February ~ 37!

“I think you… misunderstand.” Grant shook his head as the assembled people sucked in a collective breath. With a simple thought, his name changed from Lord February to Lord January. Names could be hidden or changed, but only minorly. The system wouldn’t allow someone to falsify a Lord or Lady of the Month’s title; it had been attempted for a millennium. “I am not going to be just a Lord of the Month. I cannot co-rule a single District when I am the Calendar King. I have no idea what my responsibilities will be.”

This time there was no laughter from the audience at his admission: only fear.

“It appears we now know why the transport of goods from District January has halted,” Bureaucrat Monday muttered. “Go back to your District and reopen trade, you barbarian.”

Lady February, that is… Pugilist Friday… was shaking her head as things came together for her. “Ah… as you know, I knew of your real title. Still, I thought you were merely here to join two Districts closer together. I had no idea you were actually planning to press further. A question then: is the position of Calendar Queen available?”

Grant was shocked beyond belief at her directness. “I don’t even know you.”

“Political marriages rarely allow for that anyway. I can tell you that I’d be a staunch supporter, and a close ally,” Pugilist Friday explained carefully, not pressing too much. When Grant continued to hesitate, she continued a small amount more, “Perhaps if I traveled with you for a time, we could come to an arrangement? Besides that…”

She swallowed as her eyes once again studied him carefully.

<Heh. Don’t think you’ve realized it yet, Grant, but now that your cultivation is all in the Summer ranks… anything not perfect has been washed off. All impurities were consumed in order to facilitate the change, which is why you don’t reek right now. You should still shower, though; I bet your clothes look like a snake shed all over them on the inside.>

“I don’t-” Grant started to speak, but his confused reply was instantly cut off amidst the uproar of the Nobility.

“Lady February!” Her Prime Vassal spoke up, unable to hold his tongue any further. “I will prepare the entire Vassal force for departure. One Wielder from each of the Houses will also join you as chaperones and protection-”

“No need for any of that.” Pugilist Friday stood and stretched. “We’ll be departing immediately.”

“My Lady…” The Vassal’s voice wavered, but the direct stare that drilled into him a moment later made him gulp and nod. “Of course.”

“Grant.” Pugilist Friday turned to him and looked him over. “You clearly cultivate armor; do you prefer the gear you are wearing or would you be open to an upgrade? Any skills that require a certain type of armor?”

“I…” Grant hesitated to refuse her. An upgrade would be welcome, but he didn’t want her to think she could buy a position as his Queen. The thought made his head spin; he certainly hadn’t thought that far out.

Before Grant could finish his thought, the Prime Vassal dropped to a knee and begged, “Please, my Lady… I insist. Allow at least a small contingent of guards. I can have the carriage ready to go in under an hour.”

“A carriage will only slow us down and bring unwanted attention. Beginner Friday, I know that you worry about my safety, but I’ll be fine. I have to do this. There are no challenges left for me in February beyond challenges that, frankly, I am unsuited for. If I want to push myself beyond all perceived limits, then I must leave and cultivate in the wider world.”

The Prime Vassal opened his mouth before closing it and slowly nodding. “Yes, my Lady.”

“On that note… while I am away,” She swept her gaze across the eager Nobles, “Bureaucrat Monday will govern the District in my stead. Bureaucrat Monday… in pushing so many of our people to be the best they possibly could be, I realize that I have failed to administrate effectively. Until such a time as I have the experience to guide my people as I should… I humbly grant you regeny of District February. Please do right by the people I’ve failed.”

“Surely you jest! Leaving the Head of a Noble House, someone from a competing House, in charge? Are you mad? You should-” a voice called out, clearly intending to go on a tirade against her. She never gave them the chance.

“Are you challenging my decree?” Her metal gauntlets began trembling as the power built up within them. “I know it is a little unorthodox, but the fact is… Bureaucrat Monday has been performing the majority of my administrative duties for years now. That was the entire point of this competition! Putting power into the hands of the people that can use it to help people the best. Not giving it to the strongest or the most powerful! I can see no one better suited to take on this role, and if you can, tell me now!”

Silence swept the area, and she nodded at Bureaucrat Monday. The man’s eyes were filled with shock, despair; not even a hint of greed shone through. “No… I don’t want to work for the District! I refuse!”

“Ha! By the Regent, that’s just too bad! This isn’t a post you can turn down; you’ve been appointed. Report to your new housing, Regent Monday.” Pugilist Friday chortled as a few other people started to get wise to what was happening. “If you’re gonna serve the people as their ruler, you need to act like it.”

“I like having nice things! I don’t want… you can’t put this on me!” Bureaucrat Monday swiped at the ground with his brush, leaving empty space wherever the bristles touched.

Grant watched the proceedings with great confusion. Heavyweight Wednesday quietly stepped toward him as he watched people argue, and decided to explain the situation to Grant. “I see you are confused. You see, while she was still Lady February, she made the law very… straightforward. If you are in a governmental position that dictates the rules for a section of the District beyond just the Houses, either elected or appointed, you have to live in the District-provided housing.”

