Chapter 4 - Hand-To-Hand Combat

"I don't know. Some say it's the end of the world, others believe that there is paradise behind it."

Naemon was shocked that all of this actually existed. Before, he had only been involved with his village, apart from the trip to the main family. That's why he needed some time to process Anne's words.

"I was also fascinated when I first heard about it. But fortunately, we are far from it." said Anne and ended the speech. Next, she would chase him through all the important nobility!

And so the next few days passed. In the morning, Naemon had lessons with Anne, and in the evening, he trained with Gunther. What was initially exhausting and monotonous became a pleasant routine for Naemon. He liked seeing how his development progressed.

One day, however, the routine was unexpectedly broken.

"So, my boy. You finally have a bit more meat on your bones. Now I can teach you to fight without accidentally being taken away by the wind HaHaHa" Gunther stood with Naemon on their usual training ground and surprised him with the news. He was not blind; he could see how much effort Naemon had put in over the last few days.

"Thank you, father!" said Naemon, full of anticipation. He had really put in a lot of effort and had even become a small training maniac. Of course, he still hated being sweaty.

"Naemon.." Gunther began, his voice rough but laced with affection, "There will be times when you don't have your weapon with you. That's why we'll work on your fists."

"I learned after a while in the military that weapons are powerful, but they can get lost, taken, or even break." Gunther remembered his worst moments.

"Your body, on the other hand, is always with you. It's a weapon that you can rely on if it's well-trained."

Naemon held his breath in tension. His father never talked much about his time in the military.

"It's not just about fighting; it's about independence, about facing every situation with what you have."

"Do you understand your old man?"

"Of course, Father, why should I doubt you?" And that was true. Naemon was not naive. His father's words made sense.

"Good, good, my son." He was proud to have such a diligent son!

A grin split Gunther's face. "Alright, let's get started, shall we? First things first: your guard." He raised his arms, elbows bent at a 90-degree angle, forearms crossed in front of his chest like a sturdy gate. "This will keep the opponent's strikes away from your face. Think of it as a shield made of your own strong arms."

Naemon imitated the movement, feeling a little uncomfortable. His arms felt stiff, and the posture seemed unnatural. "Like this?" he asked.

"Hmm... almost." Gunther chuckled and stepped to Naemon's side to correct his posture. He slowly pushed Naemon's elbows closer to his body until they were in the right spot and lowered Naemon's crossed forearms a centimeter. "Remember that your body is a weapon now. Keep it strong and stable, like a sturdy oak in a storm."

Next came the footwork. Gunther began to move slowly. He demonstrated a sideways shuffle with exaggerated steps and then hopped back with a deep knee bend. He stressed the importance of staying light on his feet and explained how this would help Naemon avoid attacks and keep his balance.

Naemon stumbled a few times, caught his foot on an uneven patch of ground, and landed on his bottom with a surprised grunt. He tried again. With each awkward step, his movements became a little smoother, a little more controlled. The initial awkwardness disappeared as he found a rhythm and imitated his father's movements with growing confidence.

Beads of sweat formed on Naemon's forehead. In contrast, Gunther's forehead remained dry, as if it was child's play for him.

Despite the exertion, a spark of enthusiasm ignited in Naemon. These were not dry exercises or memorization like his lessons with Anne, which he, of course, still liked. This felt more alive and dynamic. It felt like a game between his father and him. Every successful block, every balanced jump felt like a victory over himself.

The afternoon passed, and the suns colored the sky orange and red. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon and darkness embraced them, Gunther clapped his hands and pulled Naemon out of his concentration.

"That's enough for today, my son" he said in a rough voice, but with a hint of pride. "You did well. Remember, practice makes perfect. Even a clumsy bear cub can prove himself against any beast as long as he practices enough, haha."

Naemon grinned, the pain of the effort long forgotten. His muscles ached, but in a pleasant way, since the pain was proof of the day's work. He looked at his father, a newfound respect lighting up his eyes. It wasn't just learning to fight; it was a shared experience, a bond forged by sweat and determination. Naemon knew there was still much to learn, but for now, he was content with this small victory over himself, this first step on the path to becoming more than just an outcast.

He was Naemon, Gunther's son, and he was learning to fight for the first time. The future, once shrouded in uncertainty, now held new possibilities—a future in which he could stand tall and face all the challenges that awaited him. A future in which no one would dare to do him an injustice again!