"Alright, but before we start, I want to know - why do you suddenly want to learn how to wield a pole arm from me?" Ray asked, sitting in front of Nephis and meeting her gaze.
"I need to be stronger," she replied without hesitation.
Ray raised an eyebrow. "Stronger for what?" He gestured around them before returning his attention to her. "You're already more than capable of beating most people here. Or is this about those words?" His voice held a hint of exasperation. "Look, I don't really care what they mean or why they get to you, but if they're going to turn into a problem down the line, maybe you should just let them go." Nephis didn't hesitate. "I won't give up on them."
Ray sighed, shaking his head. "Figured you'd say that." He leaned back slightly, stretching out his legs before locking eyes with her again. "Alright. I'll teach you."
She nodded.
"But," Ray continued, "if we're doing this, we're starting from the core. The real foundation of using a polearm." He picked up his weapon, resting it against his shoulder. "It's not about swinging harder or moving faster. If you don't have this, you'll never master it."
Nephis remained silent, waiting.
Ray tapped the ground with the butt of his weapon. "It's about stance. About resolve. When you wield a polearm, you're not just fighting for yourself. More often than not, you're the shield between your allies and whatever's coming at you. You don't get to retreat. You don't get to waver. The moment you do, you're already dead - and so are the people behind you."
He let that sink in before continuing. "Ever heard of the three hundred?"
Nephis tilted her head slightly. "Only briefly."
Ray smirked. "Old story. Back in the distant past, before Awakened, before the spell came, before all of this, there was a small army - just three hundred warriors - who held off an entire invading force tens of thousands strong. They didn't do it with overwhelming power, or some divine miracle. They did it because they stood their ground. Shoulder to shoulder, spears locked together, never breaking, never faltering. As long as their formation held, they were invincible."
Nephis considered his words.
Ray continued, "That's the essence of polearm combat. You don't flinch. You don't step back. You hold the line. If you want to learn from me, you have to understand that first."
For Nephis, combat had always been about control and adapting. She dictated the pace, she led the fight, she imposed her will on her opponent. This… was different. It wasn't about domination - it was about unyielding endurance, about trusting in your own immovability.
Could she fight like that?
Ray watched her carefully as the gears turned in her head. Then, after a moment, she gave a single nod.
"Good," Ray said. "Then let's start."
He rose to his feet and gestured for her to do the same. When she did, he pointed at her stance. "First, fix that. Your weight's too far forward. You need to be centered, grounded." He stepped behind her, tapping her leg with the shaft of his weapon. "Here. Lower your center of gravity."
She adjusted, though slightly stiffly.
Ray shook his head. "Relax. If you're too tense, you'll get knocked over anyway, this is not swordsmanship. You can't adapt to the situation at all times, you need to brace for it." He moved to stand in front of her again. "Now, plant your feet like you're bracing for a storm. You're not just standing - you're rooted. Nothing should be able to move you unless you allow it."
Nephis made another adjustment. This time, it was better.
Ray nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, when you hold a pole arm, don't just grip it like a sword. You need leverage. Your lead hand guides the weapon, your back hand controls the power." He demonstrated, slowly shifting his grip and showing the subtle motion required to redirect an attack. "Your arms work together, not separately. The moment you hold it wrong, you lose control."
Nephis mimicked his movements, following along with careful precision.
For the next while, Ray drilled her on these fundamentals - posture, grip, balance. He didn't hold back on corrections, pointing out every flaw, every minor mistake. He wasn't teaching her everything, not the deeper intricacies of his own style, but he was still giving her a solid foundation.
And Nephis took it all in without complaint, absorbing every word, every movement.
Ray couldn't help but smirk. Whatever else could be said about her, she was a damn fast learner.
Both of them spent the morning in disciplined silence, the only sounds being the rhythmic thud of Nephis' borrowed halberd striking the air and Ray's measured corrections. By the time the sun hung directly overhead, they finally stopped, parting without much ceremony to return to their own routines.
This pattern continued over the following days - each morning, they would switch roles, taking turns refining their understanding of the other's weapon.
When it had been Ray's turn to teach, he had lent Nephis his trusted halberd, [Stormpiercer], while he himself used [Oblivion's Thread], shifting it into the shape of a polearm. It wasn't ideal, but it was necessary. No matter how much he had tried, it was impossible for anyone else to so much as touch [Oblivion's Thread] without consequence.
Effie had learned that the hard way once, back when curiosity had gotten the better of her. She had grabbed it without warning, and the result was a deep, nasty cut that took days to fully heal - an eerie wound, too clean and unnatural, as if the weapon itself had rejected her presence.
With Nephis, he never even bothered suggesting it. [Stormpiercer] would just have to do.
The days passed in steady rhythm. Each morning, Ray and Nephis met in the clearing, exchanging lessons without fanfare or unnecessary words. He taught, she listened. She demonstrated, he adapted. Their training was efficient, stripped of anything that didn't serve its purpose.
Ray's method was simple - correction through repetition. He drilled Nephis relentlessly on her stance, forcing her to adjust, to hold, to commit. She was used to movement, to shifting the flow of battle to her advantage. But a polearm was different. It wasn't about pressing forward or overwhelming an opponent with speed. It was about presence. About becoming an immovable force.
"Again."
Nephis exhaled, adjusting her footing. She held the halberd with a firm grip, her posture disciplined but still slightly off.
Ray watched her closely. "You're treating it like a sword. A sword fights in bursts, a polearm dominates through control. You don't move unless it's necessary."
She nodded, absorbing his words without protest. That was something he appreciated about her - she didn't argue. She just corrected.
He stepped forward and tapped the base of her weapon. "This isn't just a tool for attack. It's a wall, a barrier between you and your enemy. The moment you hesitate, you break that wall."
Nephis adjusted her grip, and Ray tested her balance with a light push. She barely shifted this time.
"Better."
They continued, refining each movement, each shift in weight, until it became second nature.
When their roles switched, Ray found himself studying her just as intently. Nephis' way of fighting wasn't about endurance - it was about control. Where he rooted himself, she flowed. Where he absorbed impact, she redirected.
She showed him how to manipulate a fight before it even started, how a subtle shift in stance could lead an opponent into a mistake. She never met force with force. Instead, she made her enemy fight on her terms.
Ray was stronger than her, faster too, but that didn't mean she was easy to deal with. She played battles like a game of strategy, always a step ahead.
And just like that, a whole week passed in the blink of an eye.