The days that followed were a blur of healing and hesitant introductions. William’s wound, thanks to Elara’s expert care and the potent herbs Maya gathered, healed quickly. He spent his time exploring the small village of Willow Creek, learning the rhythms of their daily life.

He helped Gorn chop firewood, his initial clumsiness with the axe slowly giving way to a newfound strength. He assisted Elara in the garden, marveling at the strange and vibrant plants that grew in Aethel’s fertile soil. He even tried his hand at fishing in the nearby stream, though his attempts were met with more amusement than success.

Maya, true to her shy nature, mostly kept her distance. She would offer him a fleeting smile or a quick hello, but then disappear into the forest to tend to her own tasks, leaving William with a lingering sense of curiosity and a touch of disappointment.

Gorn, on the other hand, seemed to take a liking to William. He saw a spark of determination in the young man’s eyes, a resilience that reminded him of himself. One afternoon, as they were sparring with wooden practice swords, Gorn turned to William with a proposition.

“You’re surprisingly quick, William,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Have you had any real sword training before?”

William, eager to impress and perhaps a bit too proud, blurted out, “My father taught me a little.” It was a complete fabrication, of course. His father, a mild-mannered accountant, wouldn’t know the sharp end of a sword from a butter knife.

Gorn’s eyes lit up. “A nobleman’s training, eh? It shows. But there’s a difference between parlor tricks and true combat.” He gestured towards a clearing behind the cottage. “Come, I’ll show you a few things.”

William’s heart sank. He had painted himself into a corner. As they entered the clearing, Gorn tossed him a wooden sword. William fumbled with it, his grip awkward and unsure.

“Show me your stance,” Gorn instructed.

William tried to remember the sword-fighting scenes from his favorite movies, striking a pose that he hoped looked somewhat convincing. Gorn, however, saw right through him.

“That’s… interesting,” Gorn said, his voice laced with amusement. “But it wouldn’t last a second against a real opponent.”

He stepped closer, adjusting William’s grip and posture. “Hold it like this. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Always be ready to move, to react.”

William tried to follow Gorn’s instructions, but his movements were stiff and clumsy. He felt like a scarecrow trying to dance.

Gorn sighed. “William,” he said, his voice gentle but firm, “there’s no shame in not knowing something. But there is shame in lying about it.”

William’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I… I’m sorry, Gorn,” he stammered. “I just wanted to…”

“Impress me?” Gorn finished his sentence. “There’s no need for that, lad. I respect honesty more than any feigned skill.”

He clapped William on the shoulder. “Now, let’s start from the beginning. Forget what you think you know, and I’ll teach you the true way of the sword.”

Relieved and humbled, William nodded eagerly. He had been caught in his lie, but it had opened the door to genuine learning. And as Gorn patiently guided him through the basic stances and strikes, William felt a newfound respect for the art of swordsmanship, and for the man who was willing to teach him.

*

The afternoon sun beat down on the clearing as Gorn put William through his paces. “Again!” he barked, as William stumbled through a clumsy lunge. “Footwork! You’re moving like an ox with two left feet!”

William gritted his teeth, sweat stinging his eyes. His muscles burned, his lungs screamed for air, and his pride was taking a serious beating. “How am I supposed to learn this in one afternoon?” he gasped, barely managing to parry Gorn’s next strike.

“By doing it again, and again, and again!” Gorn roared back. “A warrior doesn’t give up after the first stumble!”

He continued to press William, correcting his grip, his stance, his every move. William, though exhausted and frustrated, found a stubborn determination rising within him. He wouldn’t quit. He wouldn’t let Gorn down.

As the hours passed, something remarkable began to happen. William’s movements, though still rough, became more fluid, more precise. His reflexes sharpened, his strikes gained power. He started anticipating Gorn’s attacks, even managing to land a few blows of his own.

Gorn’s eyes widened in surprise. “Where did that come from?” he exclaimed, barely parrying a surprisingly swift strike from William. “You’re a natural, lad!”

William grinned, a surge of exhilaration coursing through him. He hadn’t realized how much his attributes had been enhanced by the summoning. His agility, once only useful for climbing trees and escaping bullies, was now a real asset in combat.

“Again!” William shouted, his voice filled with newfound confidence.

They continued to spar, their movements a blur of wood and sweat. By the time the sun began to set, William was exhausted but triumphant. He had faced a challenge, pushed himself beyond his limits, and discovered a hidden talent.

Gorn clapped him on the back, a broad smile on his face. “Well done, lad! You’ve got the makings of a fine warrior.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “William, I have a proposition for you.”

William looked at him expectantly.

“Willow Creek needs a new hunter,” Gorn said. “Someone to protect the village from the dangers of the forest. Someone with courage and skill.” He met William’s gaze. “Would you be interested?”

A wave of warmth washed over William. He had been cast out, rejected, deemed unworthy. But here, in this small village, he had found acceptance, a purpose, a chance to prove himself.

“Yes, Gorn,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude and determination. “I would be honored.”

The walk back to the cottage was filled with a comfortable silence. William, exhausted but invigorated, felt a newfound respect for Gorn, not just as a warrior but as a mentor. He had been harsh but fair, pushing William to his limits while offering guidance and encouragement.

As they approached the village, the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat filled the air, a comforting welcome after the long afternoon. William’s stomach rumbled in anticipation of Elara’s hearty cooking.

Unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes watched them from the shadows of the forest. A figure, cloaked in darkness, stood silently among the trees, its gaze fixed on William. A low whisper, like the rustling of leaves, escaped its lips.

“A hero is here…”

The figure melted back into the darkness, leaving no trace of its presence. William and Gorn, oblivious to the unseen observer, continued their journey home, unaware of the shadows that were gathering around them.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep