I took a long, assessing look at the creature, then at my sword, then at my arms.

Right. Each swing costs roughly a quarter of a breath, two shoulder twinges, and one increasingly audible groan. Each hit does about eighteen damage. Factor in the slime’s defense, and that leaves me with . . . four.

Which meant I only needed sixty-five perfectly timed, perfectly wasteful slashes to put this thing down.

Sixty-five.

The optimal plan would be to swing just enough to look impressive, then spend the rest of the fight pretending to be meditating between strikes. But that would sound criminally unknightly if I admitted it. Unless . . . I made it look like it had been part of the plan all along. Dishonesty was also unknightly, but it wasn’t as though Ceralis would let me admit to the truth anyway.

I cleared my throat and declared, “Behold, as I slay this creature while obfuscating my aetheric profile.”

The Ceralis made no change to my line, except for amplifying the sound and making it sound like a warcry.

Great. Now that I’m lying through my teeth, you suddenly decide that my words don’t need any alterations.

Anabeth audibly gasped. “Obfuscating your aetheric profile?” she hopped like a happy little rabbit. “That’s advanced concealment thaumaturgy! You know what I think, Sir Henry? I think that technique cannot be done perfectly unless you are a God-level magic user!”

I wish she’d stop thinking.

Anabeth clapped her hands together, absolutely sparkling with excitement. “Oh, this is going to be an amazing learning experience! I shall record every movement of your aura, Sir Henry!”

Wonderful. Just what I needed: an audience and documentation.

The gloomslime gurgled.

I angled my feet the way Sir Roland had once shown me when he wanted someone to think they’d been schooled. Not that I’d learned the fine art of foot placement—just the appearance of it. The slime’s bulk sat mostly centered like a sac of bad intentions; its sides thinned into ragged lobes where it had been sliding along the tunnel wall. If I struck the flank, the slice would have to travel farther through the wobbly membrane to reach the core mass. That meant either more effective damage per swing or more time for the blob to fuss itself off-balance. Either outcome was acceptable so long as it involved fewer swings and less sweating.

I moved and brought the Runesword down on the slime’s right flank. The blade met a sickly, wet resistance and my shoulder protested with the practiced groan of a man who’d made a career of not overexerting himself.

Damage Dealt: 9 + 9 – 14 = 4

I snuck in a dexterous lateral cut just for good measures.

Damage Dealt: 8 + 7 – 14 = 1

Status: Healthy, in good form

[Greater Gloomslime]

HP: 255/260

Okay . . . Trying to sneak in a quick one doesn’t work, since my form isn’t good enough to actually deal reliable damage.

I took a step back the moment the slime shivered in response. Its entire body wobbled like a pudding reconsidering its structural integrity.

That was my cue to retreat.

I reversed my stance, lifting the blade just high enough to look like I was anticipating a counterattack rather than avoiding one. “Observe, Lady Anabeth,” I announced, backing away another two careful steps, “the critical after-swing repositioning phase. This is essential for maintaining aetheric concealment.”

Ceralis helpfully projected a faint echo behind my words, adding a reverberation that made me sound like I’d just invoked some forbidden art.

Anabeth said something too excited for me to make out the meaning, then the slime sloshed forward half a meter. It missed.

Just as planned.

I lunged forward before it could change its mind, bringing the Runesword down.

Damage Dealt: 10 + 8 – 14 = 4

My STR was a perfect 10! My muscles are on fire!

Anabeth called out, “Your swordform was artfully inelegant, Ser! I daresay your mastery of subtlety exceeds all expectations!”

Ah, yes. No need to remind me how my ATK was only 8 out of 15 . . .

After another five minutes of hard work, I started having to conceal my weariness, and the Gloomslime was nowhere near dying.

[Greater Gloomslime: 154/260 HP]

Stamina: 49%

Status: Healthy, Fatigued

My breath came in shallow intervals, perfectly calibrated to sound like controlled focus and not fatigue. The floor around us was slick with green ichor, and every time the slime shuddered, it sprayed another layer of despair across my boots.

[HP: 53/55]

The good news was that I’d only gotten hit one more time. The bad news was that I’d need to rest soon, and Anabeth, bless her boundless enthusiasm, was still studying my every move as though I were demonstrating the lost arts of swordsmanship. She’d given me no chance to laze around.

Fine. If I couldn’t stop moving, I could at least talk my way into a pause.

All I needed was an opening—a conversational feint. Something that sounded intelligent enough to stall her commentary and, ideally, my arms.

In my head, the speech formed flawlessly: I would step back, lower my sword just so, and say something like, “Now observe, Lady Anabeth, how a true knight conceals his swordform to invite underestimation from his foe.” That line alone had the cadence of an educational revelation. It practically demanded she stop and take notes. From there, I’d move on to the lecture phase, the safest part of any battle. Some well-placed philosophical musing about ‘measured stillness’ and could buy myself a full minute of rest under the guise of sharing secret knightly wisdom. If I played it right, she might even applaud my discipline.

I drew a slow breath, preparing my best scholarly tone. “Now, Lady Anabeth,” I began, “observe how a true knight conceals his swordform to—” Then Ceralis intervened. “—to destroy deception itself, to rend falsehood from the marrow of creation, and to let no veil nor shadow stand unburned before the purity of my blade, right now! I shall not rest until my sword brings doom upon this filthy creature!”

Anabeth gasped once more. “Yes! You’re finally showing your true strength!”

I exhaled. The slime gurgled in agreement, which felt needlessly smug for something without a face.

Curse you, Ceralis, you self-righteous chorus of ornamental adjectives!

