Starlight Necromancer

Taking a deep breath, Foster stepped back into the carriage and leaned against the side-wall. He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and rubbed his arm a bit. It was somewhat sore, since the only thing he had been doing for that full hour just now was repeatedly go for that single specific motion to try and practice it. He did seem to make some form of progress, at least, so maybe it was kind of worth it.

As he was trying to figure out how much actual progress he had made using that training mode, the messages simply appeared in front of his eyes.

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[Argomna Style – Basic Stance – 2.1% Progress]

[Argomna Style – Basic Footwork – 0.9% Progress]

[Argomna Style – Basic Forward Strike – 3.8% Progress]

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"..." Foster looked at the information in front of his eyes, and couldn't believe what he was seeing, "What the actual fuck..."

The percentage was disappointingly low despite the fact that it felt like he made some real, proper progress the whole time. But then again, he had only worked for about an hour. Considering that, maybe this was actually decent progress after all. Even though the numbers still made him feel somewhat weird about it. Although, at this speed… Foster should be able to at the very least 'master' the basic forward strike by the time they reached arcadum.

While Foster was thinking about that, the cloaked guy also came back into the carriage, "Welcome back." He greeted him, but all that he got in return was a blank stare through that weird mask. With a wry smile, Foster simply got back to reading through the book, to see what things he should try learning sooner than others. And while he was trying to do that, he heard something that he hadn't expected to.

"You... Are you a martial artist?" The cloaked guy asked, and Foster raised his head with his brows raised in surprise, "I guess so, yeah. Why are you asking?"

"Just saw you train... Your movements are sloppy." He pointed out, and Foster glared back at him "Ah... thanks for letting me know."

"What style is that?"

"It... It's a style that my teacher came up with. These books are describing it, so I'm using them to learn the style." Foster explained, and the cloaked man quickly replied, "Where is your teacher from? It looks northern."

"I don't actually know, sorry... Are you also a martial artist?"

"No." The man replied in a quiet voice, "I'm a swordsman. My clan is one of martial artists, however."

"Let me guess, you're from the north, and that's why you say it looks nothern?" Foster asked, actually somewhat curious about him. For some reason, Foster thought that this guy was a bit older than him, but that didn't seem to be the case at all. They seemed to be about the same age, or at least that's what Foster figured judging from their voice. In this world, since there were things like elves and dwarves, he probably couldn't determine age for sure for everyobne. He didn't even know whether humans had the same lifespan here... Or how long a year was.

Either way, the guy slowly nodded his head, still seemingly quite focused on Foster, "Do you want me to help you train?"

"...And why would you do that?" Foster asked, surprised by the unexpected offer.

"...painful..." The cloaked man replied quietly, and Foster looked back at him with his head just so slightly tilted to the side, "You're aching to train someone? Well, in that case-"

"It's painful to watch you be so bad at such a beautiful art..."

"Eh?" Foster let out confused, "Did you just say what I think you said?"

"If you think I told you that you're bad at martial arts, then yes."

"Oi, just for the record, I was the strongest guy where I used to work."

"Just being strong doesn't mean that you are good at this art. A mammoth is strong, but it still can't master martial arts." The cloaked guy explained, and Foster was slowly growing annoyed, "Did you just compare me to a mammoth?"

"I compared the focus of your abilities to a mammoth. Not you yourself. You have too little hair on your body for that."

"...Those are brave words for someone whose name I don't even know..." Foster pointed out with a wry smile, and the cloaked guy stayed silent for a few seconds before finally replying.

"I'm... Lynol." The cloaked guy explained, and Foster let out a slight sigh, "Alright, nice to meet you then, man. I'm Foster."

"...That's a weird name."

"Well, Lynol isn't all that normal either, now fucking is it?" With a loud groan, Foster rolled his eyes and dropped his weight onto the wall behind him, "And you know, I told you before, but you can go ahead and take that mask off and stuff. I doubt that's comfortable."

"...Are you sure?"

"What, yeah, of course!" Foster practically yelled, "I mean, we're literally travelling for a full month... If you can't even take off a mask for a little, that seems kinda uncomfortable."

Slowly, Lynol pulled his hand out of his cloak and pressed it onto his mask. At that point, Foster could already see why he seemed nervous about taking his mask off. Lynol's skin was red.

And that didn't mean the kind of red that a white guy's skin could turn sometimes, but just fully red. A flat, deep red tone, not the kind that you would be able to see on anyone on earth. It kind of reminded Foster of Hellboy.

Lynol took off his mask, showing his face to Foster. As he thought, his face was also that same red, while his short hair was a dark red tone that bordered on black at this point. His eyes were a clear gray, so much so that they nearly seemed to glow. And on his forehead, Lynol had two burgundy horns growing from his skull, while dark patterns the same color as those horns were covering the left side of his head, just barely advancing onto his face.

"..." Foster stayed silent for a few moments, unsure what he was supposed to say. He really never saw someone like this. Of course, there were no people like Lynol on earth, so it would have been weird if Foster hadn't been surprised in the slightest.

Lynol seemed to be somewhat nervous after letting this total stranger see his face, and practically wanted to press the mask back onto his face more and more the longer this awkward silence continued on. Until Foster finally broke that silence.

"Those are some rad fucking horns." He said with a light grin on his face, and Lynol looked back somewhat surprised that he didn't say anything else about his appearance. Foster scratched the back of his head awkwardly, unsure how to phrase this properly, "So, I absolutely don't mean this in some kind of offensive way, I just don't know... a lot. Or anything at all, really. You're not human, right? You said your 'Clan' was one full of martial artists, so are they all..."

"Sigrid... It's the Sigrid Clan... I'm a Lorgran, we're the descendants of the Demon God." Lynol explained, and Foster looked back with a wry smile.

'The descendants of a god..? That sounds kind of like a cult...' He thought to himself, but replied to Lynol with a genuine smile, "That's pretty cool. Yeah, I'm... just a human, I don't think that was hard for you to see, though."

"Well, you could be a particularly tall Gnome, or an incredibly short Giant." Lynol suggested with a blank, serious expression.

"...Right. Nah, I'm just a human, as I said."

"That would explain why you're so bad at martial arts."

"I'm gonna kick your face in if you keep saying that."