February ~ 22!

The gear was good, but the prices would beggar him in one fell swoop for sure. A vendor was staring him down, causing Grant to sweat even though he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Finally his eyes landed on a white robe in the Late Spring section that caught his eye and made his wallet complain… less. “Sir, this young one apologizes for taking your valuable time, but could you explain to me why this robe costs so much for a single article of clothing?”

Grunting at the appropriate manners, the merchant decided to try and make a sale instead of tossing the scruffy beggar out of the area. “I certainly can. That’s a Late Spring Light Gi. It’s not a robe, though it is a single piece. The Gi counts for both your torso and leg armor when worn, and the reason for the low price is twofold.”

While the man was holding up two fingers to continue explaining, Grant winced at the fact that the massive price tag was a ‘low’ price. “First, ‘Light’ armor is only half as effective at blocking physical blows as ‘Heavy’ armor at the same tier. It is twice as effective at mitigating magical damage, but that just means there’s two reasons most people don’t want it. Heh. Second is, I don’t have any ‘Light’ helmets or such, and most people want a matching set of gear when they fight.”

“Armor Synergy says it’ll take the average of my gear and improve my weapon…” Grant muttered to himself while burying his mouth behind a hand. “Sarge?”

<February Twenty Nine will be considered as a Mid Spring Light Weapon. It’ll add six points of base damage to your attacks, up from the zero your current scraps gave ya. You’ll hit normal attacks as hard as your critical strikes currently do. Not a bad deal, and you just need to find a helmet to bump up to a base of eight damage. I say do it.>

Grant pulled out a fistful of Weeks, Days, and a large scattering of minutes. Between himself and the vendor, they counted out the coins and came to an arrangement. The Wielder kept two Week coins, and pulled his new white armor onto his frame. It was snug, but nowhere near where it should have been. A quick look in the vanity mirror next to the shop revealed a man that had practically melted like a candle while undergoing the hardships of February. He nearly didn’t recognize himself as he felt at the hard edges of his face.

“Yeah, you’ll be a looker when that extra skin is gone.” The merchant informed Grant with a small smile. “I saw a lot of that when the cultivation craze was first sweeping across February. The rapid loss makes you look a little… raisin-like, but that’ll turn into a look that the people here are desperate to keep.”

“I don’t even know who I am anymore.” Grant touched his face and the mirror, just to see if it was actually a different person mimicking him.

“Well, that’s…” Now uncomfortable, the vendor looked around and caught sight of people flowing in one direction. In an effort to save face, he eyed February Twenty Nine and recognized that Grant had need of a proper sheath. “Take this, on me. It’s basic, but does the—hey now, the first event is about to start.”

“What? Thank you for the sheath, sir!” Grant looked over at the people, then to the position of the sun, and dropped into a full sprint toward the crowd. He passed various people in mid-conversation as he ran and struggled to attach the sheath, getting a strange mix of what people thought was important.

“Did you say that only a hundred people make it-”

“At least the only people that needed it were in March.

“Kantor! He’s a good puppy, but I-”

“Okay, still, spiders the size of hunting hounds-!”

“That’s not your place, fool! Step aside.”

“Announcing the start of the first event! All contestants to the line!” Grant knocked over two people as he smashed through the wall of people keeping him from the event, coming to a halt in front of the surprised announcer. He pulled out his token, and understanding as well as a hint of mirth appeared in the man’s eyes. He waved for Grant to join the group, and got back to calling out to the crowd.

Hundreds of competitors had lined up for the start, and Grant’s stomach churned from nerves as he looked at them. One of the conversational snippets made him assume this was going to be a battle where only the longest-lasting one hundred would pass through, but the truth was that no one really knew what to expect.

“Competitors,” boomed the announcer, having finished warming up the crowds. “Get ready! The event will commence in… one minute!”

Looking around, Grant saw that the competitors stood in a loose ring around a huge muddy field. With nothing else to do, he merely watched and waited. When there was only thirty seconds before the start, the test became painfully obvious: a wall of granite sprouted out of the ground and soared into the sky. A few people around the line started whooping and cheering, “Rock climbing! Woo!”

“First to the top wins!” Another competitor bellowed, almost unable to keep themselves from running in.

“The only rule is that if you touch the mud below after you start climbing, you’re out! Go!” A whistle blew, and the mass of competitors rushed towards the wall. People were screeching in delight that climbing had been picked for the first event. As far as Grant could tell, rock climbing was somehow one of the favorite activities for the residents of February. A few people had apparently been hoping for this, and reached into pouches; where they had a personal supply of chalk with them at all times. This fact  made Grant’s face twist as if he had bitten into a lemon.

