A random guard
Whether or not he was ready, with Nirkit by his side, gleaning the old man’s secrets and weaknesses, Destin figured he’d give it a shot. Though normally he wasn’t, today Destin was all about whoopin’ on the elderly!
Destin mentally nodded to Nirkit, who then started gleaning whatever he could from the old man’s mind, lost in its difficult nature and seemingly mental combat state of protection. While Nirkit was mesmerized by what could arguably be the coolest martial arts montage he had ever seen, the fight had begun.
Destin’s weapon still felt extremely heavy in his hands, but it still swung quick; His muscle’s ached and he felt bad for the Chaladholg, unable to fully utilize the strength of the blade in each swing. Still, the blade’s blessing sent him tearing at his opponent, swinging faster than the eye could follow as the old man parried the blade with his bare hands.
“Not bad, Dustin, but you lack training.”
After a successful parry of an attack, the old man snuck a flat hand under one of Destin’s ribs, violently thrusting upwards and emitting a loud crack that rung in Dus-Destin’s ears. His side was throbbing in pain, but he noticed in the moment of sanctuary that the old man’s hands were bleeding pretty badly. Maybe he wasn’t as out of the fight as he had thought.
Wincing in pain, the battle raged on for quite some time, hours into the day and then into night. After the initial injury, both hadn’t quite been able to fight at their full strength, and it seemed as though this fight was a slow battle of attrition, with Destin burning out slowly as the sun set.
With his final ounce of strength, Destin swung thrice more at the old man, and almost as if entirely by luck, it was at this moment Nirkit mentally shouted, “Cool!” For a split second, the old man ventured into the back of his mind to see what this voice was, and that was the only moment Destin needed to land three clean swings on the old man, toppling him.
On the ground, the old man chuckled as he ran his fingers through the gush of blood pulsing through his chest. Destin could hardly stand after the last swings, falling to one knee [badly injured].
“Destin,” the old man spoke weakly, “You are the perfect fighter. You have no training, but you have discipline, and inner strength. You rely not on others to make your fate, but on yourself. As I have shown you, my discipline is great but my body is weak in my old age. I have been waiting for some time for someone to free me of the burden of my knowledge, and today, that man is you.”
The old man slowly faded away into a swirling energy, that spun with the wind and whisked itself into Destin’s mind. Blessed by the discipline of the old man, Destin gained the ability to use his greatest strength, in this case luck, as his disciple, converting it directly into [combat] experience. In a matter of one painful day, Destin had gone from no combat experience, to beyond [all the combat] experience.
Now if only I could stand, Destin thought to himself with a chuckle.