Fighting thirty two rats, an absurd number for Silas's small cell, was almost a joke. Aiming his kicks became entirely unnecessary, at least until the numbers dropped.

He knew what Eve was doing, helping him become comfortable with what his body could do, teaching him how he could move, and forcing him to accept the punishment he could now take. The little rat bites and scratches annoyed him, but they couldn't significantly damage him.

Instead of sixty four rats, a simple treasure chest appeared. When he touched the lid the chest vanished, replaced by a silvery metal spear slightly taller than himself, ending in a long, thin blade a foot or so long which tapered to a sharp point.

Surprised at the thing's light weight, he took a few practice swings but quickly gave up, feeling like a kid swinging around a mop, unsure if Eve expected him to figure out spear fighting from scratch. Deciding he'd rather have the club to fight skeletons, he left the spear behind. It would likely remain available next time he respawned. And if it didn't, earning it hadn't been so difficult.

Ah, maybe the drops were random, now? This time only the first rat dropped a lockpick, while the rest didn't give him anything. He'd need to kill the thirty two rats again next time he respawned, to learn more about the treasure chest.

He turned left, planning to take the next right, ignoring the little voice in his head which told him he was breaking the first rule of mazes. Given how each death sent him back to his origin point, he didn't need to worry about getting too turned around.

Finding the intersection again, he waited but no skeleton ever appeared. Carefully he approached from the far left side, peeking right.

No skeleton waited to greet him. Did it not respawn?

Spinning left, he peered down the trapped goblin tunnel but saw nothing but the shadows flickering from the eight torches, two sticking out from holders in the wall just a few feet inward along each path. His mind had barely registered the torches before, but this time he took one of the two from the path he came from, seeing as it was basically a club with a burning rag on the end.

He left his club below on the ground after failing to find a way to secure it to his person.

He made a few test swings, smacking the wall with the torch to confirm the fire wouldn't burn out so easily, nor would the wooden length snap on his first strike. Just like in a game the torch functioned as a burning club, perfect for undead—and just about anything which could burn, at least until he found a weapon he liked swinging around more than a simple wooden club.

He found a pair of skeletons just a bit further down the path, confirming his suspicions the first had not respawned…yet. No telling when Eve would decide to refresh the map.

The skeletons entered the torchlight charging his way, and Silas had to remind himself this was just another game. Neither carried weapons aside from their teeth and the sharp phalanges of their fingers and toes.

He shoved the rightmost skeleton left with his shield in a backhanded sweeping motion, following up with a torch smack to the spine which knocked something loose, splashing fire over his target and its cuddle buddy.

Hips and an attached pair of skeleton legs fell to the ground, while the upper torso dangled from the still-standing skeleton, their rib cages having become entangled. Silas shoved the mess of flailing bones with his shield, knocking it over.

A stomp to a shin bone ensured the struggling skeleton couldn't stand back up, and he followed through by breaking the other leg's thigh bone. Tibia and femur, he reminded himself, trying for perhaps a Biology or Human Anatomy Skill.

He swung his torch at the closest arm, cracking either the ulna or radius. 'Thicker radius rotates with the thumb,' was the phrase he memorized, meaning he cracked the skeleton's ulna.

He swung again, aiming for center mass, shattering some ribs.

A clattering made him look up. Four more skeletons hurried down the corridor. It might have been the bad lighting, but they seemed just a bit larger than the last set, too.

He backed up, readying his torch and shield.

Would he have been better off with a spear? He couldn't stab a skeleton very well, aiming to poke bones would be difficult, but it did have reach. The hallway's width would allow for swinging the thing like a club or hockey stick, enough to perhaps sweep out their legs to knock them down before they could approach. Perhaps he could skewer the skulls and pluck them from the bodies, too?

That seemed to be the trick to disabling the first one, following standard skeleton tropes. A glance told him the disconnected legs didn't continue to move, so only what was connected to the skull remained animated, it seemed.

Remembering his lessons from the rats, instead of focusing on pushing the skeletons away this time he used the shield to protect his face while exchanging blows with the two nearest skeletons, aiming for headshots.

The first one clattered to the ground as he knocked the head aside, the second following shortly after. The other two finally had a path forward and closed the distance, but they too met the same fate before long, giving him the freedom to walk around the still-tangled skeleton torsos and bop their skulls, shattering each with a forceful blow.

The bone piles disappeared, replaced by a leather vest and cap, a pair of plate gauntlets, a chainmail tunic, a big two-handed sword, possibly a claymore, a pair of nunchucks, plus other, more suboptimal loot.

He knew, theoretically, nunchucks would be great for breaking bones. But…no.

After considering the armor pieces he put down his shield and the knife he kept inside to don the leather cap and vest. Trying on the gauntlets, he saw they were actually leather gloves covered with tiny metal scales for maximum flexibility. The scales on the inside grip were rough like sandpaper. Kicking a pair of metal pants aside, given how he grew frustrated just thinking about trying to move around in them, much less put them on, he slipped on the gloves then picked up the two handed sword.

While heavy, it wasn't too unwieldy. At least it didn't slip from his hands as he swung it around, thanks to his gloves firmly gripping the leather wrapped handle. Pen and paper games always gave skeletons resistances to piercing and slicing weapons, the assumption being blunt weapons broke bones better given how undead skeletons didn't have any meat to pierce or slice, but if this heavy sword didn't shatter bones with each swing he didn't know what would.

