Chapter 108 – Two Students Learning to became Immovable
Chapter 108
Two Students Learning to became Immovable
Date : Day 15 of Grimleaf 1024 Aethellgard Concord Year.
Hyoren woke up the next morning. Feeling peaceful. Elise was in his arms—her body warm against his. Her breathing was soft and steady. He could feel the scar on her torso and her wrist—the ridges of healed skin faint beneath his fingertips. But he found himself starting to accept it as part of her charm. She might not be unblemished anymore. But it didn't affect her beauty at all—it even elevated it. Like a warrior princess—decorated with scars that told stories of survival.
He nudged Elise gently. Trying to wake her. She mumbled something inaudible—her sleepy voice barely forming words. Her eyelids fluttered—once, twice—until her emerald eyes found Hyoren. She smiled.
"Morning, Hyoren…"
She rubbed her eyes. The gesture was endearing—childlike in her drowsiness.
"I slept so good. Now I feel light. Way lighter. I think I have almost fully recovered."
Hyoren smiled back at her. The warmth of the moment settling in his chest.
"Good Morning, Elise. I'm glad you slept well. But please… don't strain your body yet. You might have already recovered. But just in case… we should not do any quest until the team to scout the dungeon comes from Harvengald."
Elise nodded. Her finger traced lazy patterns on his chest—the touch feather-light and absent minded.
"Fine… fine… it seems my lover was too worrywart. Fufu."
Both of them then stood. Elise took the nightgown which was discarded on the floor at the heat of last night moment—the fabric was so thin. It was not for everyday wear. She tossed it back on the bed, will change to something else later, and walked to the bathroom without bothering to dress first.
The morning light caught her figure—making her look ethereal.
Hyoren chuckled. He quickly wore his everyday clothes which scattered on the floor around the bed. Shirt. Trouser. Then followed Elise to the bathroom.
She was fighting with her tangled disheveled hair—her fingers working through the knots with practiced patience. Hyoren then washed his face, fixed his hair. He felt his stubble had already grown so much after one week not shaved—the rough bristle scratching against his palm. He shaved it carefully—the razor gliding across his jaw.
Both of them did their morning routine at almost the same time.
Elise's silver hair was already neat—she let it loose, without tying it on a ponytail like when she was going to quest. There was no need for practicality today, so she went with this kind of hairstyle. There was no trace of sleep on her face anymore. Hyoren's face was also cleanly shaved, and his now long black hair tied on a simple tail at the nape of his neck.
They went back to their bedroom. Elise took clothes from her storage bag. Her leather armor was torn—so she didn't have armor. She picked a green blouse and skirt instead. It was comfy and should be warm enough in this chilly autumn weather.
Hyoren asked Elise.
"Elise, today I would start training with Ronald. What do you plan to do?"
He gestured at her.
"Your bow snapped and armor torn… are you going to buy them? We have quite a bit of money now, maybe you could get a better one?"
Hyoren thought about the reward from their recent quest. Over 13 Million Kres. It should be enough to buy good armor and bow with a lot of change.
Elise shook her head. Her silver hair swayed with the motion—catching the morning light.
"Maybe later, i will go to Jena to discuss about my armor."
She smiled at him—the expression soft and genuine.
"But today, I think i will watch you train, Hyoren. Think of it as my rest day too."
Hyoren nodded. Agreeing with her.
"That's a good idea. Resting."
He looked outside—the dual suns of Kresneger started to rise. Streaks of silver and gold peeked from the horizon—painting the sky in soft hues.
"But it would be boring right?"
Elise giggled. Her pointed ears twitched with amusement.
"Watching you would never become boring, Hyoren. Fufu."
Hyoren scratched his cheek. Amused.
"If you said so, Elise. Haha…"
Both of them then left their room. Elise locked their room with an ornate brass key—the metal cool against her palm.
They went downstairs to the dining room. The dining room was sparse—most guests haven't eaten yet. It was still early. The smell of fresh bread and simmering soup wafted through the air—warm and inviting.
Martha greeted them. Her round face broke into a warm smile—the expression motherly and welcoming.
And quickly gave them breakfast. A warm meat and vegetable soup—the steam rising from the bowl in gentle curls.
Hyoren and Elise thanked her, then ate. The soup was hearty—the broth rich with herbs and tender chunks of meat.
He scooped his soup and looked up.
"Where is Ronald, Martha?"
Martha smiled.
