Chapter 9: Sweat of One's Brow
Morning drew dripped like molten gold onto the grassy field beside the Woodcutter's House, highlighting the swirling mist and beads of sweat forming on Noah's brow. With each clang of steel against his Boko Shield, a dull ache vibrated through his arms and resonated in his teeth. He gritted his teeth, adrenaline struggling to outrun the tide of fatigue.
Standing before him, King Rhoam was relentless with his Traveller's sword. Each blow hammered down with a pressure Noah found difficult to handle, threatening to shatter Noah's defences. Stumbling back, Noah's muscles screamed in protest, the shield feeling more like a cumbersome weight than protection, a paper fan against a hurricane. Rhoam pressed his advantage, his blade singing a chilling hymn through the air, aimed right towards Noah.
Seeing the blur of silver descending, Noah gritted his teeth, squeezing his grip until his knuckles turned white. Yet, the impact of the Traveller's sword against his Boko Shield was a thunderclap. The force jarred his arms, sending shudders through his bones, and the shield ripped from his grasp like a leaf in a gale
King Rhoam's eyes sharpened as he saw Noah's only defence vanish. With the predatory instinct of a wolf, he took a step forward with haste, following up with an immediate attack on his blade intending to end this duel with precision.
In that desperate moment, time seemed to stretch, then snap. Noah saw the glint of the blade, felt the icy breath of defeat, and tasted fear-like bile in his throat.
Cursing his failure, within a heartbeat Noah abandoned the fallen shield, diving low and rolling with the desperation of a hunted animal. He scraped across the dew-kissed grass, the scent of earth and wildflowers acrid in his nostrils. Gravel gouged his palms, and a sharp sting blossomed on his cheek.
A cruel smile twisted onto King Rhoam's lips as the seasoned warrior he was, anticipated the move. He pivoted, a whirlwind of steel, and intercepted Noah mid-roll. His sword, a silver serpent, whipped down in a vicious underhand stroke, aimed squarely at Noah's skull.
A cold certainty gripped Noah. This blow, he couldn't block. No desperate lunge, no agile twist, could save him. He braced himself, a lamb before the slaughter, raising his arm instinctively, the fallen shield clutched uselessly in his hand.
The clang. Oh, the glorious, terrible clang. Metal sang against wood, a death knell in the crisp morning air. The force of the blow ripped the shield from Noah's grasp, sending it spinning through the air like a fallen star before it clattered to the ground with a dull thud, Noah alongside it.
He lay there, stunned, the taste of blood in his mouth mingling with the bitter tang of defeat. The world blurred through a veil of dizziness, the sky a distant, swirling canvas. But just as the shadows threatened to engulf him, a new prickle of awareness pierced through the haze.
Suddenly, a jolt of clarity crackled through Noah's mind. A strangled cry, "No wait!" escaped his parched lips Then, an immense pressure crushed his stomach, sending him lurching, the world tilting on its axis.
Gasping for air, Noah blinked as a looming shadow fell across him. His eyes, swimming with dizziness, struggled to focus. King Rhoam knelt beside him, the Traveller's sword silent in his hand, its tip pointed skyward.
"Twenty-five," the king rumbled, his voice rough but somehow… gentle. "That's how many times you've fallen today, squire. Each time, the same mistake." The king's gaze lingered, a flicker of concern beneath the steely resolve "A shield is an extension of yourself, not a crutch to be discarded in fear, whenever you remove that shield from yourself you are opening the opportunity to be attacked."
He paused, letting the silence hang heavy between them. Noah dared to meet his gaze
"Your stance," King Rhoam continued, his finger tracing a line on the dirt. "Too wide, too off-balance. A man with a shield is a fortress, not a leaf in the wind."
King Rhoam picked up the fallen Boko Shield, turning it over in his hands. The wood was cracked, the paint scarred, a testament to Noah's clumsy struggle.
