring from the windows. In Ash’s opinion, it was all rather boring so he soon began to doze off, automatically smacking his lips and exhaling fragrant smoke.

It wasn’t until the two began to talk that he finally woke up.

“Are you sure, sir?” Lari asked breathlessly, his eyes greedily devouring a pouch that clearly held a scroll.

“Of course I am, my friend,” Arlun replied. “I’m afraid that if I don’t, my skills will be forgotten. I wouldn’t want that to happen. But if you need a demonstration, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Lari wanted to say something, but Arlun had already assumed a fighting stance. He put his feet further apart, bending them somewhat comically at the knees, as if he were sitting on a narrow bench or about to jump on a log. He then raised the light, elegant blade, extending it parallel to the ground. A fraction of a second passed in silence.

“Singing Blow!”

The blade seemed to be singing as it cut through the void of the night with lightning speed. At first, nothing happened, and then Arlun stomped on the ground. A nearby tree suddenly split in two with a crash and fell, startling the sleeping birds.

“That’s―”

“―amazing!” Ash clapped, coming closer.

Lari, caught up in the moment, accepted the pouch with a bow, carefully tucking it under his shirt. He didn’t have time to thank Arlun, though, because he swayed and closed his eyes like he was going to fall asleep right there.

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed, my first, and last student.”

“Yeah, you’re… You’re probably right.”

Lari, like some recently raised zombie, walked dejectedly to the hayloft, stumbling and holding his head. As soon as he opened the door, he collapsed face-first to the floor and fell asleep. Ash closed the door with a wave of his hand and turned to Arlun.

“That’s not all that’s in the scroll, is it?” he asked, staring at the blade, the tip of which was pointed in his direction.

“You’re right. There’s another skill there.”

Arlun circled slowly around Ash, forcing the latter to follow him away from the house. His eyes glittered with the clear intent of fighting to the death.

“Lari’s a good man.” Ash nodded, adjusting the grip on his staff. “He’ll manage to learn them.”

“I hope so.” Arlun chuckled.

Soon, they were far enough from the house. Thunder roared in the distance, and the Heavens split open. The grass shivered under the large raindrops driven by the north wind. Snakelike lightning flashed, illuminating the frozen world for a moment. Another loud thunder followed, as if the heavenly blacksmith had warmed up the bellows and slammed the hammer onto the anvil, starting to forge a blade that could kill a God.

“Sleeping Potions are an old, familiar trick,” Ash drawled, pulling the scarf off