The Harvester barely had time to rise from the grass before Kaelen's dagger took it in the throat.
He had learnt that like the bow, the daggers also needed emotionally charged mana to work well otherwise they were just normal knives.
Though not like his previous body he still felt he had improved, he was much better than he was in the first dungeon and the system had not sent a warning.
Lysander stood ten paces back, arms folded, watching him. He had said he would only help when he thinks necessary. Wave after wave, as Harvesters rose from the brown grass and Kaelen cut them down.
The Duke's presence was a pressure at the edge of Kaelen's awareness not helpful he had never known he had performance anxiety till now,
"Continue," Lysander said, when the last Harvester unraveled into dust.
Kaelen's chest heaved. His arms trembled. The daggers felt like lead weights in his hands. "I need to rest."
"They don't seem to think so."
Another Harvester surged from the grass. Kaelen threw, missed, dove sideways as claws raked the air where his head had been. He rolled, came up with one dagger, stabbed the creature in the side of its knee,but the blade bit deep and the Harvester collapsed. He finished it with a blow to the base of its skull.
His palm was bleeding.
"Continue."
Kaelen did cursed but did not argue, he knew he needed this. He simply stood, retrieved his daggers, and waited for the next one.
This was better than training. Tempering, is what he had been needing, he knew he should take the chance when their was someone stronger who could watch his movements while surveying the battle field. Lysander was helping his body to remember what his mind already knew and tempering was also helping to burn away the original softness.
By the twentieth Harvester, his throws were landing faster. By the fiftieth, his breathing had found a rhythm. The gap between intent and execution was still there, but it was smaller. The fragment in his palm pulsed with each kill, feeding something hungry and patient.
"Enough," Lysander said finally.
Kaelen stopped, swaying. Sweat ran down his face, stinging the small cuts where grass blades had sliced his cheeks. His thighs, still in pain due to the horse ride, screamed in protest. But he was still standing.
He leaned down after a while cleaned the daggers. The blood had dried tacky on the blades, and he scraped it off with his thumbnail, watching the flakes drift down to the soil.
"You're improving fast," Lysander said. "We will continue this pattern until we find the exit."
Kaelen wiped his brow with the back of his hand all the peptalk he had given himself flying out the window as he considered pretending to faint.
Lysander's pale eyes flickered something that might have been amusement