"And this circuitous dance you call dodging," the king sighed, a hint of frustration edging his voice. "Clever the first time, maybe the second. But a true warrior will be ready to counter it after that and use it against you unless they are distracted or you combine it offensively."
After being allowed some time to recover, Noah eventually caught his breath and looked up to King Rhoam. "Is there… really a need to hit me every time… your majesty?"
Earlier this morning before light had touched the fields Noah was abruptly woken up, although what time specifically Noah wasn't sure of since he hadn't figured out a way to measure it yet. King Rhoam had taken Noah out into the field from the Woodcutter's Cottage and after giving him back his Boko Shield gave him one instruction. "Don't let go."
What followed was a rather painful few hours of being beaten half to death and If Noah dared to drop his shield, a punishing blow awaited him. To make matters worse, King Rhoam insisted on wielding his Traveller's sword, leaving Noah feeling like he was flirting with demise every time he faltered.
After each session, amidst Noah's bruises and the taste of dirt (courtesy of twenty-five not-so-graceful tumbles), King Rhoam offered guidance, pointing out mistakes and refining his stance. Noah would like to say he was improving, but once the taste of the dirt became synchronised with defeat, he struggled to really believe that.
Sensing Noah's sarcasm, a sly smile played on King Rhoam's lips. "Pain is a memorable teacher. It etches itself into your being, ensuring you don't repeat mistakes... and" A mischievous glint sparkled in King Rhoam's eyes, "You possess a Link's body... capable of enduring quite a bit."
Noah groaned, part in pain, part in annoyance. He hadn't anticipated that Link's resilience would somehow hinder his own progress.
"Yet, I'm surprised. You handle the shield worse than children playing at being knights. Tell me, what were you before your arrival?" King Rhoam inquired, unperturbed by Noah's discomfort.
"I'm surprised you ask. You were notably silent about my background," Noah retorted, his words genuine. He intentionally skirted details when King Rhoam inquired about his otherworldly origins. Explaining the truth – that King Rhoam's life was a mere creation of a video game in his world – was impossible. King Rhoam wouldn't grasp the concept of a video game anyway.
King Rhoam was as intellectually astute as he was skilled with a sword, and Noah didn't want to further entangle himself in a web of falsehoods. He justified his knowledge through Link's memories, but that was the extent of it.
"The truest way to understand someone is through the clash of swords. I transitioned from wielding swords on the battlefield to engaging in political battles with words after my coronation. But political battles seldom embrace truth... Swordplay, on the other hand, is more honest." King Rhoam replied earnestly.
"And now, I need to deal with that..." Noah breathed, chest heaving. "I was a student... an aspiring scholar, actually."
King Rhoam's eyes widened. "Like my daughter? Perhaps you two share some similarities, ancient technologies perhaps?"
"No, Your Majesty," Noah clarified, finding amusement. "Criminology. I was studying the minds of criminals… well, I would have if I wasn't taken here."
"I can only apologise for that" King Rhoam sombrely spoke. "With all due respect, however, why would studying criminals be necessary?
"Criminology, Your Majesty," Noah began, his voice a tad too high-pitched with nerves, "is the study of..." He paused, searching for a way to bridge the chasm between their understanding. "It's about understanding those who choose to commit crime, why they walk it, and how to prevent others from doing the same."
Rhoam, standing tall amidst the open field, grunted thoughtfully. "So, you seek revelations from these miscreants with a leg of mutton, hoping for enlightenment?"
Noah chuckled, the sound oddly bright in the quiet field. "Not quite, Your Majesty. We delve into their lives, their pasts, the reasons that twisted them. Not to judge, but to understand, to predict and prevent further crime from those like them."
Rhoam snorted, a harsh sound like a dragon clearing its throat. "Predict? Prevent? By reading their tea leaves or staring into their eyes like a fortune teller's parrot?"
Noah took a deep breath. "No, Your Majesty. Logic. We gather evidence, map patterns, and build profiles of why they hurt others. It's like a map, Your Majesty, a map of the shadows so we can shine light into their darkest corners."