Soon enough a predictable eight skeletons ran his way. The hardest part was tracking down their skulls to smash, the claymore shattering brittle bones like cutting paper. It wasn't even a fight.

He ignored the metal boots, but swapped out his leather cap for a chainmail coif, a hood which protected his skull and neck while keeping his face exposed. Destroying his head would likely result in a reset, and while he could respawn inside this training dungeon of Eve's, he certainly didn't want to get into the habit of dying during his training.

After a pause he took the coif off to wear the leather cap underneath. It would do more to protect against a knock to the head, while the chainmail was better against sharper weapons, at least according to tabletop rules. The theory seemed sound. Thinking on it he recalled a video discussing the padding soldiers wore under their chainmail, because of course they would want to better protect themselves from impacts as well.

Also among the random loot was a bow, a one-handed mace which tempted him a bit, a hand axe, and another tunic. The one he wore under his vest had a few holes in it, but changing would be too much trouble. He left the loot in a little pile with his shield and dagger. Either it would wait there until he wanted it, disappear after a time, or disappear when he respawned.

He hoped it would hang around. This was supposed to teach him to fight, not manage dungeon loot. He wasn't sure if he'd stick with the claymore, but for now he liked the heft of the weapon. The only thing better, taking advantage of his strength and lack of finesse or training, might be a two-handed axe or hammer, maybe a hammer-axe combo. Some kind of halberd, perhaps, or something like that glaive Eve had been using out in the dungeon. Knowing her, it was probably the optimal weapon for him to use, but where did she even get it? Headmaster Ainsley? He hadn't asked, too distracted by the scene of himself fighting, followed by the Ensign's death.

After smashing through sixteen skeletons, stopping only to lace up a pair of leather steel-toed boots, he expected to find thirty two next, but instead a single skeleton headed his way, this one pitch black and carrying a black metal sword and shield like it knew how to use them.

It held its shield up, positioned between himself and the creature, ready to defend. Its sword aimed his way, held parallel to the ground. The skeleton warrior took slow, measured steps as it advanced.

Waiting would possibly give time for the next wave to arrive, so Silas advanced, swinging his two-handed sword like a baseball bat, making sure the sharp edge stayed aimed towards the shield. He didn't expect to cut it in half, but maybe he could knock it out of the skeleton's grip?

With a slight tilt of the shield the skeleton knocked his blow down and to the side. At the same time its sword, a thinner, lighter blade than he had realized, darted forward, catching him under the chin.

He'd have died or been seriously injured if not for the subdermal armor Eve constructed for him. As it was, the blade pierced his skin but not much further.

The skeleton pushed, trying to force the sword in through the armored mesh, but Silas wasn't going to just stand around and let it try to skewer his head. Dropping his sword, he knocked the skeleton's lighter blade aside with his armored hand. He made to grab its shield, but the skeleton bashed him in the face, knocking him back.

A stabbing pain punched through his thigh and vanished, leaving him with an uncomfortable feeling of wrongness, the sensation of pressure inside his leg in odd places. Looking down, a black arrow, fletching and shaft both, stuck out from his leg.

As he went to rip it away another arrow slammed into his head, not piercing the armor, just leaving him feeling like he got hit in the head with a fastball, though again the pain vanished quickly.

Behind the swordsman who was again advancing, two skeletal archers aimed their next shots.

Growling, Silas picked up his claymore from the ground and ran at the swordsman, holding the blade horizontal. He didn't need to stab the guy, just push him back into the archers.

Silas won the contest of combined raw strength and superior traction, his boots gripping better against stone than foot bones—tarsals, metatarsals, and phalanges—though the skeletal swordsman did repeatedly stab him in the gut during the exchange, to little effect aside from shredding more bits from Silas's tunic and tearing up the front of his vest.

Once he caught up the two archers in his impromptu bulldozer he considered stopping to kill the skeletons, but realized more would be along soon enough and so he pushed forward.

His sword wasn't as wide as the hallway, but the skeletons seemed incapable of advanced tactics like trying to flank him. When the next four black skeletons arrived and got swept up, two swordsmen and two archers, he finally stopped his push to take down the seven skeletons, having already formed a plan.

He dropped his sword and grabbed the shield it had been pressing against with both hands, yanking it and the attached arm away, tossing it behind him. Next he did the same with the skull, followed by the two archers, who had dropped their bows once he came within melee range.

The next two swordsmen were a bit more of a challenge, but he rushed them and ignored their swords, trusting in his internal armor more than his external gear, focusing entirely on ripping away their shields to get at their heads.

Once all seven skulls filled the hallway he hurried to stomp them into dust.

Of the loot only one item caught his eye, a long-handled warhammer with a surprisingly small head on one end and a sharp, slightly curved pick on the other, the head and haft made of a single piece of metal.

The claymore was fun, but this was what he needed. He didn't know much about swords, but hitting something with a hammer? He could manage that. With the weighted head he suspected he could manage more damage per swing.

Testing his new weapon's weight, he grinned at the eight skeletons coming his way, four swordsmen and four archers.

Looking around he found a small metal buckler among the dropped items, which he quickly tied to his left forearm. It wasn't big, but it was big enough to keep his head from getting impaled by an arrow as he charged. He might be able to survive an arrow through the eye, but that didn't mean he wanted to experience it.

Yelling he charged the skeletons, raising his shield as the archers loosed their first volley.