Different Form of Learning

Quentin leaned in towards me, his mysterious eyes observing me, and asked, "What is stirring the fire within you today? You're extra motivated than normal."

I stabbed forward with the wooden sword, my movements sharp and precise, and replied, "You're able to tell?"

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze penetrating. "Even when you try to hide your emotions with a shut mind, your weapon betrays your emotions because you and the blade become one when you wield it. So, what is it?"

I hesitated for a moment before responding, "I... I have a new sister."

"Ah, your mother's pregnant? Congratulations are in order," Quentin said with the same voice as normal.

I shook my head.

"No she's not pregnant but instead, they decided to adopt a new child."

"Adoption? Now why would they do that?" asked Quentin, placing a finger on his chin as if coming up with theories in his head.

After a while, he asked, "So does that mean you're stressed about having a new sister?"

'It's not the fact of having a new sibling that troubles me. It's who she is.'

I couldn't fully trust Quentin with the truth, even though he seemed trustworthy. So, I simply shrugged, and responded, "No," hoping to deflect his further questions.

Quentin looked puzzled by what had me moving with extra torque. "It can't be happiness," he commented. "I can tell when people are happy. Hmm..."

Yesterday, as I entered the meeting room alongside Father, his expression showed his confusion when he noticed I had brought two uninvited guests with me.

Although he recognized them, as they were invited to the party, he had assumed our meeting would be something casual, just a private conversation between Father and Son.

After the married couple explained the situation to Father, he wasted no time in asking where the angel child was, ready to dispatch a group of bodyguards to ensure their safety.

"No, uhm... the child is here with us at this party. We thought it wouldn't be safe to leave them alone at our home," Sofia explained.

Father promptly requested they bring the child into the room, and a few minutes later, the husband returned, accompanied by a face I was quite familiar with.

Confused as to why her friend was being led somewhere, Rubi followed them closely and invited herself into the meeting room.

"Daddy, why did you call for my friend?" she asked innocently.

And there she stood, the pink-haired girl I had believed was a fairy an hour ago.

Was this a mere coincidence?

When I asked Rubi where she had encountered this child, she responded that she had met her in her dreams.

"In your dreams?" I asked, puzzled by the implications. "So tonight was the first time you saw her in person?"

Rubi nodded, unaware of how abnormal the situation was.

I couldn't help but wonder about the connection between this angel child and Rubi.

'Surely that this isn't just a coincidence. What is the world trying to tell me?' I pondered.

Turning to the child, whom I learned was named Eloise by the married couple when they picked her up from a crater a few weeks ago, I asked her why she had been visiting my sister in her dreams.

She shook her head and replied, "I don't remember."

Though I remained skeptical, knowing an angel represented purity and one of their traits was honesty to the point of being brutally honest, I could only assume she spoke the truth.

"How can we be sure she's truly an angel?" Father inquired after persuading Rubi to leave the room. He couldn't risk her accidentally revealing her best friend's true identity. "She just looks like a normal child to me."

Sofia knelt down, looking up at Eloise with warm eyes, and asked, "Could you demonstrate for them?"

Eloise nodded and closed her eyes, clasping her hands together as if in prayer.

Her head tilted upward, and a divine radiance enveloped her body, transforming her pink hair into golden and white hair. A halo appeared above her head and majestic white wings unfurled from her back.

This portrayal matched the descriptions of angels in ancient texts and the popular depictions of angels on Earth.

To differentiate Eloise from fallen angels, her eyes turned golden, and gazing into them evoked a sense of peace and hope, a feeling that dissipated once you averted your gaze.

A fallen angel's eyes are a diluted grey and looking into them invokes nothing.

"That does match the description of angels," said Father. He looked disappointed, almost as if he wished that Eloise was just a regular human.

"Alright, that's sufficient. Thank you, Eloise," Sofia said.

In an instant, Eloise returned to her normal state, her pink hair and black eyes restored.

Father addressed Eloise, his voice filled with curiosity. "Do you know who you are?"

Once again, she shook her head.

"Do you know why you're here, rather than up there?" he asked, pointing towards the heavens.

Another shake of her head.

"Why now? After all these years..." Father muttered to himself.

His gaze then shifted to Mother, who had been present throughout the entire encounter. After contemplating for a while, he motioned for Cyro and me to leave the meeting room.

An hour later, the two married couples emerged from the room, and with the announcement of the party's conclusion, guests began to depart. Once the mansion emptied, Mother gathered the three of us siblings and shared the news — she and Father had decided to adopt Eloise.

Rubi, elated at the prospect of her best friend becoming her new sister, radiated excitement and began jumping up and down on the couch.

However, for Cyro and me, the implications of this adoption brought both of us stress and unease.

Quentin, prying as always, asked me as I was training with a wooden spear, "And how is Cyro handling the new addition to your family?"

"He's quite stressed about it," I replied.

"Really? I thought he wouldn't mind much, considering he's hardly ever home due to his paladin work," Quentin remarked.

'If only you knew who this child they adopted truly was. Then you'd understand,' I chuckled.

As I prepared to leave the warehouse for my next appointment with Diana, Quentin advised, "Make sure to bring plenty of healing potions tomorrow. I know you have the means to afford them, so come well-prepared."

I nodded slowly, puzzled by his request. "Sure, but why do I need them?"

He commended me, saying, "Your stabs and slashes have reached near perfection."

"Thank you."

"Hmph. After all the time you've spent in the dream world, if you hadn't mastered those basic actions, I would have given up on you," he stated but I could tell that his words were laced with pride.

