Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 40: Skeleton Sword Art (2)

One Skeleton had hesitated. But not because it was waiting, but because it chose not to act.

Percival did not punish it. Instead, he struck the Skeleton beside it.

The hesitant one tilted its skull slightly.

A deviation. Waiting to act must be a good thing, it must have thought.

"Good," Percival said.

He pointed at that Skeleton.

"You," he said. "Attack."

The Skeleton stepped forward, raised its sword, then abruptly stopped. ’Waiting to attack.’

Percival had already committed, angling his blade to block.

The Skeleton suddenly lunged, although half a beat late, aiming to stab Percival rather than the earlier vertical slash.

Percival blocked it easily, but his eyes flashed with excitement.

The Skeleton followed with a second strike that did not match the first.

It was clumsy. Inefficient.

But it was unexpected.

Percival still parried the attack with ease, though he gave the Skeleton the reward of showing his surprise.

The other Skeletons stared.

"Did you see it?" Percival asked. "It broke sequence."

The Skeletons’ eye sockets flared as they replayed the exchange internally.

Attack. Pause. Attack. Attack. The first attack was paused, the second attack was followed through.

This meant the first attack was... a deceptive attack?

They seemed to be slowly getting it.

It was a pattern. Even though it deviated from the natural pattern, it was still a pattern on its own.

Deception was a pattern.

"Here is the truth," Percival said. "Even chaos has structure."

He folded his arms.

"Your minds crave order. You will always look for repetition. The good thing is your enemies will do the same."

"So you will deceive them by giving them something to learn—"

He tapped his temple.

"—and then you will violate it."

Training changed after that.

Percival began rewarding failure.

If a Skeleton swung cleanly but predictably, he punished it.

If it hesitated, misaligned, or broke rhythm—even if the strike was weak—he allowed it to stand.

Their pattern memory struggled at first. Going off-pattern registered as error.

But error repeated often enough stopped being error.

It became variance.

And variance became option.

An option to deceive especially in situations where it favored the attack.

By midday, one Skeleton did something remarkable.

It copied Percival.

It feigned a high strike, then intentionally overcorrected, allowing its guard to open. The other Skeleton lunged for the opening.

The first twisted its wrist mid-swing and reversed the cut.

Percival froze.

The blade stopped a finger’s width from bone.

Silence.

A smile tore through the former Sword Saint’s stoic face. ’They’re actually doing it. They’re fighting with intuition. They’re being deceptive.’

They repeated it on his command.

This time cleaner.

Percival exhaled.

"There," he said. "Now you understand."

He sheathed Lightpiercer.

"Going off-pattern," he said, "is still a pattern."

The Skeletons’ flames pulsed in unison. They understood now.

"But it is one your enemy cannot memorize, because it changes at any moment you decide."

He nodded at his summons.

"Good job you bag of bones," Percival said. "You have learnt how to lie."

Villagers passing by the farm stopped to watch from a distance.

They witnessed a strange, mesmerizing dance.

The Hero, moving like quicksilver, weaving through a crowd of armored skeletons who were attacking him with intelligent ferocity.

Percival enjoyed the battle. It felt like he was facing thirteen junior swordsmen, not just the mindless beasts he slayed in Gate Worlds.

The Skeletons had adapted immensely. Their low intelligence couldn’t grasp philosophy, but their magical imprint was soaking up the repetition.

And the more repetition they registered, the more they strayed from it, recognizing that breaking pattern was a pattern itself.

The ultimate pattern.

That night, before he dismissed them, their movements were no longer uniform.

Each Skeleton stood slightly differently, forming its own deviation from their former normal.

Each one held its blade at a unique angle, adopted a peculiar stance, and fought with an individual gait.

Percival went to bed more satisfied than he had been since regressing.

His Skeletons were no longer ordinary soldiers.

They were becoming swordsmen.

He woke up on the morning of the third day, washed his face, and headed downstairs with his sword.

There, the Innkeeper greeted him with a warm loaf of bread. "Elise is stirring. She asked for water this morning."

"That is good news," Percival said, taking a bite of the bread.

"Something tells me you will be leaving today," the old man said.

Percival looked at him. "That is true. My equipment is ready in the city."

"Ah. I will let Elise know."

Percival finished his meal and went to the field one last time.

"⸢Awake⸥"

The thirteen Skirmishers appeared.

They were ready for the training, eyes burning with hunger for knowledge, for more patterns to learn.