“That doesn't sound too bad?” Grant shrugged at the thought. “Having a house is already a luxury, in my mind.”

“Heh. You two might actually get on well.” Heavyweight Wednesday snorted at the thought. “You are also unable to accept income or use Time from any source beyond your stipend. You cannot make any contracts that benefit you, or live anywhere except District-provided housing, for five years after you leave your position. Oh, also, all matters involving your Noble House must be handled by a separate official. Though getting outfitted is the responsibility of the District, all individual purchases with District Time must be approved by two peers. The only person that can rescind these orders are the Lady… or Lord… of the Month.”

Grant thought about that; really thought about it. “That sounds awful. Why would anyone ever want to get a District job?”

“Exactly.” Heavyweight nodded and smiled as Grant walked right into the question he wanted him to ask. “Two reasons only: you actually care about the people and want to put them first, or you need a job and don’t mind being forced to do it well. Quarterly reviews mean that you might lose your job, which usually means a prison sentence, since they can’t live anywhere but government housing.”

“Sword Saints. You guys don’t mess around here. How did you get people to agree to that? Seems like a lot of power to give up… oh.” Grant’s skin prickled and he shivered as he regarded Pugilist Friday with new eyes. “They didn’t give it up or agree, did they? It was taken from them. That’s what this whole thing was all about, wasn’t it? So House Thursday…?”

“Almost entirely wiped out. In exile, that is. You catch on quick. Listen…” Heavyweight Wednesday stood straighter and formally began, “My Lord. I have an important request to beg of you.”

“It’s Waylon, isn’t it?” Heavyweight’s jaw worked soundlessly as Grant reached an arm out and clasped the larger man’s shoulder. “Is he alright? I didn’t see him during the finals.”

“Of course… you’ve seen our journals before?” Heavyweight Wednesday pulled out a large book and opened it to show Grant before writing in it. “They are made from a monster that has the ability to replicate itself perfectly, which means we can harness that ability to make books that write in each other as one is written in. As to my request, Waylon has identified numerous monster nests near the March barrier. I had hoped they were only isolated incidents, but the sheer number has been increasing lately, and I don’t know why.”

“I don’t mean to offend, but Waylon is more than capable of looking after himself.” Grant shrugged and tried to get the man to move to his main point. “What do you need from me?”

“The lad would never complain, but… bloodstains appear on the paper occasionally as he writes.” Heavyweight Wednesday grimaced as he looked down at the book. “His words are dire, but he’s been holding out. Two towns along the border have stopped reporting recently, and our main forces and myself are needed in order to restore contact… and possibly human control. Since he’s surviving, I can’t ethically divert forces to his location.”

“It won’t take you out of your way. Take this,” Heavyweight Wednesday pleaded as he presented the leather-bound journal and elegant quill to Grant. “The journal is part of a matching set of three. Whatever you, I, or Waylon write will be mirrored across all three journals.”

<I don’t need this.> Grant used his Fragment of Vibrancy to send a message to the man even as he pushed the book back into his hands.

Heavyweight Wednesday flinched back in surprise as a notification appeared in his vision. “Ah. I see. However, can I send a message back? From what you have said, you will be traveling to and possibly beyond March. I need you to inform us of any disturbances you come across. There has been no word from beyond the borders of March, other than terrified gibberish, for more than three hundred years. As you go further, we need to know more… so we can prepare for when the barriers come down.”

Grant was too embarrassed to share that he couldn’t write more than a few words at best. Still… since picking up February Twenty Nine, his mental cultivation had come on in leaps and bounds. Perhaps he could pick up the skill quickly? He had noticed that he’d been able to functionally use an increased vocabulary, and Sarge didn’t make fun of him for his flubs as he had done in the past. With a grunt of annoyance, he took the book. “Where’s Waylon now?”

“I…” Heavyweight’s eyes went wide, and he cleared his throat before answering. “Thank you, my Lord. Please rescue my boy. He’s been operating in a border town named ‘Kurai Ana’, which is famous for their mushrooms and elementally dark monsters. They produce some of the best hide for stealth in the entire district.”

“Hide… for stealth.” Grant chuckled at the unintentional pun but only got a stone-faced stare in reply. He coughed lightly and nodded. “I’ll make sure to seek him out.”

With that, Heavyweight Wednesday left with a slight spring in his step and went to mingle with his fellow Nobles. Grant stood silently examining the leather journal.

“There you are!” Lady February playfully slammed her fist into Grant’s shoulder, staggering him and making him drop his newly acquired journal and quill. “Right, sorry. I don’t know my strength sometimes. Anyway… got that all taken care of. The District is in good hands, even if Monday is gonna whine and groan about it for the next half-decade. About that gear... any preferences?”

“Yes.” Grant’s head drooped even as she perked up. They both knew that meant he was going to let her join him. “I greatly prefer medium armor, and I’ll take the best you can get. Other than that, traveling gear. Bedroll, toiletries, healing potions, food, anything we need for an extended trip. I’ve recently started to appreciate soap, so if that’s available…?”

“Is there soap?” Pugilist Friday snorted and smiled, though it faded as she realized he wasn’t joking. “I’m starting to get the feeling that I wouldn’t enjoy District January very much.”