"He already finished eating just a few minutes ago. And went to our backyard. Preparing training he said."
Hyoren nodded.
"I see. I should hurry then. I don't want him to wait for too long."
Martha chuckled. Her motherlike voice filled the air—warm and teasing.
"Now now. Don't need to hurry. He said he needs to prepare a lot of things first. Take your time."
She then looked at Elise. She was worried about her—her gaze scanning the elf's frame.
"Elise, dear. Are you sure your body was fine?"
She chewed and swallowed before answering.
"Yes, Martha. I felt good. Oria's potion combined with Archbishop Sherine's advanced healing magic. Those two already fully healed me. Why though?"
She tilted her head. She already told Martha she was fine last night.
Martha giggled. And leaned forward—her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Because everyone heard your scream last night. I was almost worried your wound got worse or something, and wanted to check your room."
She paused. Her smile widened.
"But before I could knock… I heard… moan… I instantly knew why you screamed. And turns out you are fine. Just excited. Very excited. Haha."
She giggled then looked at them with warm eyes.
"I knew you two were healthy lovers. But please be mindful about your sound while… doing… those.. Ok? The other guests might think you two are wrestling with goblins in your room otherwise."
Both Hyoren and Elise flushed red. Their faces were as red as tomatoes. Elise's pointed ears kept twitching uncontrollably—the tips burning with embarrassment. Her mouth opened and parted in quick motion. Speechless.
Their passionate night were too passionate. Over a week in the quest. And near-death experience, making them not holding back. They needed the connection. They needed the warmth. But it seems they was too pasionate.
Hyoren coughed. The sound was awkward—trying to dispel the tension.
"Will do. Martha… we will be more careful… next time."
Martha giggling. Then she went back to the kitchen—her laughter echoing softly behind her.
Hyoren and Elise quickly finished their breakfast. They didn't want to think about it—the heat still lingering on their cheeks.
After finishing breakfast, they quickly exited the common room. Trying to escape it. And they went to the backyard—the cool morning air rushing against their still-warm faces.
***
The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Hyoren and Elise arrived in the backyard of Wanderer's Rest. The sky was painted in shades of gold and silver—the dual suns of Kresneger rising slowly above the rooftops of Akela.
The air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint smell of bread baking from a nearby bakery. Dew still clung to the grass beneath their feet—the moisture seeping through Hyoren's boots with each step.
Ronald Powell stood in the middle of the yard—a mountain of a man with broad shoulders and arms thick as tree trunks.
His bronze skin gleamed with a light sheen of sweat even though they had just begun. Short brown hair was cropped close to his scalp, and a thick beard covered his jaw—speckled with grey at the edges. He wore simple training clothes—a sleeveless tunic and loose trousers—but even in casual attire, he carried himself with the confidence of someone who had seen countless battles. His boots were planted firmly on the grass—roots spreading beneath his weight.
In his hands, he held a wooden practice sword and a wooden shield. The training equipment was battered—covered in nicks and scratches from years of use. But it was solid. Dependable. The wood was darkened from countless grips—polished by palms that had held it through endless sessions.
But to Hyoren and Elise's surprise, he was not alone. And he was arguing with someone.
Reon was there too. She was a young girl, barely approaching twenty years old. Daughter of Martha and Ronald. She had an aspiration to follow her father's path. But her father didn't let her.
She stood in front of Ronald.
Her shoulder length brown hair glimmered in morning light. She wearing clothes suited for training—a fitted tunic that allowed movement and trousers tucked into sturdy boots. Eager. Her stance was firm—hands planted on her hips. Her chest heaved with frustration—each breath visible in the cool morning air.
"Reon, please don't be unreasonable…"
Reon cheeks puffed out in frustration—the flush spreading across her face. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
"It's you Papa who are being unreasonable. Mother already gave permission to me. Why are you being stubborn?"
She pointed at her father. The accusation was sharp—her voice rising with each word.
"You always refuse to train me, and now, you are suddenly going to train a stranger. That's unfair! My patience ran low!"
Ronald sighed. The sound was heavy—weary. His broad shoulders rose and fell with the exhale. His eyes closed briefly—a father's exhaustion on full display.
"Reon, adventurer work is dangerous and hard work. You should help your mother in this inn, in the safety of the city wall. Your mother will be lonely too if no one is going to inherit this inn."
Reon crossed her arms. Her jaw set with determination—chin raised in defiance.