Even so, he wasn’t ready to give up before he got started. Grant ran towards the rock face. As the other competitors cheerfully dove in and sprinted up the wall, he simply grabbed on and started climbing as well as he could. The first few feet went smoothly, but he was already last and the gap between him and the nearest competitor, an elderly gentleman, was growing larger by the minute.

<Good thing we’ve been having you running through trees for the last week. A lot of the same principles apply; watch your form, don’t let your hands or legs get hurt, and most of all don't fall.> Sarge was in full encouragement mode, knowing that training was over, and this was the real deal. <No problem with our start. Still, go up the wall, don’t just cling onto it like it'll give you the love you never got as a child.>

Realizing that he had overestimated Sarge’s desire to be nice to him, Grant forced himself to use his legs. He lunged, pushing up to the nearest handhold. His fingers trembled, but he realized that his cultivation made this more than possible: it was easy. The only issue he was actually having was nerves and inexperience.

Grant started sliding down as he grabbed the next handhold and found it slick; clearly a faster climber had left a trap. “I’m going to fall!”

<Not if I can help it!>

*Zap.*

“Argh!” Lightning from Spark Shield lanced through his hand, forcing it closed and shattering a good chunk of the stone as his grip crushed inward. It did stop him from falling, but it hurt his hand like crazy even if it didn’t deal damage thanks to his new armor..

<That was so fun! Want me to do it again?>

“Only if I’m going to fall, that really hurts!” The other issue was that it left his hand numb for a second or so after the lightning wore off, and he was unable to open or close it with much force.

<Bah, spoilsport. I know authors that have been hit by full-power lighting and walked away from it. This is nothing.> Grant ignored the jabs and continued onwards and upwards. Twenty minutes in, the elderly gentleman ahead of Grant was resting against the stone and heaving for breath. He almost felt bad for the surge of accomplishment that roared through him as he passed the old fellow.

Then the man fell, and screamed as he plunged toward the ground far below. Grant grabbed for him, but missed since he had been just a moment too slow. He watched in horror as he waited for the wet crunch, but instead saw a wave of mud surge up and catch the man, then deposit him into a large puddle where he laughed and moved around to make a mud angel, much to the delight of the crowd.

Now knowing that there was a safety net in place, a huge amount of tension dropped out of Grant. Able now to focus on the event, he powered on. Not too fast, so that he could maintain a steady heart rate, and let his adrenaline flow away. Even so, no matter how far he climbed, it seemed that the bulk of the climbers remained far ahead.

The wall shuddered and shook suddenly, so hard that Sarge had to zap him so he continued to cling on. The wall transformed as the first climbers got within ten feet of the top; on either side, massive sections of the wall shifted and began dropping downward.

As did the competitors that were climbing.

The moving sections of the wall then regrew from stone cycled up from the interior of the rock wall, and the fastest competitors were now at the bottom far below Grant. While he was certainly confused by the turn of events, that only lasted for a moment. He was no longer in last place! That realization—and a few light zaps from Sarge—gave him the motivation to pick up the pace.

Remaining focused, he simply kept going and going. It was only him and the rock, and he would do whatever it took to defeat it. Before he knew it, he was nearly to the top. The sound of cheering suddenly assaulted his ears as he realized that he’d done it. He’d conquered the wall…!

Then it dropped away, and he found himself near the bottom again, scrambling for a better handhold. He looked up, and up, and almost screamed in frustration. Then the words of the announcer reached him, and everything made sense. “That’s right, everyone! This is the endurance test, and we have a massive swarm of Vassals cycling through to keep that earth moving. With the preparations put in place, this wall can keep going for three full days!”

“No. Please, no.” Grant whimpered, not wanting to hear another word the announcer would say.

“Now, just having it move when they’ve reached the top would incentivize holding still, so now that everyone’s been through once… let’s start the real challenge!” The announcer was met with screams of enthusiasm from both the audience and participants alike, though Grant kept quiet and focused on putting one hand in front of the other. “From this point on, the walls will sink continuously! Endure till the end, climb fast enough to stay in, and hope that the person next to you doesn't kick!”

“We can kick?” Grant’s eyes lit up as he looked to his belt and saw February Twenty Nine waiting to be swung.

Sarge agreed viciously. <If I remember correctly… the only rule was ‘don’t touch the mud’.>