Chapter 46: The Long Sword

This time, David chose the Longsword Mastery (80% Proficiency) knowledge sphere. The yellow sphere moved from the shadow attendant’s body into David’s own, and his soul absorbed it almost instantly.

An illusion appeared before David’s eyes—a swordsman practicing his craft. As before, David could not control the swordsman's body; he could only experience the swordsman’s sensations. The man wielded a longsword, practicing an ordinary set of basic longsword techniques—techniques David had also practiced before.

But compared to this man, David’s grasp of the basic longsword techniques was like the difference between a child and an adult. Because he already had some foundation in these techniques, even if it was only a 5% entry level, it made the experience easier for him to accept. This differed from the other combat abilities he had learned previously, for with those, he had started from nothing.

David was completely absorbed in the sensations of the swordsman's practice. His own mastery of the longsword soared from the entry level of 5%. When the basic practice ended, the swordsman’s opponent became a member of the Insectoids. The sword grew sharper, each strike carrying immense lethality.

David had previously fused the knowledge spheres for warhammer, greataxe, shield, and sniper. Apart from a sniper warrior, he had not seen anyone capable of single-handedly killing a Level One Insectoid. Yet this longsword warrior, relying on swift and nimble swordplay, kept inflicting wounds upon the Mantis Hunter before him.

Although the Mantis Hunter was one of the weaker Level One Insectoids, it was still a formidable foe; normally, it would require several warriors working together to bring one down. As the Mantis Hunter accumulated more wounds, its speed slowed, but the longsword warrior did not rush—he simply wore down the creature with skillful technique.

The longsword warrior was like a seasoned old hunter—unhurried, unflustered. His sword was like the wind: every pass drew green blood from the Mantis Hunter. David gained insight from this: against the Insectoids, the longsword could only keep moving. It was not a heavy weapon—unable to deliver crushing blows or knockback effects.

In other words, striking the Mantis Hunter with a longsword meant always having to anticipate counterattacks, whereas the warhammer, once it landed, would inevitably stun the Insectoid with its force, preventing immediate retaliation. That was why the longsword warrior only inflicted continuous wounds, rather than going for a decisive blow to a weak point; without certainty of a killing strike, or the support of companions, acting hastily would only put oneself in danger.

Eventually, the longsword pierced the Mantis Hunter’s heart. By then, its green blood had nearly drained, and its carapace was riddled with damage. Through this, David understood the tenacity of Insectoid life—this was only a single Mantis Hunter, after all.

Next, the longsword warrior faced other Level One Insectoids, yet he still relied on prolonged battles of attrition to slay each one. David could keenly sense the warrior’s growth during these encounters. The longsword warrior always fought alone, never with a partner, until David could no longer feel any further advancement in the man’s swordsmanship.

The longsword warrior’s opponents then became other warriors. Compared to fighting Insectoids, these duels were more like slaughters. During this time, the warrior acquired a second longsword, becoming a dual-sword fighter.

David opened his eyes. In that instant, his gaze was as sharp and piercing as the dual-sword warrior’s in the illusion. Fortunately, with a mental strength of 3.4, he was able to suppress the murderous intent within him.

He went to his bedroom and picked up his sword scabbard; immediately, a sense of spiritual connection arose. Resisting the urge to practice the basic techniques, he gripped the scabbard and headed to the underground gym.

Standing at the center, he gently stroked the hilt, and the twin swords within the scabbard seemed to come alive, leaping into his hands. He casually tossed aside the scabbard, catching the swords as they rose.

It felt as if he wasn’t practicing swordsmanship, but rather the swords were guiding him in a dance. He and the swords were perfectly attuned; the Level Two longswords in his hands moved sometimes lightly, sometimes swiftly. The basic longsword techniques in his hands were no less profound than the insights he had gained from the Storm Warhammer style.

“Perhaps Uncle Garen was wrong. Maybe I was born to wield the longsword,” David murmured, gazing at the swords in his hands after stopping.

Perhaps it was imprinted in his soul—he had heard many stories of swordsmen and sword immortals in his previous life, where the longsword was a symbol of culture. David believed this talent came from his soul, not from his current body. At least, as far as he remembered, his predecessor had shown no extraordinary talent for the sword—otherwise, his mastery would not have been stuck at a mere 5% entry level.

Sheathing his swords, he felt that, even after just one practice, he was already capable of wielding them in real combat. Still, he would not change his plans—charging into a life-or-death battle with a formal warrior armed only with a longsword would be foolish.

With a strength just over eight hundred kilograms, if he faced a warrior with over a thousand kilograms, he would be completely overpowered, not to mention that warriors also had a speed advantage.

Looking up at the celestial star Kiah, David felt in high spirits. The mastermind behind his troubles would not act against him again in the short term, so he could finally leave home with peace of mind.

He had gone to bed late the previous night, but woke promptly at six. After practicing a set of the Eighteen Forms of Body Art, he stood outside waiting for Myron.

“David, you finally want to have some fun!” Myron called out, poking his head from his Gladstone Six automobile as he opened the side door and grinned.

“Myron, thank you for helping me today,” David said, getting in and taking the passenger seat.

“David, no need for thanks—it’s nothing. Say, what’s got you interested in the city wall? Not much happens in the mornings, and none of the nightclubs are open,” Myron replied, waving it off.

“No way, you’ve been to the nightclubs?” David asked, surprised.

Rock City was situated in a dangerous warzone, and though the effects were less severe, danger was always present. In this environment, establishments for people to let loose did a thriving business—alcohol and pleasure were the main outlets. However, minors were strictly forbidden by law, not just by policy—getting caught could land a guardian in jail. That was why David was so shocked by Myron’s words.

“No, I was just saying,” Myron replied sheepishly, embarrassed at being caught in a lie. After all, he had to train hard every day, and even if he didn’t care for himself, he had to consider his father, Mayor Bernard—he couldn’t afford to bring trouble upon his family.

The Gladstone Six drove toward the city’s edge, and as they got closer, the buildings grew increasingly dilapidated. Unlike David’s Lanka Street in the city center—the safest district—this area near the city wall, though not directly threatened by the Insectoids, felt much less secure psychologically.

For this reason, the wealthy never chose to live here; only those with meager incomes resided in these parts. David couldn’t help but shake his head—even in the interstellar era, class divisions remained severe.

What’s more, despite the space age, very few people could ever leave their city for another; it took not just a fortune in credit, but also the proper authorization. Without it, ordinary people could only live their entire lives in one city, from birth to death.

Those high schoolers who failed their university entrance exams would meet just such a fate—no permissions, destined to become workers in some position, marrying someone else without permissions, and raising a family.

“David, with a trillion people in the Federation, poverty is inevitable. My father is doing his best to change things, but most people here have lost their sense of purpose and are content with their lot—it’s hard to change them,” Myron said, unusually reflective.

David could only smile wryly; he was just an ordinary person, powerless to help others.