Chapter 2: The Art of Strategic Napping (and Accidental Insight)

Ryan settled into his role as Mei's "strategic advisor" with surprising ease. It mostly involved lounging in shaded corners of the Veridia Sword Clan’s training grounds, sipping tea he had no memory of brewing, and delivering vaguely encouraging advice to passersby. His days consisted of leaning against intricately carved pillars, nodding wisely, and muttering things like, “Remember, confidence is just loud certainty,” or “Always speak first in negotiations—unless the other person speaks first. Then wait dramatically.”

To his credit, he did try to stay awake for important moments—at least for the first five minutes. But most afternoons found him with his robe draped over his face, snoring softly while Mei diligently trained or coordinated with senior disciples.

It was during one of these "strategic observation" sessions—half-dozing under a cherry blossom tree—that he overheard a tense conversation between two senior disciples, Jian and Hua.

“Her sword form is still too rigid,” Jian muttered, frustration edging his voice. “Too many textbook motions. Against a real opponent, she'll be easily countered.”

“She’s trying,” Hua said, her tone gentler. “The Sect Leader is adamant she go. She's the Lumina Blade’s envoy, after all. Let’s just hope her diplomacy makes up for the gaps in her technique.”

Ryan, drifting on the edge of consciousness, murmured without opening his eyes, “Elbow… too high…”

A pause.

“What was that?” Jian asked, glancing toward the supposed Chosen One.

Ryan stretched theatrically, cracking an eye open. “Ah, sorry. Just thinking about… negotiations. You know, body language. Elbows up mean tension. Not ideal when trying to… forge inter-clan peace treaties.” He gave them a thumbs-up and promptly rolled over to continue “meditating.”

The two disciples exchanged skeptical looks. But during Mei’s next sparring session, Jian approached her with a quiet correction. He adjusted her arm—specifically, her elbow—and the result was immediate. Her movements smoothed, her strikes more fluid and grounded. Even Mei looked momentarily stunned.

Later, Mei approached Ryan where he sat cross-legged by the koi pond, tossing breadcrumbs that weren’t technically his into the water.

“Feng,” she said cautiously. “Did you… tell Jian something about my technique?”

Ryan blinked at her with exaggerated innocence. “Me? Advise a martial arts prodigy like Jian? Please. I was merely ruminating on the aerodynamics of verbal persuasion. Elbows down—so you seem trustworthy. Basic body language stuff.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “But it worked.”

“Then the spirits must be smiling on you,” he said, grinning. “You’re a natural, Mei. Keep it up.”

She walked away shaking her head, though Ryan noticed the slight smile tugging at her lips. Despite himself, he felt a flicker of pride. A dangerous feeling for a man who intended to retire anonymously with a sack of gold and a beachfront hut.

As the day of Mei’s departure drew closer, the Sect Leader summoned Ryan with his usual air of grand solemnity.

“Lumina Blade,” he said, voice low, “while Mei travels to rally support, I have another task for you.”

Ryan stiffened. “Another… task?”

“There have been troubling reports from the Whispering Woods. Villagers speak of shadows in daylight and whispers carried on still air. I need someone with insight. Discretion. Leadership.” His gaze was intense. “I need you to investigate.”

Ryan stared. “You want me to go into haunted woods and… what? Interview the bushes?”

The Sect Leader was unmoved. “The Gloom Tide spreads quietly. This may be its foothold. You’re the only one who can sense what others overlook.”

Ryan plastered on a smile. “Have you considered Chen? Excellent hearing, that one. Can detect a lie from two villages away.”

Chen, who had just walked past with a tray of tea, dropped it in horror. “No no no no—”

The Sect Leader raised a hand. “The Whispering Woods require someone attuned to the strange. You, Lumina Blade.”

Ryan gave a deep sigh, the kind that suggested centuries of reluctant suffering. “Very well. I shall go. Boldly. Into the… whispery… wilderness.”

---

The Whispering Woods were, to Ryan’s surprise, not immediately lethal. Just very damp. And full of bugs. And the occasional spooky gust of wind that made branches creak ominously.

Armed with a walking stick he found near the path and a satchel of dried fruit he may or may not have borrowed from the kitchen, he wandered under the ancient trees, half-listening for ominous whispers and half-wishing for a hammock.

The first few days yielded little. No shadow monsters. No cursed ruins. Just strange rustlings and the occasional squirrel that stared at him too long.

But on the third day, while stumbling over a gnarled root, Ryan instinctively twisted his body to break the fall—and landed lightly, without injury. A graceful spiral of motion flowed from his feet to his fingertips, like a practiced martial form.

He froze.

“What… was that?”

He replayed the moment in his head. It hadn’t been luck. It was a reflex. A trained reflex.

He tried to mimic the motion again, this time intentionally. The result was… clumsy. Like watching someone trying to dance with a backpack full of bricks. But the shape was there. The rhythm. Something buried in muscle memory that didn’t belong to his old office worker self.

Over the next few days, he noticed more. The way he stepped over fallen logs mirrored the clan’s footwork drills. The way he reacted to sudden noises—fluid, alert, balanced—resembled defensive stances.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself one evening, sipping bitter tea by a dying fire. “So maybe I am a little… talented. Accidentally.”

It was infuriating. He didn’t want to be good at this. Heroes didn’t get early retirement. They got dramatic deaths, or worse—promotions to higher-stakes heroism. He wanted comfort. Anonymity. Definitely fewer ominous woods.

And yet, when a group of frightened villagers stumbled into his camp late one night, claiming they’d heard singing in the fog, Ryan found himself quietly guiding them back toward safety, all while scanning the treetops for signs of Gloom activity.

No monsters appeared. Just lingering shadows and unsettled nerves.

Still, when he returned to the Veridia Sect several days later, he reported calmly, “The woods are fine. Little too quiet, but nothing’s moved in. Probably just nerves. Squirrels can be surprisingly musical.”

The Sect Leader nodded, though Ryan noticed a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

Back in his quarters, Ryan collapsed onto a soft cushion and groaned into the silk.

“I am way too competent to be doing th

is wrong.”