February ~ 26!

<That’s what I like to see> Sarge screeched in pleasure as Grant threw himself off a thick branch. <You’re receiving serious training here! Mind for the thought you put into every action, physical is obvious, armor for the falling and scraping, and… oh, you need to start cutting things. Watch for orange birds! Keep it up.>

“How are you doing that?” Waylon shouted from well under him

“Literally just practice!” Grant tried to keep his voice steady as he missed his grip, instead landing swiping up at the expected orange spiders that always swarmed him whenever he messed up. He hauled himself over a new limb and skid down the steep slope of a huge boulder… then fell forward as a root caught his foot. “Wah!”

He landed in a sandpit, followed closely behind by Waylon; who was laughing until they began to sink. Then he became deadly serious. Even the slightest movement caused their bodies to submerge further; the cloying sand drew his body into a warm embrace.

“Stop fighting it,” Waylon called out in warning as Grant attempted to extract himself from the quicksand. “It’ll only make it worse, and you don’t want to drown.”

“A suggestion would be nice!” Panic was welling up within Grant as the sand started to cover his chin. “How can you drown in sand?”

“Reach across and grab the vine.” Waylon was already out, which both caused Grant to relax a little as well as worry that he would be too slow. “You should be able to pull yourself out. Slowly, don’t move too fast.”

Grant saw the vine and reached out. His fingers wrapped around it as his head sank beneath the surface. His heart thundered in his ears, while the gritty sand clawed at his eyes; seemingly determined to find a way in.

Sarge took over instructing Grant as his ears filled with muck. <Don’t panic. Apply steady force to the vine and pull slowly. Take your time. Any sudden force risks breaking the plant.>

‘Not panicking’ was a difficult proposition, but he was determined to survive the stupid environment. His lungs burning, Grant tentatively pulled on the vine. Inch by agonizing inch, his body started moving through the sucking sand… then his other hand managed to grasp the vine. The resistance suddenly vanished, and he opened his grit-encrusted eyes to find that he had hauled himself onto a grassy knoll.

“What took you so long?” Waylon laughed as Grant sucked in ragged breaths. “How did you manage to complete the assault course if you struggled with a little sandpit?”

“Little! I crossed an ocean of sand!” He looked around to see the short distance he’d covered, finding that he could lay across the entirety of the pit if he stretched. “Fine, it felt like an ocean!”

“An ocean of tears, you crybaby. Stop whining about it, you’re already safe. It’s meant to be hard, but you don’t need to worry too much in this area. Yeah, you have to be careful, but this entire section has been cultivated by Lady February’s people.” Waylon paused as Grant sat upright, sending sand flinging off of himself.

“Cultivated? Why is it so challenging? I expected an off-road jaunt, sure, but sand traps? Don’t think I didn’t see that snake hanging out with the vines, either. It’s as if the whole district has been transformed into an obstacle course.” Grant sat a wad of gritty mud out of his mouth and flopped back to lay flat.

Waylon was nodding with a knowing smile on his face, “That’s exactly what’s been done. Lady February wants to challenge each and everyone to push beyond their limits and attain physical perfection-”

“Look what we have here!” A shout came from the suddenly-rustling bushes, followed by around a dozen people. Grant and Waylon were on their feet in an instant, and Waylon proved his situational awareness and forest insight by sweeping his Wielded Weapon through a few vines, which fully freed a previously-fallen tree that had gotten tangled. The falling trunk knocked a few people into the sandpit, and trapped another.

“Run!” Waylon ordered even before they knew who exactly had come for them. It didn’t particularly matter: it was clear they were full of ill intent.

The voice that had called out so cheerfully a moment before was now screaming after them as they vanished into the obstacle-wood, “You can run from us, but I heard you’ve got House Saturday after you! I can tell you more, but I want fair compen-”

After that point, the words were too faint to hear as the two companions rushed through the forest. Shortly after that, the crashing sounds of pursuit announced that a little sand hadn’t been enough to dissuade the larger group from coming after them. <Don’t fall again, Grant. No more sandtraps near here, but I think these people might actually end up burying you here if they get the chance.>

“You think I could fight them off?” Grant mumbled as he heaved for breath.

