Free Web NovelChapter 279: Chapter 267: Combat Skill [Charge]
"A Wizard?"
Hearing this title, Roland’s brow immediately furrowed.
After all he had been through, his understanding of this continent was no longer as shallow as when he had first arrived.
For instance, he knew about those who wielded Extraordinary Power... Casters.
"Caster" was just a general term, and Wizards were only one of its branches.
Besides Wizards, several other Extraordinary Professions could also be classified under this category.
Among these Casters, the Power wielded by Mages bore many similarities to that of Wizards.
But unlike Mages, who focused more on practical application and the precise control of Spell Models to achieve immediate effects, Wizards were more devoted to pure research.
They pursued the deepest, most fundamental mysteries of Magic Power itself, longing to comprehend the operating Laws of all things in the world.
Even if these Laws were often considered taboo by the secular world.
To them, Magic was more like a tool for verifying theories or a byproduct of their research, rather than the ultimate goal.
This thirst for pure knowledge drove Wizards to constantly explore forgotten corners, sealed ruins, and even the very boundary between life and death.
However, it was this nearly obsessive focus on research that gave Wizards a key and unsettling characteristic.
They often had no bottom line—or rather, their bottom line was far lower than that of ordinary people or even other Extraordinary Professionals.
To acquire knowledge or verify a bold hypothesis, they could disregard all morality, treating living beings as experimental materials, souls as tradable currency, and even daring to desecrate the Domains of Divine Spirits or twist the natural course of life.
Immortality, Power, mastery over the universe’s truths...
In their eyes, these grand objectives were enough to justify any horrifying method.
To them, whether the means were "evil" was far less important than the "truth" and "value" of the results.
This trait of stopping at nothing to achieve their goals meant that the reputation of Wizards was often associated with danger, madness, and unpredictability in the secular world.
Thinking of this, Roland couldn’t help but recall the Witch Demon who had absorbed the core Power of the Demon City.
’Didn’t its actions exude this same chilling Wizard-like quality?’
Just as Roland was lost in thought, a long sigh interrupted him.
He lifted his eyes and looked at the Knight before him.
Compared to his previous disheveled state, the Dean’s appearance had now more or less returned to normal. It was just...
Roland slowly tightened his brow.
He could clearly feel the Fighting Spirit surging within Graham’s body. It seemed... much thinner than before.
Even its flow had become somewhat sluggish.
After a moment of silence, Graham shook his head slightly, reached for the left side of the wooden desk, and flicked a certain spot a few times.
With a faint mechanical click, a hidden compartment popped open.
The Dean of the Knight Academy ignored Roland’s inquisitive gaze, directly pulling out a worn, yellowed, and wrinkled parchment scroll before rising from his chair.
"Let’s go."
"Dean Graham?"
"To the training grounds."
Graham said no more. He simply took his sword from the wall and strode out the door.
Roland’s brow twitched slightly, but he had no choice but to quicken his pace and follow.
It was currently class time, so the training grounds were nearly deserted.
After a brief greeting with a few students who were training on their own, Graham led Roland to a remote corner.
Looking around to confirm they wouldn’t be disturbed, the Knight finally spoke slowly.
"You don’t need to worry about rewards in the form of money and treasure."
"I’ve already reported your contributions in the recent war to that fellow Derek. The corresponding items should be delivered to your residence soon, I expect. However, I believe..."
At this point, Graham took a deep breath and slightly lowered his body.
BOOM!
The next moment, a muffled boom that tore through the air suddenly exploded by Roland’s ear.
In a flash, before Roland could even react, Graham, who had been standing in front of him, had already appeared dozens of paces away, next to a training dummy.
Only then did the Dean’s unfinished sentence finally land: "...that compared to those material rewards, you’re more interested in improving your strength, are you not?"
"This is..."
Roland’s pupils contracted sharply.
That burst of power just now was so fast that it was difficult to even catch a Residual Shadow, as if space itself had been compressed.
’This kind of speed...’
Even for him, who had now completed his advancement to the Knight Profession, he likely couldn’t hope to match it even if he went all out and activated all his Traits and Skills.
Graham gently patted the training dummy’s shoulder. A trace of imperceptible exhaustion flashed across his face, but his gaze remained as sharp as an eagle’s.
He stood firm before Roland, his voice steady and clear.
"The Combat Skill: Charge."
"Charge?"
"That’s right."
Graham didn’t launch into a long lecture, but instead began teaching the technique in the most direct way possible.
"Don’t be fooled by its name. It’s not simply about running fast. It’s about integrating the full force of your muscles, a sudden burst of Fighting Spirit, and precise Spiritual Guidance to ’catapult’ your body over a very short distance, like a stone from a trebuchet."