The King leaned back, eyes narrowed. "You sound like my daughter..." His voice softened. "So, instead of sending them to the headsman's axe, you offer... conversation? Sharing biscuits and woes?"
Noah shook his head. "Justice must still be served, Your Majesty. But sometimes, a harsh punishment only breeds more crime. By understanding the root of the crime, we can offer rehabilitation, guidance, and even prevent the crime from happening in the first place."
A contemplative silence descended, broken only by the chirping of sparrows in the nearby trees. Rhoam tapped his fingers against the pommel of his sword, his gaze distant.
"Hmm," he rumbled finally, "a curious notion. Studying the wicked to curb their wickedness. Like building a dam against a storm… not by pushing back the waves, but by understanding the wind that drives them." "Such a strange concept, You are truly from another world…"
Despite their differences, King Rhoam's gaze, while wary, held a flicker of admiration. He considered the weight of Noah's words, his mind, contemplating how this "criminal study" might fit into his kingdom's landscape.
'Truly a king,' Noah thought, a silent tribute to the man who could listen to a strange concept and see the benefits instead of disregarding it. 'Well, it's not like criminology would really help me here..'
"It's not that I don't trust you, but can I have my Sheikah Slate back?" Noah asked, veering into another topic.
King Rhoam's eyes narrowed. "Relying on Sheikah contraptions won't make you a warrior, Noah. Master the steel first, then explore your fancy gadgets."
"But you won't even let me touch a sword!" Noah countered, frustration edging his voice.
Rhoam snorted a harsh sound that echoed across the field. "You think combat's a one-way street? A flurry of strikes without considering the counter? You're no knight, lad, nor will you ever be. But these lessons, they'll harden you, teach you to stand your ground."
With a flick of his wrist, Rhoam sent the Boko Shield spinning through the air. It landed at Noah's feet, a heavy reminder of the task at hand.
"And that," the King boomed, his voice softening a touch, "starts with learning to block."
Despite the aches and bruises throbbing throughout his body, Noah grunted and rose. He scooped up the shield, hefting it onto his arm, and squared his shoulders assuming a defensive stance.
"Begin." King Rhoam spoke before charging once more.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the field. Sweat stung Noah's eyes as he clutched his battered Boko Shield, lungs wheezing like bellows with each desperate gasp. His arms, numb past trembling, shook with a warrior's tremors. His muscles, well, he'd stopped feeling those about 13 matches ago.
Once more, he hit the ground, knees scraped against the earth, yet he clung to his defensive stance, shield raised.
Across the field, King Rhoam stood, but as he stared at Noah he gave an approving nod.
But a failure is still a failure. King Rhoam raised his Traveller's sword, the silver glinting like a hungry wolf's fang. The world slowed; every sound muted except for the thrumming of Noah's own pulse. He braced himself, ready for the inevitable clang, the sting of defeat.
But the blow never came.
Instead, King Rhoam stumbled, a tremor running through his mighty frame. His eyes flickered with a sickly, unnatural purple. The sword clattered to the ground, its clang a jarring break in the suffocating silence.
Noah watched, heart hammering against his ribs, as the King lurched back, clutching at his head, a strangled moan escaping his lips. His face contorted in pain, muscles spasming under his skin as if possessed by some unseen horror.
Just as Noah was about to rise and offer aid, King Rhoam's hand shot out, a silent command to stay back. After an eternity, the tremors slowed, leaving the King panting heavily, face a mask of pale sweat.
"…Call it a day," he rasped, voice strained. He straightened with a visible effort and turned, walking in awkward strides towards the Woodcutter's Shack. "Same time tomorrow."
"Are you alright?" Noah called, concern gnawing at his relief.
King Rhoam only gave a curt nod, his back a stoic wall as he disappeared into the twilight.
Left alone, Noah let out a shaky sigh, the bitter tang of escape mingling with the ache of a day's pummelling. 'Free,' he thought, the word tasting sweet on his tongue.
