Chapter 32 – Aric
The night air was heavy with silence. They had made camp on the edge of a forest, the canopy swallowing the moonlight in jagged shadows. Aric sat cross-legged before the fire, watching the flames dance. His father had said nothing for hours, only sharpening a dull blade on a stone, the slow scrape echoing louder than the crackle of wood.
Finally, Daren broke the quiet. "Tell me, Aric—what's stronger? A sword or the hand that wields it?"
Aric hesitated. "The hand?"
"Wrong." Daren's voice cut like the blade he honed. "It's the mind. A sword without a hand is useless. A hand without thought is reckless. But a mind—" he tapped his temple with the stone, "—a mind shapes the battle before it begins."
Aric frowned. "So… strategy."
"Exactly." Daren set down the blade and leaned forward. "The system measures levels, ranks, and numbers. Most warriors believe that's all that matters. But battles aren't won by strength alone. A weaker fighter who knows how to think can kill giants."
Aric's chest tightened with memory—the chaos of the village, where brute force had crushed everything in its path. "Then teach me how to think like that."
Daren smirked faintly. "Good. We start small." He picked up a handful of stones and scattered them across the dirt between them. "These are enemies. This—" he set a single stone apart—"is you."
Aric leaned in, studying the arrangement.
"How would you win?" Daren asked.
Aric pointed at the lone stone. "I'd attack the closest one, then keep moving. Take them out one by one before they surround me."
"Typical answer." Daren swept half the stones into a tight cluster. "Now they're already grouped. You rush in, you're trapped. What then?"
Aric bit his lip. He picked up the lone stone and moved it in a wide arc. "Avoid them. Strike when they separate."
Daren's eyes gleamed. "Better. But remember—sometimes you don't need to strike at all. Sometimes, victory is not fighting where they expect."
He shifted stones again, drawing a rough circle. "Enemies often think in lines. Predictable. You must break their rhythm. Deception is your sharpest weapon. If you can make them believe you're weaker, slower, or distracted, you've already won before the first blow."
Aric's mind churned. "So… I should fight with tricks?"
"Not tricks." Daren's voice grew firmer. "Control. Every move you make should force your enemy to respond the way you want. Even retreat can be a weapon if it leads them into a trap."
Aric looked down at the stones. "But what if the enemy's stronger in every way? What if there's no way to win?"
"Then you survive." Daren's face hardened. "A dead hero is nothing. But a survivor learns, grows, and returns to fight smarter. Don't chase glory. Chase victory."
The fire popped between them, scattering sparks into the dark. Aric sat back, the lesson settling deep into him. It wasn't about fighting harder—it was about shaping the battlefield, about turning weakness into strength.
Daren stood and tossed him a stick. "Enough stones. Time for practice. Attack me."
Aric blinked. "With this? You've got a sword."
"That's the point." Daren raised his dulled blade, stance loose but unreadable. "Think. Don't fight me where I'm strongest. Outsmart me."
Aric swallowed and gripped the stick. He rushed forward, swinging at Daren's arm. In an instant, the blade smacked his stick aside, and the flat of the sword pressed against his chest.
"Dead," Daren said flatly.
Aric growled and tried again, circling this time. He jabbed low, feinted high, and darted back. Daren followed, steady, unshaken. Each strike was countered, each step predicted.
Minutes passed before Aric, panting, stumbled back. "I can't beat you."
Daren lowered his blade. "Not yet. But you learned something. You rushed less. You tested, adapted, retreated when needed. That's the seed of strategy. With time, it will grow."
Aric's frustration gave way to stubborn determination. "Then I'll keep trying. I'll find the flaw."
Daren's smirk returned, brief and approving. "Good. That's what it means to think like a warrior, not just fight like one. Remember this night, Aric. Strategy will save you long after strength fails."
Aric looked down at the stick in his hand. It didn't feel like a weapon. But for the first time, he understood—it could be, if his mind made it so.