A week has passed.
Although there has been no progress in restoration magic, my control over other types of magic, such as freezing, fire, and even lightning, has improved. This has allowed me to use more powerful variations, such as ice spears.
Using Skyrim's basic classification, I would be an expert in frost magic. Apprentice in the magic of fire and lightning… I have a certain preference after all — ice magic has the ability to damage life and stamina, as well as slow down the target.
I remember there were other skills in the destruction category, but I always preferred to use melee and archery. Ironically, when it came to magic, I only used restoration and enchantment.
How things change, eh?
Kato goes to see the knight's progress.
This week, I discovered that I no longer need to sleep, eat, or drink… I can still do those things, but I don't need to. I have mixed feelings about it.
On the one hand, it's convenient, but on the other, I feel that stopping doing these things that are so normal and part of everyday life will make me lose something.
And again — whatever this is, I don't know.
Frowning slightly, I pause in my tracks, let out a slight but heavy sigh, and resume my way to the dungeons.
This week, the Knight has shown determination in the simple but essential task of gaining strength. It makes me wonder why, even though he has sworn loyalty, this determination exudes passion and purpose.
Looking back, I never told him the reason for all this — why we are preparing ourselves — and yet he obeys without complaint.
Honestly, faced with such a character, I can't help but feel ashamed of how whiny I'm being.
I must stop worrying about things I can't change.
When I reach the dungeon, I see the cells. With the knight's progress, I had to summon four more troll mothers. The knight's speed has truly reached a frightening level.
When I turn to the far side opposite the cells, I see the knight putting away his bow and heading in my direction.
"Hey, how are you doing?"
The Knight simply shows me his stats screen.
That's not what I meant, but it has been a while since I saw this.
Gray Knight
Level: 20
Strength: 6 (+ 1)
Defense: 11 (+ 1)
Speed: 25
Equipment: Sheathed Sword( +1 Strength, +1 Defense)
"Wow, you went all out on speed. And you're not bad at defense either. Well, right now I'm aiming to become a glass canon, so focusing on defense should be your priority for now."
At my words, the gentleman gives me a look that, for the first time, I cannot quite interpret.
"What, do I have something on my face?"
He seems to think for a moment, then for the first time he unsheathes his sword and points it at me. Before I can even worry, he points it in the same way at… the farm.
"Do you want me to fight? I don't really care, believe it or not — I'm already at peace with my decision."
He simply turns around and goes to a chest, from which he takes out what appears to be your typical iron mace that you can find anywhere in Skyrim. And he points the handle of this at me.
My body moves before my mind can think. As I grab the mace, a strange familiarity washes over me.
How many times, thinking that someone had broken in to steal, have I grabbed the first thing I could find to use as a club while I hid and waited in a corner, listening intently for any sound?
A mace and a club — they're not really that different, are they? Both can be used with one hand, and both use the simple but effective principle of swinging and striking with pure force.
As I unconsciously caress the mace, the knight who had left for a moment returns to me. With one hand, he pinned a troll's arms behind its back.
Shaken out of my nostalgia, I see the knight, I see the troll, and finally I see the mace.
"Now I know what you want. I would ask you why, but I know you couldn't tell me."
The knight has been helping me all this time, and I know where his loyalty lies… I don't understand why you want me to do this, but I trust it's for my own good, right?
He nods at me slightly, and steps back, creating distance between the troll and me.
When he lets go, the troll runs towards me. Surprised by his speed, I swing my mace vertically. But because the troll is so small, I misjudge the timing and miss, leaving an opening.
The troll viciously raises its fist and lunges at me. My body, remembering the previous time, instinctively relaxes my posture so that instead of receiving the full force of the blow, it pushes me.
Feeling the blow, my breath catches slightly, but without daring to rest, before the troll hits the ground, I resume the same attack, this time hitting it squarely on the skull.
The sensation of the skull breaking, the splatter of blood along with its rapidly cooling warmth. It leaves my hand numb.
With the other, I touch my cheek and feel the stickiness of his blood.
I close my eyes as I slowly regain control of my labored breathing.
So this is what it feels like.
Taking a life.
When I open my eyes, I see the Knight standing before me. He wipes my cheek and extends his bloodied hand toward me.
I stare at it for several seconds…
…then take it.