After that, the group crossed Nishino Mountain and arrived at a port town, where they boarded a huge luxury ship that would take them to the land inhabited by the Lux Tribe.
When we arrived in town, I expected a panic to break out because of the monster Rigan, but perhaps due to his cute appearance, the townspeople seemed to think he was just a pet, and we managed to avoid trouble.
Since the two from another world and the monster Rigan obviously didn’t have any money, I had to cover the entire cost of the ship.
I had originally planned to save money and take a smaller vessel, but Zeke and Mao insisted, saying, “Since we finally have some time to relax after arriving in this world,” so we ended up taking the luxury ship.
I couldn’t help but wonder how these people had planned to travel without any money.
Anyway, it takes six days by ship to reach the Pred Continent, home of the Lux Tribe.
Even during this voyage, Zeke continued his training.
Blindfolded, he practiced identifying Mao’s magic.
He also practiced just staring out at the sea, lost in thought.
…But seriously, Zeke isn’t doing anything at all!
Feeling anxious about whether we could become stronger this way, Rigan and I spent our free time each day practicing real combat exercises together—but Rigan was far too weak, and it was hardly effective training.
During the designated training breaks, I faced Rigan on the deck, repeating strikes, thrusts, and blocks.
But the problem was obvious. He was enthusiastic, but his movements were uncoordinated.
“Here we go, Rigan!”
As I stepped in with my wooden sword, Rigan, holding his spear, jumped back with full force.
He jumped so far that he hit the low railing on the deck with a thud and froze, bowing his head.
His determination was admirable, but his body just couldn’t keep up.
He swung his spear with a serious expression, but every thrust missed.
Sometimes he barely brushed his own feet with the tip, losing balance and falling onto his backside.
When he tried to spin and step forward, the wind would throw him off balance.
No matter how many times I taught him, he couldn’t break the habit of swinging with his arms alone.
“Rigan, lower your hips, put your weight into it. Don’t just use your arms.”
“Yes…! (Thud!)”
He was giving it his all, which made it even more frustrating.
The more I taught him, the more his rough movements became apparent.
His timing was always late, and even when he blocked a strike, he couldn’t return it properly.
The training was so wild that even the passengers started to worry, and our sessions often drew attention.
When I launched a series of attacks, Rigan tried to defend in a panic, but ended up tripping over his own spear handle in a spectacular tumble.
Rolling across the deck, he shouted, “The ground is stronger!”—a scene more comedic than warrior-like.
Still, Rigan didn’t give up.
He struggled to his feet with his small body, eyes brimming with tears, and said, “I’ll become strong!” before trying again.
His determination was real, but I realized once more that strength is not only willpower—it also requires repetition, proper body mechanics, and learning from small failures.
Day Three of the Voyage
Feeling pity for us, Mao, who had nothing to do during the voyage, started giving us practical training sessions every day.
The first time I faced her directly, I was once again struck by the overwhelming difference.
Her movements were precise, fast, and her strikes hit like iron.
Even if she was holding back, every blow was accurate and merciless.
“Let’s go.”
The training began at her signal, a constant exchange of quick thrusts and precise counters.
Rigan was repeatedly knocked back, his stance broken, and when his guard was breached, he had no strength left to even kick off the deck.
Even I felt a sharp ache in my ribs after taking a few hits.
Rigan tried to push forward with brute force and was defeated faster.
A single punch from Mao left him exhaling white breath, collapsing onto the deck.
Still, with each session, Rigan’s movements gradually improved.
His thrusts, previously relying solely on his arms, began to use his hips and body weight, and the angles of his blocks became slightly sharper.
Small progress was visible.
Yet, no matter how much the two of us trained, our attacks couldn’t even graze Mao.
What kind of training had these two endured to become this strong?
Curious, Chris tried to observe their training, but Zeke and Mao weren’t actually practicing at all.
Most of their time was spent on the deck, just staring blankly at the sky and sea.
I began to think that those “blindfolded exercises” and “nature-sensing sessions” must be some meaningful accumulation of skill for them.
Zeke’s methods remained inscrutable, but Mao’s practical training relentlessly pushed Rigan and me forward.
Even though Rigan was weak, I believed that his perseverance and daily repetition would eventually bear fruit.
I watched as the ordinary days aboard the ship slowly began to shape them.
To be continued…
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