"That should be fine. I knew you two keep going every night, trying to give me brother or sister right? Then they could inherit this inn!"
Ronald sighed again. He was defeated. His shoulders slumped slightly—the fight draining out of him. His hand rose to rub the back of his neck—a gesture of surrender.
Elise walked over, then smiled at Ronald. The expression was warm but knowing—her emerald eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Ronald, you couldn't win. Just give up. I saw Reon for a few years already. She was more suited to adventuring work with her dedication. She couldn't properly help in the Inn anyway, right?"
She knew Reon was bad at customer service—she was clumsy and stutter when facing stranger. And her cooking was also not as good as Martha despite her teaching. She was bad at domestic chores—the kind of work that required in the inn.
"Her posture, gait, and build are also more suited to adventuring work."
As Elise pointed out, Reon was shy—her cheeks flushing pink at the attention. But she was quite tall—nearly reaching her father's shoulder—and her muscles were quite toned. Not dainty like a town girl. Might be genetics from Ronald. Her arms had the definition of someone who had been swinging practice weapons in secret.
Ronald sighed again. The sound was resigned—another breath escaping his lungs.
"Even you said that. What did I do wrong with this girl's teaching?"
Elise giggled. Her pointed ears twitched with amusement.
"She watched your work. And admired you. There is no way she's not going to follow your path. Fufu."
Ronald then looked at Reon. Seriously. His eyes were stern—carrying the weight of a father's concern. His brow furrowed—the lines deep and weathered.
"Fine. I will start to train you. But my training is harsh. And I won't help you find your own party. You couldn't just leech off. You should grow with your own comrade. Understand?"
Ronald knew—leeching off high rank parties was bad for growth. They might become overconfident. Then killed. It was better to grow alongside party members. The lesson was etched into his memory—carved by the graves of those who learned too late.
Reon nodded enthusiastically. Her face lit up with joy—a smile breaking across her features like sunrise. Her hands clasped together in front of her chest.
"Will do, Papa! Understand!"
Ronald then looked at Hyoren. His gaze was assessing—measuring. The weight of his stare pressed against Hyoren's shoulders.
"And you, Lad. Are you really sure? Because switching fighting styles was not easy."
Hyoren nodded. He glanced at Elise for a bit—her emerald eyes meeting his briefly—before facing Ronald again. His dark eyes were full of determination. Unwavering.
"I already decided, Ronald. I would become a guardian. So Elise would never get hurt anymore."
Ronald held his gaze for a moment—searching. Then he nodded slowly. He turned and walked toward a rack of training equipment leaning against the wooden fence. His boots crunched against the grass. He selected two training swords and a training shield—examining each one with a practiced eye before holding them out.
"Here, Reon, Lad. Feel the sword and shield first."
Hyoren took the sword and shield. The weight was unfamiliar in his hand.
He was used to the long shaft of a spear—the reach, the leverage, the way it extended his body. This was different. The sword was compact. Heavy in a way that felt wrong. The balance was strange—weighted toward the blade rather than distributed along a longer shaft. His fingers adjusted around the hilt—gripping, releasing, gripping again. The wood was smooth from use—polished by countless hands before his.
Reon also took her set. She looked comfortable with it—her grip sure and practiced. The sword sat naturally in her palm. Her stance shifted into something more balanced—more ready. Ronald watched her from the corner of his eye. He guessed she was training behind his back.
He exhaled weary sigh.
Elise smiled at them. Warmly. She then went to a bench in the corner of the backyard—the wood creaking softly as she sat. She leaned back against the wall—her posture relaxed but attentive. Her emerald eyes followed every movement—watching the two students with quiet interest.
Ronald looked at Hyoren, ignoring his daughter for now. His eyes were sharp—reading the hesitation in the young man's stance. The way his weight shifted. The way his grip kept adjusting.
"The spear was your weapon, huh?"
Ronald had seen Hyoren's hesitation. The way his hand adjusted around the hilt. The slight frown on his face. The unconscious lean—his body still angled for thrusting rather than cutting.
"I could tell. You carry yourself like a speed fighter. Light on your feet. Quick to move. But that won't work for a tank."
Hyoren adjusted his grip. His fingers wrapped around the wooden hilt—testing the feel. The grain was rough against his palm. He rolled his wrist—feeling the weight shift in the blade.
"I know. That's why I asked you to train me."
Ronald nodded slowly. He held up his own shield—the wood scarred from countless impacts. The surface was dented and worn.
