Reborn as an Adventurer: I Gain a Skill From Every Monster I Eat

Chapter 59: Chapter 59 — Named Techniques

Garrett was waiting for him at the training yard the following morning with a different bearing than usual — less the patient, corrective posture of foundational instruction, more the focused readiness of someone preparing to teach something that actually mattered.

”Foundation’s behind you now,” Garrett said, without preamble, as Arlen set down his gear. ”Confirmed Awakened, control solid, endurance beyond what your rank should manage. Time we moved past drilling stance and breathing.”

”What comes next?”

”Technique. Actual named forms, the kind that separate someone who’s simply strong from someone who fights with real skill.” Garrett drew his own practice blade, testing its weight with the ease of long habit. ”I’ll teach you two to start. Master these properly before I add anything further — rushing technique before it’s settled into your body does more harm than good.”

He demonstrated the first with unhurried precision, a controlled forward strike that gathered Aura along the blade’s edge in the final instant before impact, the weapon itself seeming to hum faintly with contained energy.

”Edgeline Strike,” Garrett said, resetting his stance. ”Channels Aura directly into the blade at the moment of contact, rather than simply reinforcing your body generally. Cuts deeper, hits harder, but costs considerably more control than what you’ve practiced so far. Get the timing wrong, and you’ll either waste the energy entirely or overextend your own balance trying to compensate.”

Arlen studied the motion carefully, the way Garrett’s body coiled and released in one fluid sequence, energy gathering and discharging with a precision that made the technique look deceptively simple.

”Try it,” Garrett said, stepping back.

Arlen’s first attempt was clumsy, the Aura gathering unevenly along his blade and dissipating before the strike properly landed, the whole motion feeling stilted compared to Garrett’s effortless demonstration.

”Again,” Garrett said, without any particular disappointment in his tone. ”This isn’t something you master on the first try. Nobody does.”

Arlen tried again, and again, the morning stretching into a grinding, repetitive rhythm that reminded him sharply of his very first weeks under Garrett’s instruction — stance, breathing, the same patient correction applied now to something considerably more demanding.

By his twentieth attempt, something began clicking into place, the timing of the release finally synchronizing properly with the strike itself, and the blade, for one brief, satisfying instant, hummed with the same faint, controlled energy he’d watched Garrett produce so effortlessly.

”There,” Garrett said, satisfaction evident in his weathered face. ”That’s the shape of it. Keep practicing that exact feeling until you can call it up reliably, not just when everything happens to align perfectly.”

”Good,” Garrett said, finally calling a halt once the sun had climbed well past midday. ”Better progress than I expected, though I won’t pretend that surprises me anymore, given everything else you’ve shown me.” He gestured for Arlen to rest a moment before continuing. ”Second technique’s defensive. Different discipline entirely — Edgeline Strike is about controlled release. This one’s about controlled absorption.”

He demonstrated, this time raising his blade in a guard position and allowing Arlen to strike at it directly, a faint shimmer of Aura gathering along the flat of Garrett’s weapon that visibly softened the impact, redirecting the force rather than simply blocking it outright.

”Aura Ward,” Garrett said, lowering his blade once Arlen’s strike had been absorbed and dispersed. ”Doesn’t stop an attack entirely, not against anything with real force behind it, but it takes the worst of the impact away from your own body, buys you time and stability you wouldn’t otherwise have.”

”Would that have helped, at Millbrook?”

Garrett’s expression sobered slightly at the question. ”Against something that size, hitting with that kind of force? Maybe. Wouldn’t have stopped it outright, but it might have meant the difference between broken ribs and something considerably worse. Worth learning properly, regardless of whether you ever face something like that again.”

Arlen took the lesson seriously, practicing the defensive technique with the same disciplined attention he’d given the offensive one, Garrett striking at him with careful, controlled force while Arlen worked to properly time the Aura’s gathering along his blade.

His first several attempts failed to gather the energy in time, Garrett’s strikes landing with their full, unmitigated force — not dangerous, given the practice blades and Garrett’s own careful restraint, but enough to leave Arlen’s arms aching with the accumulated impact.

”You’re anticipating too late,” Garrett said, after another failed attempt. ”The Ward needs to be already forming before contact, not reacting to it. Watch my stance, not just my blade. The tell’s in the shoulders, the moment before I actually commit to the strike.”

Arlen adjusted his focus, watching Garrett’s shoulders with the same careful, patient attention he’d once given badge colors from a wall near the western gate, and found, on his next attempt, the timing finally synchronizing properly — a faint shimmer gathering along his blade a half-second before Garrett’s strike connected, the impact considerably softened, absorbed rather than simply endured.

”Better,” Garrett said, genuine approval in his voice. ”That’s the foundation. Keep building on it.”

They continued through the afternoon, Arlen’s success rate improving gradually with each repetition, the grinding, deliberate pace of real technique-building settling into him with the same patient satisfaction he’d found in every disciplined pursuit throughout this second life of his.

By evening, exhausted in the particular, satisfying way that came from genuinely productive work rather than simple physical exertion, Arlen sat with Garrett on the low bench at the yard’s edge, both of them quiet for a while in the comfortable aftermath of a long day’s training.

”Two named techniques,” Garrett said finally. ”Edgeline Strike, Aura Ward. Master these properly — truly master them, not just manage them under controlled practice conditions — before you go looking for whatever new opportunities your confirmed status has opened up. Real danger doesn’t wait politely for you to remember your forms.”

”How long does mastery usually take?”

”Depends on the person. Some students take a year with just one technique. You, I suspect, considerably less, given everything else you’ve shown me.” Garrett studied him a moment, something almost affectionate beneath his usual gruff practicality. ”Doesn’t mean rush it, though. A technique half-learned is more dangerous than no technique at all — false confidence gets people killed faster than honest uncertainty does.”

”I understand.”

”Good.” Garrett rose, gathering his gear with the same unhurried efficiency he brought to everything. ”Same time, three days from now. Practice on your own between now and then — the forms, not just the concept. Muscle memory matters more than understanding, in the end.”

Arlen walked back toward the guild’s inn that evening with his arms aching pleasantly, two named techniques settling into his memory alongside four hidden abilities and months of hard-won, patient growth, and found himself, writing in his journal later that night, turning over the day’s progress with quiet, steady satisfaction.

Two named Aura techniques now — Edgeline Strike, for offense, and Aura Ward, for defense. Both still rough, unpolished, but the foundation’s there, and Garrett seems confident I’ll master them faster than most.

I keep thinking about his comment regarding Millbrook — that Aura Ward might have softened that impact, if I’d known it back then. I can’t change what happened, but I can make sure I’m considerably better prepared the next time something that dangerous crosses my path.

Real technique, properly earned through months of grinding, patient work. This is what I actually wanted, when I first sought out Garrett’s training — not just cover for what I already had, but genuine skill layered over everything else I’ve built. Tonight, more than almost any night since I registered at this guild, I feel like I’m becoming exactly the adventurer I always hoped I would.

He closed the journal, his body sore, his mind settled, and slept deeply that night, already looking forward to the disciplined, patient work still waiting for him in the days ahead.