That freedom, however, proved tragically fleeting. A heavy blow crashed into the back of his head, stealing his consciousness in an instant. He crumpled to the ground, face pressed against the cold earth, oblivious to the King's booming voice rising from the cottage:
"…Thirty-six fails," Rhoam said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Never turn your back on the enemy."
The last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues. As Noah's consciousness gradually faded in he felt the warmth fade of the sun from his bruised skin gradually being replaced by the creeping chill of the approaching night. He cracked open an eye, the world a blurry mess through the sweat stinging his lashes.
Every bone ached, and his muscles, having indulged in rest, seemed reluctant to heed his command. They'd savoured the reprieve and refused to budge until their voracious appetite for relaxation was sated. The best Noah could manage was a resigned sigh, oddly untroubled by his predicament—the ground, surprisingly, felt rather accommodating.
'Im kinda screwed, aren't I?' he croaked, the question more a sigh than a sound. Training. That's what King Rhoam had promised. He'd pictured clashes of steel, the thrill of mastering sword and shield, not this... this one-sided ballet of agony. Ten minutes was his longest stand today (including the time he managed to distract the King with conversation). Ten minutes before Rhoam's onslaught overwhelmed him, sending him sprawling.
Noah understood that King Rhoam's rigorous training was for his benefit, yet despite the brutality, he knew it would ultimately mould him into something stronger. However, the more he dwelled on it, the heavier the weight of despondency settled on his shoulders.
'Summoned to this world intentionally...' Noah mulled over his situation as a seed of anger began to sprout. 'If the Goddess intended for me to play the role of Link, wouldn't bringing a warrior or someone with martial training have been a more logical choice?
It was only then that, Noah released he actually had no evidence to support this was the Goddess doing… perhaps he was merely unlucky.
Oddly enough the thought of being summoned to an entirely different world utterly sucks, but the thought of not even being specifically chosen for some reason was even worse.
But he could strategise. 'If the Goddess won't offer guidance, then for now, I'll follow the game's intended path. Impa in Kakariko Village comes next after leaving the Plateau. And if she doesn't assist… then perhaps Purah.'
Considering the kingdoms or taking on the Divine Beasts never crossed his mind. He wasn't Link and had no confidence in his abilities to face even a Keese, let alone one of the Blights.
'Leave it to the experts,' he concluded.
With a rough plan in place, Noah hoped for some relief from the incessant anxiety crowding his mind. Strangely, deciding on the plan only seemed to exacerbate the discomfort, leaving him restless.
'Looks like sleep isn't on the cards tonight either…' he muttered, resigned to another night of sleeplessness.
The first sting of dawn tickled Noah's eyelids, painting the world in an unwelcome wash of pale pink. He remained immobile, a tangled mess on the cold earth, who knows perhaps pretending slumber might ward off the day's inevitable challenges.
A metallic ping shattered the fragile illusion. A practice sword, its tip poised inches from Noah's nose, jolted him upright. King Rhoam's weathered face loomed above, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Sleeping in on the battlefield, are we, thirty-six?" his voice dripped with mockery.
Noah scrambled to his feet, shame flushing his cheeks. The ground, once surprisingly comfortable, now felt unforgiving beneath his knees. He mumbled an apology, his voice raw from disuse.
King Rhoam snorted, lowering the sword but keeping the tip trained on Noah's chest. " Yesterday was… educational, wouldn't you say?"
"Terrible," Noah muttered, rubbing his sore back.
The king chuckled a low rumble that echoed through the clearing. "Good. Then you'll be eager to put that education to use."
Noah gulped, something the King was holding caught his attention.
As if reading his mind, King Rhoam's gaze sharpened. "Today, we begin with the basics of the sword. Footwork, stance, grip. I'll be sure you learn them well, Thirty-Six. For even the simplest of skills can be your shield and your spear."