“I really think that’s probably true, um, Pugilist Friday-” Grant was cut off as she held up a silk-gloved hand.

She looked around to make sure no one was looking at them, then leaned in. “Call me ‘Suki’ when we’re alone. That was my name before we put the changes in place. Before my father… before I became Lady February. We’re supposed to forget who we were before we started serving our District… but I’ve only been doing this for a few years, and I’ve been in training for only a decade.”

“Suki.” Grant tried out the name, finding that it fit the pink-haired powerhouse well. “It’s nice to meet you. Officially.”

She smiled brightly, and Grant felt his heart catch. Luckily, Sarge was there to give him a small reminder in the form of a shock and shout. As Grant convulsed, Sarge bellowed in his head, <You have time to be playing doe-eye, Grant? Get. Your. Self. Together!>

Each word was punctuated with a shock, and left Grant panting for air. He looked up at Suki, managing to request one more thing. “Any chance you’ve got spells I can replace Spark Shield with?”

“There are, but a question for you…” Suki watched as sweat rolled down Grant’s face. “How long have you been using that for? It appears that you have really good control of the spell, which means you likely have nearly-aspected mana channels by now. If you push through long enough, you’ll gain a skill for lightning-based spells.”

Grant’s head jerked up in excitement. “That’s a thing? I thought you just had to find stronger spells!”

“You do, but you can get skills related to their use,” she started to explain as a runner came over with two large packs. “Ah, the gear is here. Here’s the armor we’ve been able to acquire for you, befitting a Lord of the Month. Runner, go pull three offensive lightning spells from the stacks as well, and meet us back here.”

Grant accepted the worked chainmail-and-leather armor, inspecting it with awe. It was composed of overlapping horizontal strips of laminated metal sewn over a backing of normal chain mail and soft leather backing… and it made everything he had used before look like castoffs. There was only one problem, “Suki… this is tiny.”

“How about you just try it all on.” Suki motioned for an attendant to guide Grant away.

“All?” He checked the pack and found several sets of clothing that he could wear under his armor and was confused for a moment. Then he recalled that most people tended to have at least three sets of clothing so they could be washing two and still remain socially acceptable.

Grant was led into a secluded bathing area and took off his gi, then literally tore off the remaining clothing. It was so damaged and worn from his heavy usage of it over the month that it took almost no effort at all. As it turned out, Sarge had been correct. As soon as his skin was exposed, a massive amount of shed skin scattered across the floor, as though he had dumped a wheelbarrow full of leaves into the changing room.

After a liberal application of soap and pumice, Grant felt clean again. A few moments later, he was fully dressed and somehow fit into his new armor. He checked his armor and weapon status, and nearly broke his jaw from smiling so hard.

Name: Grant Monday

Rank: Lord of The Month (January, February)

Class: Foundation Cultivator

Cultivation Achievement Level: 17

Cultivation Stage: Early Summer

Inherent Abilities: Swirling Seasons Cultivation

Health: 228/228 -> 347/347

Mana: 12/12 -> 19/19

Characteristics

Physical: 119 -> 198

Mental: 46 -> 73

Armor Proficiency: 63 -> 108

Weapon Proficiency: 88 -> 140

Late Spring Medium Ornate Banded Mail armor. Full set: Head, Torso, Legs.

Each piece offers:

Total Physical Damage Decrease: 50. (Base Armor: 14. Armor Cultivation bonus: 36)

Total Magical Damage Decrease: 50

February Twenty Nine (Considered as a Late Spring Medium weapon due to Weapon/Armor synergy)

Total Damage increase: 61. (Base weapon increase: 14. Weapon Cultivation increase: 47.)

Critical hit maximum damage: 93

<All of a sudden, you hit like a draft horse kicks. Congratulations on your advancement.> Sarge’s levity faded momentarily, <Careful where you swing me; a casual strike has a good chance of just flat-out killing even a weak cultivator.>

“How did I gain so much in three levels?” Grant couldn’t stop grinning: here was perfect proof that he had changed so much as to be unrecognizable. Finally.

<You didn’t. You got access to all the withheld points. This might be a good time to explain the Autumn bottleneck. While you only need sixty points to reach Early Summer cultivation, you need two hundred and forty to break into Early Autumn. So… while you got a huge boost for breaking through all the way, that’s nothing compared to what you’ll get if you ever manage to bust through that bottleneck.> Sarge paused, having expected an outcry or something about fairness. <Grant, are you listening?>

He wasn’t. Grant was staring into the mirror that had just unfogged, trying to figure out why the beautiful man on the other side of it was able to mimic his movements so well. “Is that… me?”

<Let’s see… fresh-washed long black hair. Breakthrough-perfect skin. Fixed teeth… no residual adipose stores or extra skin at all. Yup, that’s you.> Sarge allowed Grant another moment to admire the impressive man, then hit him with a surge of lightning that didn’t even make Grant flinch. <Oh, great. You’re too resistant to this for me to even make your external muscles twitch now. Any chance I could convince you to take off the new gear so I can zap you properly?>