Fine. Guess I’ll re-engage.

Then I remembered the bogmaw incident. My verbal taunting hadn’t worked then, but I could use my commanding presence. The key was Silent Authority.

I would simply stare the creature into submission, break its will to live, then crush its courage beneath the sheer weight of my knightly bearing. Perhaps even force it to disperse all its END in shame.

I fixed the slime with my most imperious glare. Two seconds passed.

[Passive: Silent Authority Activated]

The creature froze.

Yes. Yes! It’s working! Why haven’t you thought of this before, Henry? You bloody idiot, you’re a genius!

Then it wobbled. Then it sloshed. Then it spat a glob of acidic despair straight onto my greave..

[-1 HP]

[Intimidation Failed: Target Lacks Sentience → Immune to Psychological Effects]

What? This creature is too brainless to feel fear!

I stared down at the bubbling patch of corrosion eating through my armor. The slime gurgled again, probably laughing in binary.

Then he heard it a tiny, trembling sound that definitely wasn’t coming from the slime.

I turned my head.

Anabeth was staring at me, wide-eyed and trembling, hands pressed over her heart like she’d just witnessed the birth of a god. Her lips parted. “ . . . So majestic . . .”

[Seduction Succeeded]

[Silent Authority: Super Effective]

[Effect Duration: 60 seconds ~ Eternity]

What? Eternity? No! By the love of Saint Merin’s kidney, I don’t need this—

Then the slime spat another glob of goo on me.

[-1 HP]

[HP: 52/55]

Ah! I must focus on dispatching . . . hold on.

Anabeth was dazed, and looked very much like she needed medical attention! Decision made, I straightened until I looked suitably monumental. “Lady Anabeth!” I declared. “You appear to be in grave distress! Fear not! I shall shield you from further harm!” The Ceralis, naturally, chose this moment to amplify my voice again. “Behold! My duty compels me to safeguard the innocent! The valor of a knight knows no retreat, only repositioning!”

[Skill Activated: Knightly Choreography – Level 7]

My sword swept out in an elegant, utterly pointless arc, intercepting nothing but the faint suggestion of airborne slime particles. I turned side-on, placing myself squarely between Anabeth and the gloomslime in a beautifully choreographed motion.

Then, in one fluid gesture that would have made any parade marshal weep, I began walking backward. My sword remained poised in front, gleaming with righteousness.

“Stay behind me, Lady Anabeth!” I called, voice booming just shy of operatic. “This position offers optimal tactical advantage! We shall retreat strategically to higher ground!”

There was, of course, no higher ground. Only a slimy tunnel and my own desperate need to not swing this sword again. But the illusion was what mattered.

Ceralis, ever the opportunist, decided to project glimmers of angry red light behind me. I didn’t even know my aura could do that.

“. . . So valorous . . .” I heard her whisper.

Excellent. She was completely taken in.

[Silent Authority: Effect Waned]

The red lights disappeared in an instant. The air lost its sacred hush, and I suddenly became acutely aware that I had just been slowly shuffling backward, away from a slime.

Anabeth’s expression shifted from reverent awe to mild confusion. “Sir Henry . . . it’s just a slime.”

For one horrifying heartbeat, reason flooded back into my skull. But knights don’t flinch at reason. Knights out-reason the reason.

“The question,” I said swiftly—so swiftly that even Ceralis didn’t have time to translate it into anything more pompous—“is not whether it is just a slime, Lady Anabeth, but that you were dazed and required immediate medical attention!”

I had never spoken so fast in my life. The words came out sharp, noble, and somehow almost convincing.

Anabeth gasped softly. “You noticed my condition even while battling a monster?”

“Like you said, Lady Anabeth, it is no monster but a slime. Your condition is of more importance.” I’d done it. I’d regained my ability to talk so smoothly, it—“AND SHOULD ANY HARM BEFALL HER, LET THE EARTH ITSELF SPLIT OPEN IN RIGHTEOUS FURY TO DEVOUR HER ASSAILANT!” Ceralis intervened.

By the wills of the Saints, I’ve messed up once more—

Anabeth’s eyes shimmered with fresh awe. “ . . . So protective . . .”

Never mind, this is great! Ceralis, you magnificent, overzealous relic! I could kiss you! Right after I murder you, of course.

“Lady Anabeth,” I said, lowering my voice to a noble, gently commanding register, “you must rest. The shock you’ve endured has clearly left your humors unsettled.”

She blinked. “My humors?”

“Yes,” I said with absolute conviction, gesturing grandly toward a patch of rock that looked moderately slime-free. “Sit, breathe deeply, and recover your strength. A knight’s first duty is not merely to fight, but to ensure the wellbeing of those under his protection. AND SHOULD YOU FALTER, LET THE HEAVENS THEMSELVES WEEP IN REMORSE FOR THEIR NEGLECT!”

“Now that’s just a tad too protective, Sir Henry.” Anabeth’s voice had regained its sensible cadence. It didn’t matter. She was seated. I had my chance to rest.

I exhaled with knightly dignity, wiping a bead of sweat from my temple beneath the helm. The slime gurgled several meters away, apparently still impressed by my refusal to approach it.

Now then, what had flashed before my eyes earlier?

[Skill Activated: Knightly Choreography – Level 7]

That was new. I didn’t recall earning any ‘level sevens’ in my life, unless Ceralis was ranking me on how dramatically I could backpedal.

Ceralis, I willed it, lowering my sword to a resting pose that looked appropriately meditative. Show me my current skills.

The thing obeyed without commentary. Blue glow spread before my eyes, forming a neat script in the air like a miracle performed for bureaucrats.