"Today, we learn acrobatics," Percival announced. "The aesthetics of a Swordsman is not merely in the sword, but in the body that compliments the swiftness of the sword."

He unsheathed Lightpiercer.

"This doesn’t mean being a Swordman is about show," he clarified. "It is about positioning. Momentum. Survival."

He short-sprinted, pivoted on his heel and leapt. He twisted his body midair, his blade tracing a clean arc before his feet touched the ground again.

As flashy as the move looked, there was no wasted motion.

A move like that would cut a bird beast, or sever the throat of a giant.

"Your mana replaces muscle," he said. "And since your joints don’t strain, moves like this should be easier for you."

He demonstrated another move.

He low-dashed into a rising slash. He rolled and flowed into a thrust. He side-stepped and twisted into a fatal spinning cut.

The Skeletons watched, their sockets gleaming as the movements burned themselves into memory.

Percival eyed them. "Careful now. You’re not meant to simply copy the motion," he warned. "Copy the reason."

They tried.

At first, it was ugly.

His Skeletons overcommitted, launching themselves too far, landing wrong, tumbling across the grass.

Percival did not correct them immediately.

He let them fail.

Then he began adjusting small things.

"Less height. More direction."

"Land where your sword ends, not where your body wants to."

"Your spin is empty. Attach a purpose to it."

Gradually, the chaos refined itself.

They learned when to leap and when to stay grounded. When a roll was faster than a step. When a jump created an angle no stance could.

Their pattern recognition evolved again. This time, they were not memorizing moves, but the conditions that required them.

When he paired them into spars, the Skeletons leapt, twisted, rolled, and even somersaulted.

Feints blended into footwork. Acrobatics were not mere decoration to them, they were answers to pressure.

Percival was right. Without muscles to tear or ligaments to snap, they were terrifyingly nimble.

Throughout the spars, they showed just how acrobatic they could be.

One Skeleton vaulted over a low slash, landed behind its opponent, then struck. The other Skeleton spun, escaping the attack and regrouping instantly.

It was like they were adapting to each other. Learning from each other.

They broke patterns, and broke them again.

Even more, it seemed that despite the cold blue void in their eyes, they were having fun.

Percival watched in silence.

To him, this was the greatest thing he’d ever accomplished.

Not even killing the Demon Lord could compare to this.

He had created Swordsmen out of mindless bones.

When it ended, the Skeletons sat scattered across the field, blue flames burning their bones and armor.

Percival was more surprised they had the sentience to sit at all.

Ding! The chime grabbed his attention.

⸢Hidden Quest Completed!⸥

⸢Quest: Tutor of the Dead II⸥

⸢Objective: Train your undead to achieve mastery of the sword⸥

⸢Rewards: +2 Summon Space | +5 Dexterity | +1000 Mana Coins | +100 EXP⸥

Percival stared at the floating screen. ’I suspected I would get rewarded for this.’

Ding! Another notification came.

⸢New Skill Unlocked: Knowledge Imprint⸥

⸢Knowledge Imprint: A Passive Skill that automatically transfers the knowledge of any combat training or technical mastery instilled in an Undead Soldier to all future Soldiers⸥

Percival read the Skill description, his eyebrows raising.

That was useful. Incredibly useful.

It meant he wouldn’t have to train every new summon he raised from the dirt.

The knowledge he had beaten into these thirteen would be copy-pasted into every Undead Soldier he summoned from now on.

He had just created a factory line for elite warriors.

He checked the stats of his Skeleton Soldiers.

⸢Attack: 450 - 550 (+7)⸥

⸢Defense: 190 - 275 (+7)⸥

⸢Strength: 105 - 125⸥

⸢Agility: 105 - 150⸥

⸢Speed: 130 - 150⸥

⸢Constitution: 97 - 110⸥

⸢Intelligence: 200 - 350⸥

⸢Dexterity: 250 - 330⸥

⸢Luck: 100 - 165⸥

⸢Perception: 200 - 300⸥

⸢Charisma: 100 - 240⸥

Surprise creased Percival’s brows.

Despite not being able to level up, that was a staggering amount of growth, so much so that the buffs from the gear barely mattered. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

They were going to need better equipment soon.

However, it was time for his attention to shift away from the Skeletons.

Today was the third day, which meant Rettucia would be finished with the Artifact.

First, he would return to Wolsend to collect it.

Then, he will begin his journey to Brackenbridge.

Somewhere in that province awaited a legend of the past that was going to be Percival’s first Soul Soldier.