The Endperor - Herobrine x Reader

Chapter Twenty One

You know that feeling when ur just super stressed about everything, all the time? I love that

Oh yeah, take this update i guess

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"Unlike from a player's perspective, wielding a sword inside the game is far more complex than just swinging back and forth to the beat of the critical strike cooldown." Herobrine stands above you, his hands on yours as you hold a wooden sword with both hands. "While I'm sure this has become obvious given the fights you've witnessed, being proficient in the skill is an entirely other matter. It requires significant amounts of repetitive practice, experience in real battles, and knowledge of what your body can or cannot do."

"This is already complicated." You complain, feeling self-conscious with him towering over you. "I do know how to fight."

"No, you know how to brawl. You are capable of defending yourself against the most basic of mobs, yes, but should you be threatened by anything worse you would stand little chance of winning." He adjusts your grip on the sword's handle, pulling your non-dominant hand away. "The first step is your stance. Watch me." Drawing his own wooden sword, Herobrine takes a battle-ready stance, sword held near to his chest to defend himself. "Always make sure your feet are planted firmly. Otherwise knocking you down would be relatively simple."

"Okay." You shift your feet, copying him. He glances at you, assessing your form, before giving you a single nod.

"Very good." He steps in front of you, raising his sword. "I'm going to attack you. Show me how you respond." After a beat of silence, he swings his sword, down at your chest, and you lash out with your own, knocking it away. "Good. Although, a swing like that is fairly predictable. You will have to move quickly in order to pull it off."

"You're saying so many words and they're just getting muddled in my head." You press your free hand to your forehead, where you can feel a headache coming on. "Is there a simpler way to do this?"

"Well..." Herobrine pauses, thinking. "I can try to focus more on demonstration, rather than instruction."

"That sounds good." You pull your sword up to your chest again.

"Alright. I'm going to go through a few strikes. Just do as I do." Herobrine steps back, easing a different stance, and you copy him. "Ready? One." He swings. You swing. "Two." He steps back, pulling his sword to his side. You follow his lead. "Three." He follows through with his movement, turning around and swinging in front of him. You, somewhat clumsily, copy him. "Four." He ducks, then swings upwards. You do the same. "Good job. Let's start over. One."

The afternoon passes in much the same manner. Herobrine isn't the best teacher, but he's gentle and perseveres despite your lack of ability. You can feel your muscles starting to ache by the time the sun starts to go down, your body complaining at the unfamiliar form of stress, but it's not too bad. You're learning.

Herobrine finishes his lesson just before the sun disappears over the horizon, and the two of you retreat indoors, your feet dragging in the grass as you make your way inside. After a quick meal of a single loaf of bread, you fall into bed and pass out.

You don't get up until late the next day, upon which Herobrine pulls you outside to train some more. Your body aches from yesterday's training, but you can ignore it. A small price to pay for swordfighting skills.

You improve slowly over the next week. Your confidence in your own ability grows, and soon Herobrine gives you a stone sword instead of a wooden one, to help you get used to the weight. He teaches you quite a few choreographed routines, which he instructs you to stitch together in any order for use in battle, as well as some responses to various attacks and defenses. Probably your biggest problem is working on your response time, but your husband assures you that this will come with time.