<I think you could absolutely kill them all if you wanted. Is that what you want?> It wasn’t. They both knew it. The sun travelled through the sky as the chase continued, and before they knew it… hours had passed. Mistakes were bound to happen. Waylon fell and twisted his ankle, then grit his teeth and urged Grant to push on. “We can’t stop now. I’ll be fine. Run, survive, and win. You’re a good man, Grant.”

“No. Let’s move!” Grant grabbed his friend and pulled him on. Waylon tried to protest, but in truth hated the idea of sacrificing himself.

They scrambled through bushes and up a rocky path. Before them lay a stretch of clear ground with trees on either side. Grant certainly didn’t complain about the easy terrain, though he was concerned that their pursuers would easily be able to catch up to them. Both ran along the grass as quickly as possible, and the pain in Waylon’s foot finally receded.

“Grant, you’ll have to jump.” Waylon leaped into the air and grabbed a branch, then used his momentum to swing from it to the next one.

“Jump? Lord January preserve us. Feces, that’s me.” The reason became rapidly apparent, but was also practically insane. Grant skid to a halt and almost found himself falling into a ravine. He looked up and noted that a series of overhanging tree limbs spanned the gap. Waylon was almost across the other side while Grant stood there dumbfounded. The group of Vassals came into view, and he gripped the hilt of his sword… but still hesitated to kill if he didn’t need to do so.

With a roar of frustration, he slammed the inch of steel that he had drawn back into his scabbard, turned and sprinted toward the hole in the earth. He launched his body into the air and grabbed the hanging branches. A quick glance below confirmed that if he stopped now, the best result he could hope for was getting horribly maimed from the fall. Once, twice, after the third branch he had crossed the expanse. When he landed on the ground on the opposite side, Grant almost collapsed laughing with relief onto the ground.

“There’s no time to rest, get up!” Grant followed Waylon's orders and stood without a word; though his arms throbbed from the abuse of the day. He desperately hoped there would be no more swinging. “Follow me. I think I found a path! We just need to make it up to a main road, and they wouldn't dare try anything!”

“What the…! Up that? How is this a path?” Grant did a double take as he examined the slick rock face Waylon was already racing up. “Maybe we should double back?”

Waylon wasn’t listening, too busy clawing his way up the treacherous surface. Grant had no choice but to follow, and soon he clung onto clumps of soggy moss as his body became soaked through. Water was dripping down the entire surface, making a difficult climb close to deadly.

His friend was pulling ahead, leaving Grant behind since he struggled to find safe handholds. A glance upward revealed a large overhang that curved out. Going over that would mean dangling over open space with only his hands touching stone. It was well beyond his capabilities or experience to climb. Looking down, vertigo overwhelmed him as the people approached the base of the cliff.

Up above, Waylon screamed as he lost his grip. Grant’s eyes went wide as his friend tumbled towards him. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed hold of Waylon’s arm before he was lost to the void. <You foolish-!>

*Zap.*

Both screamed as Spark Shield surged through Grant and forced his fingers to clamp around the stone. Knowing that he only had a bare moment, Grant swung Waylon into the rock face. The man scrabbled for purchase, eyes went wide as Grant let go. Somehow, both managed to grab onto the cliff and cling on for dear life.

<There’s no time to hang around! Climb!>

Grant surged upwards, focused on overcoming the challenge. His body made it over the top—thanks to liberal usage of lightning to his nerves each time he almost fell—and he landed in a huge puddle that was slowly draining over the edge. He waited there long enough that he started to wonder where Waylon was. Just then, a hand shot up and grabbed the edge. His soaked friend had made it.

“We survived!” Grant weakly punched at the air. “Good defensive spot, too. Now we can watch over the edge and poke anyone that tries to climb after us.