Hesitation flickered in Noah's eyes "I thought you said I wasn't prepared for the sword?"
"You aren't," King Rhoam affirmed, casting a wary glance back to the memory of Noah wielding the Woodcutter's Axe, a chill running down his spine. "Most certainly not."
"But time is against us. We work with what we have. I hope you're prepared," King Rhoam stated firmly.
"We don't have much time?" Noah's concern cut through the air.
King Rhoam lowered the sword from Noah's chest, a slow nod accompanying his grave words. "I'm afraid so. Despite the enjoyment of our sparring, tomorrow marks our parting."
King Rhoam's gaze turned distant, his voice tinged with a heavy weight of resignation. "The encroaching Malice has begun to overtake me. It's a force that consumes and corrupts. Soon, I'll be unable to discern friend from foe, and it's too risky for us to remain together." He sighed, the gravity of their impending separation evident in his eyes. "We part ways for your safety, Noah. And perhaps for mine."
As a heavy silence filled the space, Noah picked up a sparring sword from the ground, pointing it towards King Rhoam.
"Then I hope you're ready. I owe you a rematch after yesterday," Noah declared, a hint of determination in his voice.
King Rhoam chuckled heartily. "Is that so? Excellent, because if you're going all out, then so am I."
Suddenly, a flicker of fear crossed Noah's eyes as he hurriedly grasped a practice sword.
"First, we start with your form," King Rhoam said, his tone carrying a sense of determination and guidance.
Noah frowned, glancing at his posture. "What's wrong with this?"
"That stance…" Rhoam's voice trailed off, a mix of confusion and scepticism colouring his tone as he gazed at Noah."It's rather… peculiar. Unconventional, to say the least. Swords aren't wielded like that. It shouldn't work, young man," he remarked, the scepticism evident in his words as he observed Noah's unorthodox form, yet it seemed unusually familiar to King Rhoam.
"…Weird it was rather comfortable." Noah lamented.
King Rhoam, noticing Noah's unorthodox stance, approached with a scrutinizing gaze. "Allow me," he said, gesturing for Noah to lower the sword.
With a few deliberate movements, Rhoam adjusted Noah's grip on the hilt, positioning his feet and shoulders to conform more closely to a conventional swordsman's stance. He made subtle but impactful alterations, aligning Noah's body in a more classical form.
"There," King Rhoam said, stepping back to inspect the adjustments. "A more orthodox stance."
Noah shifted uneasily, feeling the discomfort of the adjusted stance. "It feels… odd," he admitted, readjusting his grip to a position more familiar to him.
King Rhoam nodded understandingly. "I understand it might not be your usual style, but we'll start from here. Let's begin the lesson."
'Wait no I never had a usual style.' Noah quickly understood King Rhoam's misunderstanding.
With a nod from Noah, King Rhoam commenced the training, another day of hellish training awaited Noah.
Authors Note)
Good evening everyone and I hope everyone is having a great new year. Originally, I was going to leave this note until after the next chapter but after seeing the reviews and followers I can no longer hold myself back.
I want to give a massively huge thank you to everyone who has read up to this point, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. I honestly didn't expect this amount of people to enjoy this as its my first fanfiction but im glad to see I was proved otherwise. Whenever I read a review or see another follower/favourite a smile always appears on my face and motivates me to begin/continue the next chapter. I hope you continue to enjoy this story as much as I do and of course, if anyone has any constructive feedback, advice or even questions don't hesitate to send a PM and I'll be more than happy to listen to it and follow along.
Obviously as people have seen the starting part of this story is a bit of a slow burner as we settle into the world and develop the characters, but rest assured it'll begin to pick up its pacing as we progress through and become more familiar with the setting (you'll notice this in the next few chapters). In addition, I've planned quite a large segment of the story already so there is a direction this story is heading and its matter of getting there.
Once again, thank you for reading The Apology of a Goddess & The Unwilling Hero and I hope you continue to do so.
See you next time!