I don't know if everyone likes the style of this chapter, but whether you like it or not, the following chapters will return to the Standard Style. Consider this chapter an experiment.
Finally, as I said before, please don't be stingy with your votes. Cast a vote; that is my current mental sustenance...
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As I played with that rotten wooden club, swinging it around like the dumbest, lowest-level Half-Orcs wearing split pants in the Games I used to play, grinning like an idiot as I walked ahead, I had the air of conquering the world with a stick in hand.
Lars walked up impolitely, knocked on my head, and said irritably,
"Don't think this was given to you for free. Now you have a Weapon. From today onwards, you should try fighting. As a glorious Class Holder, the responsibility we bear should be commensurate with the glory and respect we receive, and our responsibility is to drive the forces of Hell out of the Human World."
Lars's expression gradually became serious, coupled with a high-spirited and solemn aura. If he were wearing a pure white Priest Robe and holding a thick book on dark arts, he could truly compete with those white-bearded charlatans in the Temple.
"Yes, Superior."
I answered reluctantly. In fact, I knew this was a reality I would have to face sooner or later. With my current identity as a Druid, if I dared to say on the street, "Ah, I really miss the taste of sweet potatoes from home, I really, really want to go back home and grow sweet potatoes," I'm afraid I would truly be despised to death by those Commoners.
It's just that I didn't expect to face it so early. Thinking that my future legendary (as I saw it) combat life would begin by being forced by an unscrupulous and scheming Knight uncle after obtaining a mere White Wooden Club, I wished I could find a piece of tofu to hit myself to death.
Of course, there shouldn't be such a thing as tofu in this world, so that last sentence is magnificently invalidated.
Just like that, I was forced to begin the first battle of my life. The opponent was naturally the Rotting Corpse, the first choice. Its slow movements and sluggish nerves truly gave its enemies a great sense of security. As long as you were careful not to be surrounded, it couldn't cause damage to any Class Holder at all. Even Commoners could easily escape if they encountered it.
Many days of observation weren't just for show. I had long since figured out the Rotting Corpse's abilities and habits. Don't look at how easy I made it sound earlier; the Rotting Corpse's movements are slow, its movement is slow, and its charge-up is slow, but once it has fully charged, the Attack speed in that instant is absolutely lightning-fast. If I had to describe it, it would probably be like a venomous snake hunting, the feeling of going from extreme stillness to extreme movement.
Of course, if I had a ranged Attack, there would be no suspense, but unfortunately, I was a rookie who hadn't learned even one Skill, nor did I have a short bow made of even tofu. So, I had to carry that White Wooden Club and perform circular motion around the Rotting Corpse with a radius of 10 meters.
At this moment, if I had to make the atmosphere solemn, I could describe it as a sparring match between Martial Arts Experts. One was immobile as a mountain, planning to use stillness to counter movement, while the other sought an opportunity, preparing to strike first. The tension was imminent, the atmosphere was very, very heavy, and the audience was very, very tense... Hey, Doug over there, stop looking like a hungry ghost reincarnated, okay? Will you die if you eat one less slice of meat?
This atmosphere lasted for about fifteen minutes. After the audience saw me, who was responsible for playing the role of the Martial Arts Expert preparing to strike first, showing no intention of acting and pretentiously circling the Rotting Corpse for over ten minutes, they weren't having it.
The masters from Shaolin, Wudang, and Emei Sect who were acting as referees—oh, I'm too into the role, sorry, they should be an unscrupulous Paladin and two useless Barbarians—mercilessly coughed loudly from the side, trying to push me, the sapling of the motherland, into the boundless abyss. Doug even booed and threw a half-eaten slice of meat he was holding.
Damn Doug, you fake hooligan fan, I cursed inwardly. If he were a fan in my original world, he would definitely be the kind who caused trouble at every game and was blacklisted by all stadium security.
Under the sharp gazes of the three, utterly helpless, I had no choice but to raise the wooden club, let out a loud shout to bolster my courage, and then charged towards the Rotting Corpse with my head down. My stiff steps and actions full of flaws made the three people beside me shake their heads—fortunately, the opponent was a Rotting Corpse. If it were an agile Fallen, my appearance would probably be like a fat, oily duck, stretching its neck and waddling over to let it test its blade.
"Hah!" The first strike finally landed. The first strike in my life. Why are you looking at me like that? I just accidentally hit it from behind. This was an accident, an unexpected event. It was absolutely not a sneak attack with a club or hitting with a brick. I'm not that kind of person.
After one strike, while the Rotting Corpse was momentarily stunned, I immediately crawled and rolled—oh no, I should say I cautiously retreated several hundred steps—and then warily watched the Rotting Corpse.
"Wu, what are you doing? Hurry up and kill it!" Lars couldn't stand it anymore, like an Imperial Army commander ordering his subordinates to charge the Communist bandits on the mountaintop.
"Lars, the moment I attacked it, I felt it was about to Corpse Explosion!" I shouted with all my might, like a soldier in a trench under bombing, shielding my face from the dust and dirt kicked up by nearby explosions with my left hand, holding a telegraph machine in my right, "Enemy firepower is too strong, requesting backup from Superior!"
