Chapter 41: Training Dummies
Denvar stared at Derek, eyes wide in shock. ’Who the hell is this brat? How does he know about Damian?!’ he wondered inwardly.
"I’m not someone important," Derek said calmly, "but I can help you earn your pride back."
"You? A cultivator?" Denvar shot back, his voice laced with disbelief. "Where the hell did you hit your head to end up this delusional?" The mention of his brother had instantly sobered him up, his drunken haze evaporating like mist. But he still couldn’t take Derek seriously.
Derek rubbed his forehead in mild frustration. ’Why is it so hard to convince anyone without a damn show-off first?’ he muttered inwardly.
After a brief pause, he looked up and said, "There are testing dummies here, right? The ones used to measure and adjust sword balance based on a user’s height, muscle movement, and fighting style. Bring me the worst sword you’ve ever made and let’s go there."
Denvar scoffed. "Then what? Are you planning to bang your head against the dummy and cry when you can’t inflict any damage?" His tone dripped with mockery. There was no way he believed a cultivator of all people could wield a sword properly.
"Just come," Derek said firmly. "If I’m wrong, you’ll lose nothing but a few minutes of your precious time. But if I’m right... you’ll gain a chance to fulfill the one dream you’ve been chasing your whole life."
He paused, meeting Denvar’s eyes with quiet confidence. "Don’t you think that’s worth it?"
Denvar fell silent for a moment, his gaze drilling into Derek as if searching for any sign of deceit. After a long, measured pause he found no motive. What would a kid gain by lying about something like this?
"All right," he finally said.
He walked back into his hut and returned carrying a medium-length sword, nothing too heavy, nothing ornate. A perfect size so that Derek won’t face any problem wielding it even after his small frame. And then tossed it toward Derek. Derek caught it without effort.
"This isn’t the worst I’ve made, but it’s far from precious," Denvar said, studying Derek. "Show me something noticeable and I might start to trust you. But waste my time on purpose and be ready for a hard smack to the head. Not even your parents will be able to stop me, no matter who they are."
"Sure," Derek replied, smiling.
"Let’s go then. Show me what makes you so confident." Denvar turned and began to walk away without waiting for an answer.
Derek followed.
Ronald facepalmed and muttered, "What a waste of time," before trailing after them.
After only a short walk, they reached the farthest corner of the underground colony, directly opposite the place where the stairs to the surface stood.
Before them lay a small square arena. Fifteen training dummies stood there, each gripping a sword, their wooden frames gleaming faintly in the forge light.
Denvar was the first to arrive. He stopped at the edge of the arena and glanced back at Derek. "You ready?" he asked.
Derek nodded silently.
"Alright," Denvar said, turning toward a pillar standing at the edge of the arena. He then pressed a particular section of it. A moment later, one of the dummies began to move, joints creaking as if it had come to life.
Denvar looked back at Derek. "Go on."
"No." Derek didn’t move toward the arena. Instead, he looked straight at Denvar. "Activate all of them."
"W.. what? Are you out of your mind?" Denvar blurted out, startled. Ronald, who had just caught up to them also froze in disbelief.
"No," Derek said firmly. "I’m serious. Activate all fifteen."
Denvar’s brow furrowed. "You’re really here to mess around, huh? You think this is a joke? Even a D-class Auran wouldn’t dare to say something that ridiculous!" His voice carried a note of irritation now.
"Just do it, old man. You’ll see for yourself," Derek replied calmly.
"Who are you calling an old man? I’m still in my youth!" Denvar said shamelessly.
Derek blinked, genuinely stunned. "Youth? You’ve definitely had too much to drink today. Just activate them already."
"You! Fine!" Denvar snapped. "I’d love to see how long you can keep up your act."
He turned back to the panel and pressed another section. Instantly, all fifteen dummies began to move at once, their synchronized motions turning the small arena into a miniature battlefield of shifting blades.
"Hmph! Let’s see you cower now," Denvar sneered, smirking as he turned back. He was expecting Derek to retreat.
But to his and Ronald’s shock, Derek shot forward instead, gripping the sword Denvar had given him tightly as he charged into the midst of the moving dummies.
The instant Derek stepped into the arena, the air filled with the hiss of metal slicing through the air. Fifteen dummies lunged toward him at once.
Derek moved like a shadow, his body weaving between the incoming blades. Every dodge was narrow, calculated to the fraction of a second. A blade grazed his sleeve, another passed so close it stirred his hair. But his eyes remained calm, unblinking as if everything was under control.
Clang!
He deflected one strike with his sword, redirecting the force and twisting his body midair. The movement was so seamless that his feet barely touched the ground before he flipped backward, dodging another attack.
And then he swung his sword at another.
Crack!
The blade tore through the dummy’s wooden wrist. Its sword clattered uselessly to the ground.
Two more rushed from his flank. Derek spun, his sword carving a clean crescent through the air. One dummy’s wooden chest split open under the impact. It stopped moving.
The rest attacked relentlessly. Derek ducked under a swing, rolled forward, and used the momentum to vault off another dummy’s knee. His body twisted in midair like a dancer’s, the sword flashing in a blur of motion.
From the sidelines, Denvar’s smirk vanished, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief. "How... How is this possible?!"
Ronald’s condition was no better. "Shit! Will I really get any money?!"