“Or we can run from that group.” Waylon’s body protested as he got to his feet, and he waved at a group of people that were walking toward them out of the rising mist. “They must have sent some people around to cut us off.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Grant got up and put his hand on his hilt. “Should we just be done running? I think I’m over my earlier concerns about turning into a bad person. There’s only so far they can push us before we have to fight, and I’d rather do it now than when I’m completely exhausted.”

To punctuate his point, he fully unsheathed February Twenty Nine and waited for the attack. Four cultivators calmly walked forward, not bothering to say a word. They knew Grant and Waylon had run before, and from the hard look in their eyes they meant business. For the moment they ignored Waylon, knowing that Grant was the real threat.

“Careful! They all have the same weapon, they have to be Vassals!” Waylon warned as he got to his feet and tried to get in a combat stance.

“If you come after me right now… I’m sorry, but you’ll all die.” The water churned as the Vassals picked up the pace. Grant tried not to feel remorse as he set the tip of February Twenty Nine in the shallow water, flinging his blade up at the last moment to send a spray of water into the Vassals’ wide eyes. In that moment, he let his blade flow forward.

“The aorta sits right on the neck, cut it open and hit the deck…!” Grant chanted the song that had been repeating in his head for over a month now. Thanks to reaching the Beginner tier, February Twenty Nine landed exactly where he wanted on his target’s neck.

Damage dealt: 8 slashing (18 mitigated). Debuff added: Arterial bleeding. -15 health per second! Razor’s Edge will deal an additional 2 damage over five seconds!

Choking wetly, the Vassal grabbed at his damaged throat and tried to stem the bleeding. Grant knew that with the high level of physical cultivation, there was a good chance the man would survive if the others took the time to bind his wounds. He didn’t press the attack, instead focusing on the others as they attacked. Only one stopped to try and save his ally.

With a sheer cliff behind him, Grant couldn’t maneuver backward, and was hard-pressed to hold off the duo of Vassals. Even so, as the fight progressed and he got into the flow of combat, his opponents’ lack of skill became evident. Grant knocked the weapon out of the hands of the man on his left, and still had time to block the attack from the man on his right. “Last chance to leave. Please, please don't make me hurt you. I already have trouble sleeping, I don't want your blood on my hands.”

The disarmed man bellowed and bull-rushed Grant, hoping to give his ally an opening. Grant put his sword through the man’s chest, spun, and kicked the Vassal off the cliff.

Damage dealt-

Grant couldn’t see the rest of the message, since his teammate seemed to go berserk with grief. All skill was cast aside as he attempted to murder Grant with brute force blows. Grant wasn’t able to get in a clean hit, instead opening cuts all over the man as they danced back and forth for a full thirty seconds. Finally the Vassal collapsed into the now-red puddle, glaring up at Grant as he heaved for breath. “I’ll get you for this. You’re a dead man. No matter where you run, or hide—*urk*.”

Not willing to worry about a knife in the dark, Grant thrust forward and stabbed the man right through his leather chestpiece. The man fell face first into the water… and stayed there. He looked over to see the other two staring at him in horror. The one with an intact throat spoke, while the other merely trembled and tried to gasp for breath. “Have you no restraint, you monster?”

“Waylon, run before they recover!” Not wanting to finish the two that were no longer a threat to him, the pair splashed through the water and entered the woods and past a well-maintained path. Branches and thorns tugged at their clothes as they ran blindly through the forest, and he realized that he hadn’t seen Waylon helping. “What were you doing?”

“Cutting fingers off hands as people tried to climb up behind us.” Waylon’s tomahawk was out, and still had a smattering of blood on it that corroborated his story. “This way! I hear voices, so there must be a road ahead. Listen, I think you did the right thing by letting the other two go. There's no way they will be able to bring the law against us, as they were the aggressor in that situation. I know it might not mean much to you, but it means a lot to me that a few extra of my Districtmen got to live another day.”

“It means a lot to me too, I don't want to hurt people!” There was no reply to his assertion, so he tried to think about other things. For instance, Grant couldn’t believe they were going to escape based on the almost pure physicality of running away through the woods. He followed Waylon’s path over the multitude of rocks and roots, until his guide’s feet suddenly left the ground.

