Chapter 213: Sallowed Hands, Hallowed Grounds (3).

“The way of the Templar is righteous. Our shields hold steady in the face of adversity, and our swords and spears pierce the breasts of iniquity…”

Parrying half-heartedly with the base of his sword, Sergeant Vane calmly spoke as though he was not in a real battle,

“The spear is not a decorative piece. It is a weapon. And its purpose, much like the sword, is to kill. It is an item of murder and of judgment.”

Nero took a step back, sweat forming at the back of his neck and forehead.

For the past five minutes, he had been constantly trying to break through the guard of this scene feet tall old man in front of him.

And yet, all his efforts had been futile. Completely and utterly so.

“Boy, I can tell from your movements that you have some training. The harshness of the wilderness should have sharpened your edge.” The cruel glare in the eyes of the Sergeant intensified,

“So why… Why do you look so pathetic? Why is your edge dulled?!”

Nero grimaced and his arms trembled.

Hearing no reply, Sergeant Vane snorted and rushed in, closing the gap in a split second.

His sword came down a moment later, almost faster than the eyes could follow. Nero’s eyes widened as he swiftly raised his spear to block.

What followed was a punch of terrible, biting pain assaulting his senses.

He curled up and fell to the ground, his body twitching in agony.

The Sergeant pulled his fist back and shook his head,

“Pathetic. How pathetic. Get up!” He said as he walked back to his initial position.

Wiping the blood off his lips, Nero rose to his feet trembling.

“Your weapon is important, but in a battle, every part of you is a weapon. Is that clear?!”

“Yes, sir!”

Sergeant Vane nodded and stabbed his sword into the ground,

“Your main issues stem from many things; you make too many wasted and unnecessary movements. Your spear moves with uncertainty, and your eyes shift under pressure, as though you are unsure of what to do under stress. But most importantly, you lack resolve.”

Nero grimaced as he placed a hand on the spot where the damned Templar had struck him, nearly crippling him with pain.

“These things cannot be fixed with mere instructions, so they will have to be hammered into your very essence. Come again!”

Nero huffed a dejected sigh and raised his spear up again.

The battle style of the Templars of the Crimson Crucible was straightforward and dominant, pressing forward even in the face of an overwhelming assault. It had minimal defensive moves since most attacks would simply bounce of their incredibly durable armor. As such, even most of their defensive measures simply bled into wicked counterattacks.

Nero on the other hand…

He had been conditioned by Gungnir to a more balanced approach. His combat style built upon that of the Templars had been tempered. It hinged on the shifting balance of the weapon to redirect, funnel and dissipate force, allowing the force he could generate from a simple thrust to be greater than what would normally be possible.

Such a complex technique was quite intriguing on paper. It was also very effective in dealing with beasts.

However, when he came face to face with a hunter, for some reason, it lost all its weight.

For some reason, the Sergeant could see through all his moves. He also punished his missteps with terrifying precision and ruthlessness. Nero couldn’t count how many liver shots he had received in just five minutes.

He was in so much pain, he felt he would simply puke up blood and die once it was all over.

Nero grimaced.

Could it be that Gungnir had taught him wrong?

That certainly could be the case. Something that could deal with wild beasts and Abominations, but was not effective against humans or intelligent creatures was rather… subpar, wasn’t it?

Nero strode forward, adjusting his grip on his spear.

His footwork shifted as he held his spear steady. He was trying to make use of his longer reach to keep the Sergeant at bay. The problem with this was, just like the other times, the Sergeant’s relentless assault simply broke through the guard he was trying to enforce. With his advantage of range always being broken so easily, he stood no chance.

Even if he was faster, which he wasn’t, trying to create the distance again would be impossible as the Sergeant would have slit his throat long before then.

Nero huffed deeply, the golden tint in his eyes growing.

With the Heretic Eyes, he could see a lot of hidden truths. His clarity and his vision also improved significantly.

However, they didn’t grant him magical combat awareness or heightened reflexes all of a sudden.

Once again, the Sergeant barreled towards him. The muscles in Nero’s arms flexed as he swung the spear, trying to keep him back. But the Templar casually swung his other arm, batting the spear away.

In the next moment, Nero felt the world around him spin. The Sergeant had used the flat of his blade to violently strike him across the face, leaving behind a massive sword shaped welt on his left cheek.

“Come again.” The Templar said coldly, assuming his original stance.

Tears welled up in Nero’s left eye as he shakily rose to his feet despite the concussion.

’Fuck.’ he cursed in his heart.

No…

Gungnir had not taught him wrong.

Rather, he had learned the wrong lessons from it.

No, not even that. It wasn’t that the lessons were wrong. It was that his interpretations of them were faulty. Incomplete.

A deep resolve blossomed in his heart.

It was indeed as Lyon had said.

If he wanted to become greater than he already was, he would need to rebuild himself from the ground up, correcting his faulty foundations at the very core.

Nero took in a deep breath.

Sergeant Vane’s bushy brow rose slightly.

Something in the kid had changed.

A strange light appeared in the depths of his seasoned gaze as he readied his blade again.

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