He gestured for Roland to take a few steps back, while he himself returned to his original position.
His body sank slightly, his center of gravity shifted forward, and the muscles in his legs tensed and bulged, like a Bowstring drawn taut with power.
There was no flashy opening stance, no dazzling aura of Fighting Spirit leaking out. All the power was contained and compressed within his torso.
"Watch closely."
Graham’s voice grew deep.
"Its core lies in ’burst’ and ’control.’"
"For the burst, you need to mobilize every muscle, instantly pouring Fighting Spirit into your legs and spine, like a spring compressed to its absolute limit."
"This force is extremely powerful. The slightest mistake can easily result in torn muscles or bone fractures. Therefore, the first step in practicing this Combat Skill is to get your body to withstand this recoil."
Before he had even finished speaking, his figure vanished again.
This time, Roland focused all his Spirit and barely managed to catch a blurry trajectory.
It wasn’t a pure linear dash, but more like a spatial leap resulting from a force that had been constrained to the extreme.
Accompanied by a dull sonic boom from the violently compressed air, Graham once again appeared precisely beside another training dummy, his position perfect down to the inch.
And the hard tiles of the training ground beneath his feet were now covered in a web of fine cracks.
Graham slowly straightened up. His breathing was slightly ragged, but his movements were still steady.
"Difficulty number two: the landing point."
The Dean of the Knight Academy pointed at his feet.
"After the burst of power, you must immediately take control of your body and nail yourself to your desired position like a spike."
"An out-of-control Charge will send you straight onto an enemy’s blade or into a wall. That’s just foolish suicide."
"So when you execute this Combat Skill, your Spirit must be highly focused. You have to lock onto your target at the very instant of the burst and use powerful core strength to forcibly ’brake’ and adjust your posture."
He walked back and unfastened the sword from his waist.
"Finally, the most difficult part."
Graham tightened his grip on the hilt.
"Integrating an attack into that instantaneous burst."
"The opportunity is fleeting. You must, within that moment of extreme speed and power, complete your draw, slash, or thrust."
"Power, speed, landing point, attack motion... all components must connect perfectly, without the slightest deviation."
"Otherwise, charging up to an enemy only to be too late to strike, or striking when your power has already dissipated and your center of gravity is unstable—these are all fatal openings."
Before his words had faded, the Dean of the Knight Academy had already appeared dozens of paces away.
The training dummy beside him, at some unknown point, had already been split in two and fallen to the ground, kicking up a fine spray of dust.
Hanging the sword back on his waist and seeing Roland’s contemplative expression, Graham said in a deep voice,
"Don’t be deceived by flashy names and appearances."
"A true Knight’s power comes from the Fighting Spirit refined through their Breathing Technique and from a physique tempered a thousand times over. As for Combat Skills... they are merely a means to unleash that power more effectively and directly."
He tapped his own strong arm, his tone filled with undeniable pride.
"Excessively pursuing complex techniques, relying on Combat Skills that seem powerful but require lengthy preparations or complicated conditions, will only bog down your combat rhythm and expose fatal openings in a life-or-death moment."
"Power itself is fundamental; technique is just a tool in service of power."
"Charge is powerful precisely because it is pure, direct, and efficient enough to utilize the most core burst of power to its absolute extreme."
Graham’s gaze, filled with scrutiny, fell upon Roland.
"Memorize this feeling. Start practicing by withstanding the recoil."
Roland did as he was told, walking over to a sturdy training post. He mimicked Graham’s posture, sinking his body and cautiously beginning to mobilize the Fighting Spirit within him, attempting to compress and pour it into his lower limbs.
Every attempt was accompanied by the soreness of his muscles and a faint humming in his bones, making him truly feel the formidable power behind this seemingly simple Combat Skill.
Graham, meanwhile, watched silently from the side, occasionally speaking up to correct Roland’s power exertion posture and center of gravity.
As time passed, Roland’s clothes became soaked with sweat, but his eyes only grew brighter.
With each attempt, he could feel the budding of that coiled, ready-to-be-unleashed power more clearly than the last.
Not until the afterglow of the setting sun had dyed the training grounds a shade of gold did Graham raise a hand to signal for Roland to stop.
He took a yellowed, wrinkled parchment scroll from his breast pocket and handed it directly to the still-panting Roland.
"This is for you."
Roland took it. It felt heavy and coarse in his hands, imbued with the weight of ages.
"It’s a part of the Nameless Breathing Technique."
Graham’s voice was low and calm, but it held an unconcealable weakness.
"The missing part."