Carefully observing every movement of the Rotting Corpse after being attacked, ensuring that strike didn't provoke its aggro or anything like that, I then put on an expression like I had discovered something and solemnly spouted nonsense. If I remembered correctly, the mummies in the Act 2 tombs would indeed Corpse Explosion Poison Gas after death...
"Corpse Explosion my ass! If you keep slacking off, I'll castrate you..."
Veins bulged on Lars's forehead, and he swore vulgarities forbidden to Paladins as if they cost nothing.
Uh~~, it seems they really don't cost anything...
Seeing Lars's frantic look, like he'd turn into a Rotting Corpse if I didn't act, I helplessly charged forward again. With the experience of the first strike, my previously tense nerves had relaxed considerably. Looking at the Rotting Corpse's swaying steps, I muttered to myself, "Old Buddha, your servant will give you a leg massage," and then, wielding the wooden club, I mercilessly swept it towards its leg joints.
My intention was good, but the force wasn't enough. It only made the Rotting Corpse stumble, and then, like a roly-poly toy, its body swayed and straightened up again. The Rotting Corpse turned its hollow eyes towards me and slowly drew its hands back. My eyes narrowed, and I thought, "Here it comes."
Just as I expected, the next moment, the Rotting Corpse's oily green fingernails had passed through the spot where I had just been standing. What a move, Dragon Claw Hand! The speed was truly terrifying. If it were my former self, even if I could predict its Attack trajectory, I definitely wouldn't be able to dodge.
But for me, who had now become a Druid, it was a piece of cake. I did a lazy donkey roll—no, that's not right, maybe eighteen rolls sticking to clothes—that's not suitable either. In short, I rolled on the ground with great flair, with a difficulty coefficient and elegance index that were severely off the charts. And when I squatted up, I didn't forget to casually swing the wooden club towards the exact middle point between its left and right thighs. Alas, the imagined critical hit didn't occur. Could it be that this Rotting Corpse was a legendary Eunuch in its past life?
After having one experience, things became simple. In fact, many things aren't difficult; it's just that few people dare to try.
Before long, under my fierce Attacks, the Rotting Corpse fell to the ground with a bang. I immediately rushed forward, forcing myself to endure the nausea, and felt around under the Corpse. I prayed inwardly, hoping that since this was my first time killing a Monster, the boss would give me some face and drop some items. No need for Mythical Items, just a few practical and aesthetically pleasing Set and Unique Items would be fine. Of course, if it also came with a Wolf Head that adds N types of Skills, that would be even more perfect.
However, Heaven didn't seem to sense my resentment. As I was considering whether to cut open its rotten belly to see if it was hiding a Mythical Item or something, Lars timely stepped forward to stop me and said with a compassionate expression,
"Although this is a deeply sinful Monster, who are we? Light and Glory, abbreviated as glorious Class Holders. Desecrating Corpses is something we cannot do..."
Actually, I think Lars's underlying meaning was: Kid, don't be silly. There won't be Equipment inside Corpses. Even if you grind it to dust, you won't find anything. This is the Experience of countless senior experts! Back in the day, I, this uncle, also tried countless times, *click*...
"Not bad, Wu, your talent is indeed extraordinary. Even with a sluggish Rotting Corpse, very few people can retreat completely and unscathed the first time they face one, although your fighting style is truly unacceptable..."
Lars's eyes were full of complexity. On one hand, he was witnessing the birth of a genius, and on the other hand, he was worried that I would continue such a Wily Style of combat and that it would eventually be discovered that I was forced into it by a Paladin named Lars, and so on...
Meanwhile, the two Barbarians' gazes revealed a bit of fervor; it looked like they wanted to spar with me.
"Not at all, this kind of thing is easy to do," I said, feeling like I had done something incredible. I shyly scratched my head, "If you praise me just because I'm a Level 1 person, it's unfair to many people. After all, in real combat, others won't care what level you are or if you're a person." I specifically emphasized the words "Level 1" and "person."
Only then did I manage to dispel the Barbarian brothers' idea of sparring with me.
...
...
In the following days, Uncle Lars would personally demonstrate first each time, and then leave some Rotting Corpses for me to deal with alone. On one hand, it was out of eagerness to nurture talent, and on the other hand, it seemed he also intended to properly correct my fighting style.
I didn't disappoint Lars either. From initially fighting 1 Rotting Corpse alone, to later fighting 4 Rotting Corpses simultaneously, my fighting method also gradually became proficient, and my style also changed slightly, barely transitioning from Wily Style to pseudo-Standard Style.
Why would I abandon the extremely shameless Wily Style and transition to standardization? Isn't Wily Style the legendary golden finger for fighting the many with few, and the strong with the weak?
Don't forget, this isn't a Game after all, Wily Style also has risks. If you succeed with Wily Style, you can naturally turn the tables, but if you fail, it might be Game Over. I admit my Wily Style hasn't reached the Grandmaster level yet, so I can't just casually risk my Life with Wily Style like that. Although Standard Style is more rigid, it's relatively safer.
Therefore, I wisely abandoned Wily Style. Of course, I haven't completely abandoned it. When safety is ensured, being a bit wily occasionally can also reduce a lot of consumption.
(end of chapter)