Taboo Online

Over the following week, Luke and Lauren barely saw each other during the day.

The Hero Bureau consumed most of their waking hours. Once the café reopened, Lauren left the daytime work to her employees while she attended training and medical evaluations. Luke’s schedule pulled him into another part of the Bureau complex every morning, so they rarely crossed paths until both returned to the apartment above the café late in the evening.

By then, they were usually too exhausted to discuss everything that had happened. They took turns showering, dragged themselves into bed, and fell into each other’s arms.

Sometimes Lauren managed to ask how Luke’s training had gone, and sometimes he tried to ask her the same thing. Most nights, neither remained awake long enough to finish answering. Training reduced their evenings to warm water, tired touches, and sleep.

Luke’s instructor was Elias Mercer, an elderly spear hero better known as White Pike. His white hair was tied behind his head, deep wrinkles covered his face, and his thin frame made him appear almost fragile from a distance.

That impression vanished the moment he picked up a spear.

The weapon moved with him so naturally that it seemed like part of his body. Every thrust landed exactly where he intended, and each step placed him at the perfect angle. Even with a blunt training weapon, Luke never forgot that Mercer could probably drive the spear straight through his chest if he wanted to.

His temperament fit the old-master image almost too well. He was strict, distant, and nearly impossible to talk to.

On the first day, Luke tried to introduce himself properly.

"Luke," Mercer repeated.

"Yes, sir."

White Pike stared at him for several seconds before pointing toward a rack of training weapons.

"Take one."

Their introduction ended there.

Luke chose a spear similar in size to the one he had used inside Powerforge. Mercer walked over, studied his grip, and struck his wrist with the shaft of his weapon.

Luke hissed and nearly dropped the spear.

"Wrong."

He adjusted his hand, only for the shaft to hit him again.

"Still wrong."

On the third attempt, Mercer gave his grip one last look before turning away.

"Barely acceptable."

That was the closest thing to praise Luke received all week.

White Pike rarely explained anything. He demonstrated a movement once and expected Luke to copy it, then used the spear itself to correct every mistake. A strike to the ankle meant Luke’s stance was too narrow. A tap against his ribs showed that he had left his side exposed, while a hard knock to the shoulder meant he had raised it during a thrust.

By the end of the first day, Luke’s arms shook so badly that he could barely hold a spoon during dinner. The second day left his entire body sore, and the third proved even worse.

"Again," Mercer said.

Luke tightened his grip, stepped forward, and thrust. With a small turn of his wrist, White Pike knocked the attack aside. Luke’s spear flew off course, and the blunt end of Mercer’s weapon slammed into his stomach.

The air rushed from Luke’s lungs. He stumbled backward and bent over, struggling to breathe as sweat ran down his face. His palms had already turned raw beneath the protective wraps.

"Too slow."

"I’m trying."

Mercer’s expression did not change.

"Trying does not stop a spear."

Luke forced himself upright. White Pike pointed the spearhead at his chest.

"Your enemy will not care that you are tired. He will not care that your arms hurt, that you trained yesterday, or that you did not sleep enough."

The weapon shifted slightly, pointing past him.

"Who are you protecting?"

Lauren came to mind at once.

Luke remembered the awakened attacker tearing through the café and the certainty that Lauren could be hurt if he remained powerless. Arcane Thrust had allowed him to protect her that day, but it had been a desperate answer from an ability he barely understood.

He never wanted Lauren’s safety to depend on desperation again.

His hands tightened around the spear, which did not escape Mercer’s notice.

"Again."

Luke attacked and lost once more. White Pike deflected the spear, swept his legs out from under him, and sent him crashing onto his back.

This time, Luke got up faster.

"Again," he said.

A slight nod answered him. Luke had no idea whether it meant approval or simply permission to continue, but he chose to take it as a good sign.

The rest of the week followed the same painful routine. He practiced footwork until his legs shook and repeated the same thrust hundreds of times until his shoulders burned. Mercer taught him how to redirect an attack without pulling the spear all the way back and how to use the shaft defensively when an enemy slipped inside his reach.

Most of those drills had to be completed without supernatural abilities, which Luke hated almost as much as the constant beatings.

Inside Powerforge, his body had been stronger, faster, and more responsive. The system supported some of his movements, and his skills helped him perform techniques he did not fully understand.

Outside the game, none of that assistance existed. Every mistake belonged entirely to him, and White Pike seemed determined to expose each one.

Whenever Luke relied too heavily on strength, Mercer redirected it. Whenever he rushed, he ended up on the floor. If he hesitated, the blunt spearhead appeared against his throat.

Still, ordinary spear work was only the first half of his training.

Once Mercer was satisfied that Luke could repeat a movement correctly without help, the medical team activated the monitors and allowed him to use his abilities.

Reinforce came first.

Luke practiced maintaining it in short intervals while repeating the same footwork, thrusts, and defensive motions. The sudden increase in strength made the spear feel lighter, but it also caused him to overextend his attacks and shift his balance too far forward.

Whenever the power dragged him out of position, Mercer struck before he could recover.

"Again."

Luke returned to the starting stance.

By the tenth repetition, he had learned to shorten his steps and stop forcing every thrust with his entire body. Reinforce made him stronger, but White Pike seemed determined to teach him that strength was useless if he could not control where it went.