Stella drew her weapon—a spiked mace about the length of her forearm. Its iron head glinted dully in the fortress torchlight, heavy and dependable in her grasp.
She had studied her strategy carefully. Gargoyles, with their stone hides, resisted slashing, stabbing, and cleaving attacks. But blunt force? Hammers and maces shattered their defenses with ease.
Nothing to fear anymore.
Then she noticed Wade.
He was taking his time, casually drawing out a massive shield and a knight's lance. No sword, no hammer—just those two.
"Uh…" Stella hesitated, raising a brow. "Aren't gargoyles resistant to spear-type weapons? Wouldn't a lance do… basically no damage?"
"The damage is low, yes," Wade replied, lips curling into a cryptic smile. "But tell me—why must I rely on damage?"
"Without damage, you can't hurt monsters at all…"
"Just wait. Watch. Don't interfere."
He left her dangling with mystery, and of course Stella took the bait.
When they stepped into the fortress, she obeyed and lingered near the gate, hanging back so the gargoyle would target Wade first.
"I want to see what trick you're hiding…" she muttered under her breath.
Skepticism burned in her chest. Since ancient times, what mattered most when fighting monsters? Every adventurer knew the answer: damage. Without it, every strike was nothing more than a mosquito bite.
This age's adventurers believed one creed—maximize damage, minimize technique, forget defense.
Even Gibbs, the so-called sword-and-shield fighter, spent more time bashing with his shield than guarding with it.
So when Wade hefted that massive shield as his main weapon, Stella was baffled. Shields were heavy, clumsy, a drag on agility. By all logic, there was no cost-effectiveness in using one at all.
"Graaaahhh!"
The gargoyle's roar shook the fortress walls. Wade calmly drew a throwing knife and flicked it upward, striking the beast clinging to the ceiling.
It screeched and dived.
"Dodge it…" Stella whispered urgently.
But Wade didn't move.
He stood his ground, shield raised, like a statue frozen in anticipation.
BAM!
The gargoyle's claws slammed into him with bone-rattling force. Stella flinched. But Wade's stance didn't break. The shield absorbed the monstrous impact as if it had been waiting for it.
Now's the moment! Counterattack! Stella leaned forward, expecting him to strike hard.
Instead—
"Poke."
From behind the shield, Wade's lance darted forward in a feeble jab.
"???"
Stella's mind filled with question marks. The thrust was so pitiful it barely left a scratch on the gargoyle's stony hide.
No wonder he avoided fighting earlier, she thought. He can't even damage it.
"Let me handle this!" she shouted, stepping forward.
"No need. Stay back."
And then he kept poking.
The gargoyle froze, as though stunned by the sheer audacity of being attacked like this. Then rage boiled over. It unleashed a storm of furious strikes, wings flapping, claws hammering down.
But no matter how savage the onslaught, Wade's shield didn't falter.
When the gargoyle tried to rip the shield from his grip, Wade rolled smoothly aside, then reset, shield raised again.
And then—poke.
The absurd rhythm unfolded before Stella's eyes.
Poke, poke, roll. Poke, poke, roll.
If the gargoyle could talk, it would've been screaming profanities.
When that failed, Wade sprinted a lap around the arena, shield still strapped to his arm. Stella gaped—how did someone run like that while lugging such a massive shield?
At some point, her jaw simply dropped. She had never witnessed such a shameless fighting style.
Even when a second gargoyle swooped in, Wade didn't falter.
And eventually, through sheer relentless rhythm, quantity became quality. Their chipped wings beat slower. Their movements dulled. Then Wade thrust his lance with sudden precision—piercing one gargoyle's skull clean through.
Moments later, the second fell the same way.
"Well then!" Wade planted his lance in the ground, chest swelling with pride.
"That was a truly exhilarating battle!"
Exhilarating, my ass, Stella thought numbly.
"…Eye-opening," she muttered instead, words failing her. After a long silence, she finally asked, "What… what fighting style was that?"
"Shield-Poke! The invincible style!"
Her mouth opened, then closed again. Words refused to come.
.
..
...
Wade didn't disappear after the gargoyles fell. He simply carried on, guiding her deeper into Blighttown.
Agile, dog-like beasts leapt from the shadows—shield-poke.
Monkey-like creatures hurled weapons from ledges—shield-poke.
Every blind corner where an ambush might wait—shield-poke.
Stella's brain short-circuited.
Watching him plow through monsters that usually gave her headaches, she glanced at her mace, then at Wade, and finally blurted out:
"Would you… take an apprentice?"
Beneath his helmet, Wade grinned ear to ear.
"Want to learn? I'll teach you."
He offered her his shield and lance.
"Here. Hold them. You take the lead now. That's right—shield raised. See that monster? Charge it!"
Nervously recalling his rhythm, Stella launched her first shield-poke attack.
The shield was heavy, its weight dragging on her arm, but she managed to withstand the charge of a beast crashing into it. Her poke jabbed forward clumsily, yet it worked.
But as the fight dragged on, her arms trembled. Her guard wavered.
The monster rammed again—her shield shattered open!
"Kyaa!"
Stella yelped, swapping desperately back to her mace and smashing the beast's skull.
Breathless, she spun toward Wade.
"Why… why doesn't your guard ever break?!"
Wade chuckled.
"Didn't you notice? Whenever I can't hold out anymore, I lower my shield. Recover stamina. Then raise it again."
BOOM.
The realization hit Stella like a thunderclap.
So it wasn't brainless after all. Shield-poking required rhythm—raising the shield to block, lowering it to recover, rolling when the enemy tried to break through.
Technique hidden in shamelessness.
In just two hours, she felt she'd learned more than in the past ten years. And it wasn't abstract theory—it was practical, usable knowledge.
The only downside was the low damage.
But…
One person poking seemed weak. Two people? Three? Ten?
Her imagination caught fire. She pictured herself and ten allies, shields raised, long weapons jabbing from every direction. A giant monster roared helplessly in the middle, pinned and pierced a thousand times until it collapsed in despair.
Her whole body trembled with excitement. Just imagining it nearly made her burst with joy.
Wade's smile only brightened as he watched her enthusiasm grow.
Rejoice—the birth of another Shield-Poke Player!
Stella marched forward, shield raised, killing monsters with abandon, wholly immersed in the shameless yet strangely effective style.
And Wade?
He silently slipped a small scythe from his inventory.