He looked at Reon and Hyoren. His voice was firm—carrying the authority of experience. It cut through the morning air—clear and commanding.
"Reon, Lad. Being a tank isn't just about holding a shield. It's about being the wall. The anchor. While everyone else moves around you—you stand firm. You take the hits. You protect your party."
He tapped the shield with his knuckles. The sound was solid—a dull thud that resonated in the morning air. The vibration traveled through the wood—palpable even from where Hyoren stood.
"Your job isn't to kill. It's to make sure everyone else can do their job without dying."
Reon and Hyoren nodded. They listened carefully—absorbing every word.
Hyoren understood the concept. But understanding and doing were two different things. The weight of the shield in his hand was a reminder of that difference.
"Where do we start?"
Ronald's lips curled into something between a smile and a grimace. The expression was knowing—a teacher about to test his students. His eyes glinted with something sharp—anticipation.
"First things first. The most important thing for being a tank. What is it?"
Hyoren tilted his head. The question caught him off guard. He shifted his weight—his boots pressing into the damp grass.
"Err. Shield?"
A shield was needed of course to tank enemy attacks. The wooden shield in his hand felt heavy—solid. It seemed like the obvious answer.
Ronald shook his head. The motion was slow—deliberate. His beard shifted with the movement.
"Of course a shield was needed. But even with a shield, there are more important things."
Reon jumped. Her hand shot up—eager to answer. Her boots scraped against the ground as she shifted her stance.
"I know Papa! Stance!"
Ronald smiled warmly. Pride flickered in his eyes—brief but genuine. The corner of his mouth lifted—softening the hard lines of his face.
"That's right."
He then looked at Hyoren. Who started to grasp it. The realization dawning slowly—piece by piece.
"As Reon said. Stance was the most important thing for becoming a tank."
***
The stance was everything, according to Ronald. The foundation of all tanking. Without it, nothing else mattered.
Ronald demonstrated.
His feet were planted shoulder-width apart—knees slightly bent. His weight was centered—not too far forward, not too far back. The shield was held in front of his body—covering his torso and part of his face. The sword was positioned at his side—ready to strike but not extended. The morning light caught the edge of the wooden shield—highlighting the nicks and scratches that scarred its surface.
"Reon, Lad. See how I'm standing? This is your default position. You can move from here. You can attack from here. You can block from here. But you always come back to this."
He shifted—demonstrating how to move without losing balance. A step forward. A step back. A pivot to the side. Each movement was controlled—deliberate. His boots scraped against the packed earth—the sound rhythmic and steady.
"A speed fighter dances around their enemy. A tank plants itself in front of them."
Hyoren and Reon watched carefully. He noted the positioning of Ronald's feet. The angle of his knees. The way his shoulders were squared. The way his weight seemed rooted to the ground—immovable as a mountain.
"Now you try."
Hyoren assumed the stance. His feet moved into position—shifting across the grass. His knees bent. He raised the wooden shield—the weight pulling at his shoulder immediately.
Ronald walked around him—examining his posture from every angle. His footsteps crunched on the packed earth of the backyard. The sound was measured—each step purposeful.
"Your feet are too close together. Widen them."
Hyoren adjusted. His feet shifted outward—the grass bending beneath his soles.
"More. That's not enough. You want a solid base—if someone pushes you, they should have to work for it."
Hyoren widened his stance further. His thighs burned slightly from the unfamiliar position. The stretch pulled at muscles he didn't normally use.
"Now your shield. You're holding it like you're afraid of it. Press it against your forearm. Feel the weight. Make it part of you."
The shield was heavier than Hyoren expected. Wooden, yes—but thick and reinforced. It pressed against his forearm—a constant presence. The leather strap dug slightly into his skin—the sensation unfamiliar and persistent.
"Good. Now your sword. Don't hold it so tight. You'll tire yourself out before the fight even starts. Firm grip… but not strangling."
Hyoren loosened his fingers slightly. The sword settled into a more natural position—the weight redistributing across his palm.
Ronald completed his circuit—standing in front of Hyoren again. His eyes swept over the stance one final time—assessing.
"Now hold that position. Don't move."
Hyoren held. His body was frozen in the stance—muscles straining to maintain the unfamiliar posture. The morning air filled his lungs—cool and crisp against his skin.
Ronald then focused his attention on Reon.
She stood tall with a similar stance to his example. Her feet were planted firmly—her shield positioned correctly against her forearm. She was natural at this. Her breathing was steady—controlled.
