The fourth day dawned gray and cold. The fanatics still did not attack. They had spent the past three days fortifying their camp, bringing up siege ladders, assembling crude battering rams. Their numbers had swelled to near a thousand. Ares was not sending a raiding party. He was sending an army.
But the delay was a gift. Adrestus used every hour.
He found a secluded courtyard behind the northern gate, a place where the buildings had collapsed into a natural arena of rubble and dust. The walls were high enough to block the wind, the ground flat enough for footwork. He had Aetos Pheme in his hands, the scroll of The King's Avatar tucked into his belt, and the silence of a city holding its breath.
He unrolled the scroll again. His eidetic memory had already captured every symbol, every diagram, every marginal note. But seeing the forms in his mind was not the same as feeling them in his body. He needed to practice. He needed to bleed.
The scroll depicted three primary forms, each with dozens of variations. The first was Dragon's Tusk—a thrust that rotated as it struck, boring through armor like a drill through wood. The diagrams showed the spearman's grip shifting, his hips twisting, his weight driving forward. The spear did not just pierce; it bored, using the rotation to overcome resistance.
Adrestus settled into a stance. Feet shoulder-width, left foot forward, spear held at mid‑shaft. He visualized the target—an imaginary warrior in heavy armor. He thrust.
The motion was smooth, but the rotation was wrong. His hips twisted too early, his grip slipped. The spear wobbled.
He tried again. Better. The rotation came from his core, not his arms. His absolute body control corrected the angle, adjusted the timing. The third thrust was perfect—a spiraling strike that would have punched through bronze.
He practiced Dragon's Tusk a hundred times. Then a hundred more. The motion became muscle memory, embedded in his nervous system. By the end of the first hour, he could execute the thrust blindfolded, from any stance, against any target.
The second form was Swallow's Tail—a parry that redirected an enemy's blade and led into a counter. The name came from the way a swallow's tail feathers split and curved, turning flight into evasion. The technique was not a block. It was a guide, using minimal force to send an opponent's weapon off course while the spear tip found its mark.
Adrestus practiced against a wooden post, imagining a sword swinging toward his head. He parried with the lower third of the spear shaft, deflecting the imaginary blade to the outside. Then he stepped forward, pivoted, and drove the tip into the post.
The motion was fluid, almost lazy. But the counter was devastating.
He practiced Swallow's Tail against different angles—high, low, left, right. He practiced against multiple attackers, visualizing a sequence of parry‑counter, parry‑counter, moving through the forms like a dancer. His absolute body control made the transitions seamless. By the end of the second hour, he could parry and counter in a single breath.
The third form was Falling Star—a thrown spear that returned to the hand. The scroll described a technique of spinning the spear, releasing it at the perfect angle, and willing it back through an invisible tether of momentum and will. It was not magic, the scroll insisted. It was physics. The spear's spin created a gyroscopic effect; a slight tug on the user's part, timed with the rotation, would reverse its flight.
Adrestus was skeptical. But he tried.
He gripped Aetos Pheme near the middle, spun it in his palm, and threw it at a wooden target twenty paces away. The spear flew straight, struck the target with a solid thunk, and embedded itself in the wood. He stood there, waiting.
Nothing happened.
He walked over, pulled the spear free, and returned to his starting position. He tried again. Same result.
He read the scroll more carefully. The tether was not physical, the text explained, but a connection forged between the wielder and the weapon through constant practice. The spear remembered the hand that threw it. With enough repetition, it would begin to return on its own.
Like Mjolnir, Adrestus thought, remembering stories from another life. Thor's hammer, returning to his hand.
He tried again. And again. And again.
On the fiftieth throw, he felt something—a faint tug, as if the spear had hesitated before embedding itself. On the hundredth throw, it spun in the air after striking, wobbling as if unsure. On the two‑hundredth throw, it tore free from the target and flew back toward him.
He caught it.
The shaft smacked into his palm with a satisfying slap. The red lightning flickered along the blade, as if the spear were pleased with itself.
He laughed—a rare, surprised sound. He threw it again. The spear struck, spun, and returned. Again. Again. Each time faster, smoother, as if the weapon was learning his rhythm.
By the end of the third hour, Aetos Pheme would return to his hand almost before he finished throwing it. The motion became a single fluid action: throw, strike, catch. Throw, strike, catch.
The system pulsed.
```
[SYSTEM UPDATE – Age 21]
Spear technique mastered: Falling Star (Returning Throw)
Effect: Aetos Pheme can now be thrown and will automatically return to the wielder's hand, similar to Mjolnir. The return is faster with practice and aura reinforcement. The spear is magically bonded to Adrestus through Hephaestus's forging.
Note: This property was dormant in the spear's forging. The King's Avatar scroll unlocked its potential.
Skill improved: Spearmanship
Level: Journeyman (Level 22) → Expert (Level 30)
New techniques learned:
- Dragon's Tusk: Rotating thrust. +15% armor penetration.
- Swallow's Tail: Parry‑counter. +20% counter damage.
- Falling Star: Returning throw. Extended range, reusable, cannot be disarmed.
Current Fame Coins: 2
```
Adrestus dismissed the screen and looked at Aetos Pheme. The spear hummed in his grip, eager. He threw it at the wall, watched it strike, spin, and fly back. He caught it without looking.
Hephaestus, he thought, you magnificent craftsman. You built a return mechanism into the spear and didn't tell me.
Perhaps the god had wanted him to discover it on his own. Or perhaps the spear had awakened only now, after the techniques from another world had shown it what it could be.
Either way, Adrestus had a weapon that could not be lost, could not be disarmed, could strike from a distance and return in an instant.
He smiled and walked back toward the gate. The fanatics were forming ranks on the hills. A cyclops lumbered at their head, its single eye fixed on the city. Behind it, a thousand madmen gripped their weapons and screamed.
Let them come, he thought, spinning the spear in his hand.
I have a falling star.
---