“Waylon!” Grant surged forward as his friend dangled in midair for an unknown reason.

<Down!> Sarge cried, and Grant threw himself to the grass as something whistled through the air.

“Oh, for Regent’s sake. Could you be any more annoying?” A new attacker was balanced on a tree branch with her whip being pulled back for another strike.

Waylon grasped at his neck as the life was slowly choked out of him by an identical whip held by another woman. She was braced on the following tree limb and tugging on the whip. Grant panicked as he watched his friend’s face turn from red to various shades of purple. “What are you doing? Let him go, he doesn’t deserve to die!”

“We’re just getting our point across. You’re gonna be a good boy and hand over that token, so Waylon here can keep living, yes?” The woman attacking Grant smiled maliciously.

“That’s our target, Astrid!” A ringing shout came from the path in the woods that Grant had run along.

“Oh, you spoilsports. Drop him quick, Helga.” Astrid’s order got her twin to loosen her grip, and Waylon dropped to the ground; still clawing at the red ring around his neck. Grant glanced around. Helga was right behind him. Nearly a dozen stragglers finally caught up with them, almost all with various injuries. The smug group of cultivators and Vassals surrounded them.

Their time was up. There was nowhere left to run.

“Grant.” Waylon croaked the words out. “To me.”

The Vassals didn’t stop Grant from going to his damaged friend’s aid. He helped him to his feet, and Waylon opened his palm to reveal a collection of small rocks.

“Pocket sand?” Grant didn’t understand how a pile of pebbles would help them. Being choked must have damaged his friend’s mind.

Waylon let out a strangled snort. “On three, run.”

The group closed in, weaponed poised and at the ready. Waylon flung the contents of his hand in an arc. Vassals leaped into the air as thunderous noises and light as bright as the sun filled the clearing. The imprint of the incendiary sparks left traces on Grant’s vision, and became disoriented. Waylon tugged on his arm, and he ran where directed. The pair tumbled over a chunky root, and as they rolled to their feet it became clear that the first of the Vassals were hot on their heels. Grant dragged Waylon forward and towards the swelling noise of people nearby.

The pair broke through the tree line, startling the mass of spectators and competitors making their way towards the main tourney. The swarm of people followed behind, but Grant didn’t give them the chance to surround them. He swung February Twenty Nine, the blade whistling through the air and cutting off a length of Astrid’s whip as it cracked towards his neck.

Another Vassal slammed into his side and he found himself wrestling on the ground, slamming his fist into the man’s side. As blood pounded through his ears, Grant could vaguely hear the sound of a persistent whistle. It rapidly grew louder and was joined by marching boots.

The Vassal was jerked away from Grant by a member of the Peacekeepers. As the fight was broken up, Grant expected the group to be more than a little upset that they’d managed to slip through their grasp once again.

“Sorry officer.” One of the Vassals called out. “We were just settling an argument. It’s all good.”

Grant had a bad feeling; a tingle he got when he felt that something wasn’t quite right. He helped Waylon up. The whip had left a nasty red welt around his neck, but at least they had both survived.

“Grant.” He turned his head as the House Thursday Vassal, one he didn’t recognize, called his name. The Vassal grinned and held up an object he did recognize. Mother of Pearl glinted in the light. Panicking, Grant rummaged through his belt pouch. “Thank you for your assistance in the tournament.”

Grant went to surge forward and recover his stolen main tournament token, but the iron grip of Waylon stopped him. “Let me go!”

“Stop! If you fight them now, you’ll end up in chains. House Tuesday is watching us like a hawk right now.” Waylon ordered harshly. “They can’t get that back for you. The law is that whoever is holding it is the rightful owner of it. It adds a whole level of intricacy to the events, and you were warned about it. Let it go. We just need to find a way to get it back.”

Grant had no choice but to stand down and watch the cocky Vassal saunter away with his token.