"Reon… Did you train behind my back? This was like… almost perfect."
Reon smiled while keeping her stance. The corner of her lips curled upward—pride flickering in her eyes.
"I always watched you, Papa. I always watched you train here in the backyard. And when you went adventuring. I took your training sword and shield and train by myself."
Ronald sighed. The sound was heavy—resigned. No wonder she was already good at it.
"It's almost perfect. But it seems you took a bad habit. Training alone might produce this. Time to fix it."
He fixed Reon's stance. Adjusting her shield arm—his large hand guiding her elbow into the correct position. Telling her to widen her leg a bit—his boot tapping against her ankle to nudge it outward. She absorbed each correction—adjusting without complaint.
Ronald then shifted his focus back to Hyoren—observing him.
Minutes passed. The sun climbed higher in the sky. The warmth spread across Hyoren's skin—beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The moisture rolled down his temple—tracing a path along his jaw. His thighs began to tremble. His shoulders ached from holding the shield aloft. The weight seemed to grow with each passing moment—heavier and heavier.
A similar thing happened on Reon's side. Her arms shook slightly—the shield wobbling in her grip. But she held firm—her jaw set with determination.
Ronald noticed it. His eyes swept over both of them—reading the strain in their bodies.
"Reon, Lad. Hurting yet?"
Hyoren's jaw was clenched. His voice came out tight—forced through gritted teeth.
"Yes."
Reon's voice was a bit cracked—strained but determined.
"Yes, Papa. But I can still go!"
Ronald nodded.
"Good. Pain is your teacher. Remember this feeling—because when you're in the middle of a fight and everything is chaos, you need to be able to hold this position without thinking. Your body needs to know this stance better than your mind does."
He circled Hyoren again—this time nudging his shoulder with a wooden practice sword. The impact was light—testing. The wood tapped against his deltoid—a gentle push that nonetheless shifted his balance.
"If I push you now, you'll fall. Your core isn't engaged. Tighten your stomach. Lock your hips."
Hyoren adjusted. His abdominal muscles tightened—his stomach hardening beneath his tunic. His hips shifted slightly—pressing forward into a more stable position.
"There. Better. Now hold."
More time passed. Hyoren's legs shook. His arms burned. The weight of the shield seemed to multiply with each passing moment. Sweat dripped down his back—soaking into his tunic. His breath came in measured exhales—each one a small victory against the strain.
He had held a spear before—felt the strain of combat. But this was different. The spear was extended and flowing. The shield was resistance and endurance. His body was not used to this kind of static strain. Every muscle screamed for release—but he held.
"You're thinking too much."
Ronald's voice cut through his concentration. The words were sharp—pulling him back to the present.
"Your face is scrunched up. Your shoulders are rising toward your ears. Relax. Breathe."
Hyoren exhaled slowly. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath. The air rushed out of his lungs—carrying the tension with it.
"The stance should be natural. Like standing. You don't think about standing—you just stand. The stance should be the same. It's just standing... with purpose."
He shifted his focus on Reon. Unlike Hyoren, she didn't need much correction. Her breathing was steadier—her form more relaxed despite the strain. He was proud of his daughter. Despite his reluctance to let her become an adventurer.
Father's feelings were complicated.
The sun continued its climb. The backyard of Wanderer's Rest was quiet in the early morning—most of the city still asleep. Only the distant sounds of vendors setting up their stalls reached them. The clatter of crates. The murmur of voices. The occasional clang of metal on metal. And Elise on the bench watching them with a warm expression—her emerald eyes tracking every movement.
Ronald felt it was enough.
"Alright. Drop."
Hyoren's arms fell. The shield swung to his side—the sudden release sending a wave of relief through his shoulders. His legs straightened. He exhaled—long and shaky. The breath came out in a rush—carrying the accumulated tension of the hold.
Reon on his side also relaxed her posture. She was experienced at this, despite training alone. Her arms lowered with more control—her body transitioning out of the stance with practiced ease.
"That's enough for stance training. Tomorrow, we'll do it again. And the day after. Until your body knows it better than your own name."
Hyoren and Reon exhaled relieved sighs. Then both stretched their limbs—arms reaching toward the sky, torsos twisting side to side. The pops and cracks of joints releasing filled the morning air.
They exchanged glances and laughed. An odd camaraderie started to grow between them. Two students who started learning the same thing.