"Starting tomorrow, we'll focus on blocking and dodging my attacks," he declared, holding a wooden dagger in his hand.

Anxiety fluttered within me as I gulped nervously.

'That's why he wanted me to bring potions,' I realized.

I glanced down at my body, already envisioning the bruised and battered state it would be in by tomorrow.

'I'll need to go shopping tonight before heading home,' I sighed.

I planned to purchase the best quality potions available in abundance. Whichever store I visited, they would certainly rejoice at the fortune I was about to bestow upon them.

The next day.

I was sent flying through the air, crashing into the sturdy walls of the warehouse. Despite its appearance, which looked like it would crumble if the big bad wolf blew on it, the structure held firm, resisting my impact.

"Fuck," I sighed, picking myself up from the floor and returning to the center of the room.

Retrieving my sword from the floor, I assumed a defensive position, ignoring the beads of sweat trickling down my forehead.

I wasn't frustrated, as I had anticipated this relentless ass-whooping. Quentin's movements were merely a fraction of his true speed, yet I already struggled to evade his attacks.

And whenever I attempted to block, it felt as though my elbows and shoulders would shatter from the powerful impact.

An hour had already passed, and failure became a familiar companion as I failed over and over.

Eyes hidden behind his shades, Quentin yawned and commanded, "Again," as he swung the wooden mace.

He started with a wooden sword of his own but every ten minutes, he would switch weapons, preventing me from growing accustomed to any particular pattern or weapon, pulling me back into the place of uncomfortableness.

"Come on, Bell. Focus your mind," he urged firmly.

"I'm trying," I replied, dodging the first attack and struggling to block the second. The mace pushed my sword aside, crashing into my ribs.

"Anticipate the attack. Move. Keep moving," he demanded.

'Doesn't he see that I'm trying to do exactly that?' I thought.

Training in blocking and dodging proved to be an entirely different challenge from learning to stab and slash.

Before, he had advice to give me on how to improve on my techniques but when it came to block and dodging, Quentin believed the only way for me to master these skills was through repeated failures and enduring hits.

Reaction time and anticipation could not be easily trained.

He swung, and my dodge missed by a fraction of a second, resulting in the mace smashing the part of my ribs already throbbing with pain.

I fell to my knees, wincing as I clutched my side.

Picking up one of the potions I had brought, I quickly consumed it. I had initially brought a hundred, and now only eighty remained after just an hour.

By the end of this training, I had first assumed that I would leave with thirty potions or so; now that number was without a doubt zero. My decision to bring extras had proven wise.

Taking a deep breath, as the potion began to heal my injury, I attempted to gather my scattered thoughts.

The theory behind blocking and dodging was simple, Just block and dodge. Yet in practice, facing a formidable opponent, all of the simplicity disappears and it feels like you're facing an impossibly complex task.

"Get up," Quentin commanded.

Nodding, I exhaled with determination, every movement infused with resolve. I steeled myself for another round of relentless attacks aka another ass-whooping.

'Why don't you use me, master?' Urisha asked, her voice filled with disappointment.

'You know that I can't. I need to rely on my own abilities,' I responded, brushing off her disappointment.

'Fighting!' Liona exclaimed, her unwavering faith in my eventual success.

'Thank you,' I whispered, appreciating her encouragement.

Quentin lunged forward, his movements a blur that tested the limits of my perception; I could see it just barely. My instincts kicked in, and I angled my sword parallel to the ground, attempting to block his strike.

Yet, with ease, his blow slipped past my defense, landing solidly on my skull.

"Shit!" I cursed, staggering backward. Pain radiated through my body and the blow left me momentarily stunned.

"Come on, Bell. It's all about mental awareness."

'Then why would you strike my head?'

"I can see doubt and hesitation clouding your mind. Clear your thoughts, belief in your ability to succeed, trust your instincts, and move with unwavering confidence," Quentin instructed.

I nodded, taking my stance once more.

Quentin lunged once again, his speed and power amplified more than before. I focused intently on his every move, reading his eyes, the angles, everything as I tried to anticipate his strikes.

I managed to dodge the first attack, block the second to a certain degree, and deftly weave around the third. But as I recovered from the weave, my reactions lagged, and it was too late to dodge the fourth strike.

The mace grazed my cheek, leaving a stinging reminder of my failure.

"A slight improvement," Quentin remarked, exchanging his mace for a whip.

"Now a whip," I muttered wearily.

'Just as I was growing comfortable dealing with the mace.'

"Why do you keep changing weapons?" I finally voiced my curiosity.

"Because once you learn to anticipate my strikes, you'll be able to avoid or block them, regardless of the weapon. I don't want you to grow complacent in dealing with a specific weapon because your muscle memory will play too large a factor. It's only your mind and eyes," he explained, pointing at his head and then his eyes, "that you need to focus on honing."

For hours, we repeated the process — attack after attack, block after block, dodge after dodge.

With each exchange, my movements became a touch more fluid and my reactions were slightly quicker than the last.

In between, Quentin even placed me in a dream scenario where I faced ten opponents wielding different weapons. Though much slower than Quentin, their sheer number posed a challenge.

As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the warehouse, I found myself evading Quentin's strikes with increasing accuracy.

I blocked the battle axe, sidestepped, then skillfully dodged the strike aimed at my shoulder.

Quentin wore a faint smile. "You're improving. Good. Tomorrow, you'll be facing this."

With those words, he increased his speed and power by a single notch, sending me flying into the wall once again, as I was unable to react in time.

Potions had completely depleted by the end of the training session, and as I drove to the bathroom to meet Diana, I had to purchase another potion on the way, which I immediately consumed to ease the pain in my body.