Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 37: Skeleton Spar

Outside, the cold wind of Northmarch chilled the atmosphere despite the sun’s might.

Percival took a seat on a pavement, munching on an apple he had purchased back in the tavern. He had two days until Rettucia finished the Anchor.

Two days of downtime.

He could return to the Gate World Hall. Grind a few Beta Gates. Maybe hit Lvl 25 or even 30 if he forwent sleep.

Lvl 50 was his next major milestone, so it was best he began the climb.

He looked to his left.

Adjacent to the Training Hall was an open-air dirt yard. That place was known as the "Warrior’s Pit."

Dozens of men and women were there, sweating in the dirt. They were Warriors, the unawakened combat class.

Percival remembered that his first-ever summons had been the skeletons of Warriors at Withercrook graveyard, before they crumbled under the assault of the bandits who were now part of his current summons.

The Warriors in the Pit wielded chipped iron swords and wooden axes, hacking away at straw dummies or sparring with each other.

They fought roughly, much like the warriors Percival knew from epics and history movies back on Earth.

Warriors had no mana. No Skills. No system-assisted movements. Just muscle, grit and steel.

Percival took another bite of the green apple, watching a young man swing a heavy axe at a dummy then stop to look at the Training Hall with pure, burning envy in his eyes.

Percival understood that envy.

As the unawakened, Warriors had no business inside the Training Halls. They couldn’t enter the simulation squares or practice what Awakeners practiced.

They had no mana, so fighting Gate World beasts or Demonspawns meant risking immediate death. Still, the crown employed them in times of war.

Be it against Demonspawn or mortal armies, Warriors were the cannon fodder of Evernia, led by Awakeners who could fly and call lightning from the sky while the unawakened could do nothing but die in the very first wave.

Funny, Percival thought. If the Warriors were going to be dispatched to fight beasts and Demonspawns anyway, then why segregate them from proper training?

Training them to face these monsters was a great way to bolster the kingdom’s defense and military power, wasn’t it?

Percival didn’t pretend to know the ins and outs of politics, or the bureaucracy of warfare. But this particular inefficiency seemed glaringly obvious, he presumed.

He remembered the Skeleton Soldiers. How he had taught them to fight. How they had improved not because of stats, but because of technique.

They too, like the Warriors, did not have a soul core. They were also the unawakened, only the unawakened dead.

That was when an idea struck him.

He rose to his feet, throwing the core of the apple for a raccoon which had patiently waited in the corner, and headed to the Warrior’s Pit.

Percival stepped over the low wooden fence that separated the premises of the Training Hall from the packed dirt of the Warrior’s Pit.

The sound of training ceased immediately.

Twenty pairs of eyes turned to him. The Warriors, sweating and covered in dust, stiffened. It was rare for an Awakener to enter their domain, and usually, it meant trouble.

They tightened their grips on their battered training weapons.

Percival stopped a few paces from the group. He kept his hands visible and his expression neutral.

"Hello," he said with as much gentleness as his smoke-filled voice could permit.

"Good day," the apparent leader, a Lvl 62 Warrior wielding a greatsword, stepped forward. She had her hair in a braid wrapped around her neck.

"I have a proposition," Percival stated.

A burly man with a thick beard and a nose that had been broken at least twice joined the female Warrior.

He raised his dulled iron axe to block in front of her, defensively. "We don’t want any trouble."

Percival raised a brow. "I’m not here for trouble."

"We know your kind," the man spat, his eyes guarded. "An Awakener gets bored, comes down to the pit to test a new spell, and one of us ends up in the infirmary with burns that don’t heal. Or worse, you want ’bait’ for a hunt."

"Careful, Leah," the warrior regarded their leader, though the woman held her ground. "This is how they do it. They turn us into scapegoats so they can level up, become stronger while we rot as the unawakened waste of weapons we are."

Percival stared. Do I look like a hoaxer? he wondered.

He supposed with the new obsidian armor and the grim demeanor, he didn’t exactly scream ’friendly neighborhood Awakener.’

"I am not here to recruit bait," Percival said.

"Then what are you here for?" Leah, the leader asked, stepping closer to him.

"I am here to trade."

"Pfft!" The instigator spat. "What are we? Merchants?"

Before Leah could speak, a younger woman near the back gasped. She had been staring at Percival’s dark hair and his imposing blue eyes.

"Wait," she stepped forward, pointing a trembling finger. "Jorin, can you not see the hair... the glowing eyes? His crest! It’s him. It’s the Hero! The one who saved Cuttleham!"

The mood in the pit shifted instantly. The hostility evaporated, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence of awe.

All eyes were plastered on him.

"Spawnslayer?" Jorin lowered his axe, his face paling beneath the grime. "Is it really you?"

"Yes," Percival answered tentatively. He still wasn’t used to the title.

Leah immediately dropped to one knee, bowing her head. Jorin joined quickly and the others followed suit, a ripple of ragged reverence.

"If only you had started with that. F—forgive my tongue, dear Hero," Jorin stammered. "We... we thought you were just another arrogant Mage looking for sport. If you require anything—if you need us to carry your gear, or run messages—we are yours."

Percival’s hidden face had an anxious redness all over it.

’Why do these people exaggerate like this? Do they ever wonder how awkward it makes one feel when twenty people are just kneeling in front of them?’

"You really don’t have to kneel," Percival said, feeling a headache coming on. "But thank you."

The warriors rose, dusting off their knees, looking at him like he was a deity who had descended to play in the mud.

"How can we be of service to you, Lord Hero?" Leah asked.

"Call me Percival," he corrected first, then began to explain. "I do not need porters. I need sparring partners."

They all glanced at each other.

"To spar with you, Lord Percival—"

"Just Percival."

"—you slaughtered Demonspawns, we’re chaff compared to your power."

"Not with me," Percival replied. "With real magical creatures."

Leah narrowed her eyes.

"Magical creatures?" Jorin looked around. "Here?"

"You spend your days hitting wooden dummies and each other, yet the crown still orders you into battle against beasts and Demonspawns when they want numbers, even though you have no training experience."

"Mhm." They all concurred, nodding their heads and grunting. That was a sentiment they all agreed with.

"You’ll train against my summons," Percival continued. "It is a win-win. You gain experience fighting non-human threats without the risk of dying in a Gate World. I gain the opportunity to test my summons’ proficiency against trained combatants."

The fear in their eyes was replaced by a spark of excitement.

To fight a real monster—and survive—was the dream of every Warrior. It was the closest they would ever get to being Awakened.

"We would be honored," Leah said, drawing her sword. "Truly."

They all concurred with nods of their head and excited murmurs.

"If we are in agreement, I will summon them now," Percival said.

Jorin chuckled with excitement, rolling his shoulders. "Kekekeke! We are."

Percival tapped into his Summon Space. "⸢Awake⸥"