Gon's Harem System
Chapter 142: Training

Chapter 142: Training

The storm had quieted to a faint drizzle by morning, the relentless drumming of rain replaced by a soft, persistent tapping against the windowpane

Gon lay sprawled across his bed, the furs tangled around his legs, his chest rising and falling with the slow, heavy rhythm of deep sleep

A faint snore rasped from his throat, barely audible over the distant drip of water still seeping through the stone walls

The room was cloaked in a gray half-light, the early dawn struggling to pierce the thick clouds outside

A sharp knock jolted him awake, the sound cracking through the stillness like a whip

Gon’s eyes snapped open, bleary, unfocused, his heart thudding in his chest as he registered the intrusion

The door creaked open before he could respond, a guard stepped in, his boots clomping heavily on the stone floor

The man’s armor clinked faintly with each movement, a metallic jingle that grated against Gon’s groggy senses

"Time for training, my lord," the guard said, his voice gruff, matter-of-fact, tinged with the impatience of someone who’d been up for hours

Gon groaned, a low, rumbling sound of protest as he sat up, the furs sliding off his bare torso

His head throbbed faintly, the fog of oversleeping clinging to his mind like damp wool

He rubbed his eyes with a clumsy swipe, blinking against the dim light, cursed under his breath

"Overslept," he muttered, the word slurring as he swung his legs over the bed’s edge

The cold air bit at his skin, raising gooseflesh as he stumbled to his feet, the floor icy beneath his soles

He dressed in a frantic rush, yanking a crumpled tunic over his head, the fabric catching briefly on his damp hair

His fingers fumbled with the laces of his breeches, the leather stiff, uncooperative, he nearly tripped pulling on his boots, the thud of his heel against the stone echoing in the quiet room

The guard watched impassively, arms crossed, as Gon snatched his sword belt from the chair, buckled it on, the metal clasp clicking into place with a satisfying snap

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, gave the guard a curt nod, strode out, his steps quick, unsteady

The training yard was a muddy sprawl under the overcast sky, the air thick with the earthy scent of wet soil, the faint tang of rust from the practice blades

Gon spotted his swordsmaster immediately, a thin, wiry old man with a bald head gleaming like polished stone, a scruffy beard that jutted out in wild tufts

Beside him stood Milo, his lean frame draped in a dark cloak, his usual aloof smirk curling his lips

The sight drew a groan from Gon, loud, unabashed, his disappointment palpable as he trudged closer, boots squelching in the mire

"Late again, Gon," Milo drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance, his pale eyes glinting with mockery as he shifted his weight to one hip

He crossed his arms, the gesture exaggerated, as if to emphasize his point

Gon’s temper flared, his jaw tightening as he snapped back, "Mind your own damn business, Milo. You’re not even supposed to be here."

His voice was sharp, cutting through the damp air, his breath puffing out in faint clouds

The swordsmaster raised a bushy eyebrow, his weathered face creasing with curiosity as he watched the exchange

He cleared his throat, a dry, rasping sound, stepped forward

"He’s right, boy," he said, his tone firm but tinged with amusement

"You’re late."

Gon blinked, his groggy mind scrambling for words, rubbed the back of his neck with a calloused hand

"Sorry for being late," he mumbled, his voice rough, low, scraped raw by the remnants of sleep

"I was tired."

The admission slipped out awkwardly, his dark eyes flickering to the swordsmaster’s weathered face, then away, avoiding the judgment he half-expected to find there

His boots shifted in the mud, a soft squelch breaking the quiet, he stifled a yawn that threatened to betray him further

Milo snorted, a sharp, derisive sound that cut through the stillness like a blade

He stood a few paces away, his lean frame wrapped in a dark cloak, his pale eyes glinting with smug disbelief

"Tired?" he interjected, his tone dripping with mockery as he tilted his head, that infuriating smirk curling his lips

"You were probably just being lazy, Gon. Nothing new there."

His words were a taunt, delivered with the casual arrogance of someone who reveled in needling others, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back slightly

Gon’s head snapped toward him, his temper flaring like a spark catching dry tinder

"Shut your mouth, Milo," he growled, his voice rising, sharp, biting

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking faintly, his dark hair fell into his eyes as he glared

"I don’t need your commentary every damn time I breathe."

The air between them crackled with tension, the drizzle picking up into a steady patter that dotted his tunic with dark spots, each drop a cold pinprick against his skin

The swordsmaster watched the exchange with a flicker of amusement in his rheumy eyes, his thin lips twitching beneath his scruffy beard

He cleared his throat, a dry, rasping sound that silenced the brewing spat, stepped forward with a deliberate slowness

"Enough," he said, his voice firm, cutting through the damp air like a whipcrack

He drew his sword from its scabbard, the blade scraping free with a low, metallic hum that reverberated in the stillness

The steel gleamed dully under the overcast sky, its edge worn but sharp, a testament to years of use

"Today’s lesson, boy," he began, leveling the sword with a steady hand, his wiry frame belying the strength in his grip

"You’re learning to anticipate sword movements, block ’em proper."

He took a step back, his boots sinking slightly into the mud, raised the blade in a slow, deliberate arc

"Watch the shoulders, the hips, they tell you where the strike’s coming before the steel moves. Then you meet it, like this."

He swung lightly, a controlled motion, paused, nodding for Gon to ready his own sword

The drizzle hissed faintly as it struck the blade, a soft counterpoint to the old man’s measured words, as Gon shook off his irritation, stepped into stance