February ~ 20!

CHAPTER 20

They walked in silence through the evening and into the night. Grant was starving but didn’t dare suggest they stop; just in case the bandits came back and he was forced to actually fight what had clearly been near-starved children. The next two days passed quickly as Grant practiced moving over rough and strange terrain. Sarge pushed him to try more and more daring feats, to the point Grant was starting to literally fear waking up in the morning.

He was missing the security he had felt when wearing his armor, even if it had only actually granted him a measly two points of extra damage mitigation. That same fear made him miss what should have been an easy handhold as he jumped over a small ravine, and Sarge was so furious that he swarmed Grant with orange monsters until Grant ‘died’ to them.

<Are you so weak-willed that the loss of stuff breaks you mentally?> Sarge bellowed when Grant came around. <Is it because your sword is less shiny? Are you a magpie? Get up and get good if you don’t want that to happen again!>

“I didn’t want to hurt them, Sarge.” Grant tried to explain to the furious sword-spirit.

<You’re a Beginner in Kenjutsu! You literally can’t hurt them if you don’t want to do so!> Sarge’s mental bellows almost knocked Grant unconscious. <If you don’t want to hurt someone, don't! It’s that easy! Now get up and stop pouting!>

On the fourth day, they started passing estates with imposing ornate wrought iron gates with large training facilities attached. In the distance, the lights of the city cast its glow into the night’s sky.

The capital city: Valentine.

Unlike Mid January, the air here was clean; not smoggy from countless mills churning out equipment and food. Grant tried to be excited, but his intense training with Sarge had made it nearly impossible for him to feel anything other than exhaustion right now.

“We’re almost there.” Waylon sounded almost as weary as Grant. He looked at their escorts, and leaned in to whisper, “If anyone asks, you’re my direct trainee. Spells may only be training tools, but we don’t just hand them out to just anyone. Got that?”

“Is it that big of a deal?” Grant inquired, only getting a serious nod in reply. Another hour of walking later, and they came to a large estate with the banners of House Wednesday proudly flapping in the wind. The flag showcased a large ‘W’ made of a single taloned monster foot, on what Grant now recognized as a spiky cultivation orb: although it was yellow. Had he not broken through to the Summer ranks, he would have thought it was just a neat circle.

“Why is that yellow?” Grant whispered to Waylon, not wanting to step into another social faux pas. “Cultivation spirals are only grey, red, blue, and brown, right?”

“Not everything is about being perfectly accurate, Grant. It’s just a representation of our respective position in the Houses of the Week, along with the fact that we cultivate.” Waylon could see that Grant didn’t understand, so he deigned to give up a little more information. “Humans can see a whole bunch of colors, but someone once made a list of the different organizations of colors. According to them, everything is a variation of seven primary colors, and that matched up with the days of the week.”

“Don’t tell me.” Grant thought about where he had seen seven bands of color in nature. “Monday is red, then it goes orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and finally violet for Sunday? Or, please tell me someone had more imagination than that?”

“No… what? That’s correct, what’s the issue with it?” Waylon asked as the gate silently swung open as they entered the estate belonging to House Wednesday. Their boots crunched along the gravel, each step bringing them closer to the looming edifice of stone and wood.

“It’s just a rainbow, Waylon.” Grant saw understanding appear in his friend’s eyes, then a hint of shame that he hadn’t realized that till now. “I think someone convinced the Nobles that they were more clever than they actually were, and the Houses swallowed the bait.”

“That’s…” Walon started howling with laughter, and had to bend over to catch his breath. “Why has no one put that together?”

“Misguided pride?” Grant snickered all the way until they finally stopped.

“Ugh… I hate that you told me that. I’m never gonna be able to see all the banners together without looking for rain now.” Waylon chuckled a little more, then waved at the building. “We call this place ‘The Lodge’. C’mon in.”

Grant followed Waylon inside the entrance vestibule, noticing a random dais just… sitting there. Nothing was on it. Why was it here? A conversation starter? He looked closer, noting a small carving on it that read as ‘For Travis’. “Ah. A… place of honor?”

“Nah. That’s where we put our Travis-brand umbrellas when it’s raining and they’re wet.” Waylon clarified for him. Grant nodded in understanding and looked around, almost going for his sword when he saw dozens of monsters in mid-leap! Waylon’s hand clamped down on the hand pulling on his sword, preventing him from attacking what turned out to be taxidermy.

“Calm down. They’re stuffed. The only threat they pose is if they fall off the wall and crush you.” Waylon’s words made the fight go out of him, but Grant kept a wary eye on the array of magnificent beasts as they made their way along the corridor. The way they were mounted, they appeared to leap out of the wall with death in their eyes. The beasts all had only one thing in common: they all looked like deadly foes.

Grant froze as a glass-paneled door swung open, and they were confronted by a balding beak-nosed man dressed in formal wear. “Master Waylon, will you be joining us for the evening meal?”

“Not tonight, Humphrey. Sir Monday is an expert in logistics and is here to share his insight on our training plans.” Waylon offhandedly ignored the man from that point forward, making Grant once more wonder what his actual position was in House Wednesday. “We’ll expect privacy.”

“Very good, sir. Heavyweight Wednesday is currently in a meeting in the War Room. Shall I inform him of your arrival?” Humphrey leadingly offered.

“He’s in residence today?” Waylon answered too quickly for Grant to be comfortable, “No. There’s no need. Thank you, leave us.”

Humphrey bowed, then walked stiffly through another of the many doorways lining the corridor. Waylon gulped heavily, “Phew. I thought we were done for. He’s never here, I guess he’s feeling that he should make sure to meet the winners.”

Grant followed Waylon deep within the compound. Paintings of past heads of House Wednesday observed them, and Grant felt like they were judging them. They stopped before a heavy wooden door. Waylon struggled to unlock the multitude of bolts, but finally managed to get into the room behind them. “Wait here. I’ll see what I can find. If I get caught… we’ll have to answer to House Wednesday as a whole for giving out rare resources.”

“What? Why? What are you doing?” Before Grant got a satisfactory answer, Waylon slipped through the door out of sight. Several agonized minutes passed, and Grant was sure that Waylon had been caught doing… whatever he had been doing. Finally the door creaked open, and a triumphant Waylon walked through.

“What took you so long?” Grant let out an exasperated sigh. “What were you even doing?”

“I picked up a selection of elemental spells for you to choose from.” Waylon showed Grant a stack of lightly glowing books, making Grant’s eyes bug out a little. “I know you were excited about the scraps I handed you, but after everything you’ve done for me, I thought it’d be only fair to give you a proper selection.”

“I’m really happy with this one.” Grant lied as his jaw clenched tightly from the static stimulation. “It’s shockingly effective.”

“No way are you happy with that spell.” Waylon snorted and offered the book once more. Under the light of an oil lamp, he showed off three leather-bound spellbooks. “The first, the red one, is a flame spell. Cast actively, it heats your body. Perfect when traveling during the freezing days of winter. Cast passively, it adds burning damage to attacks. The damage over time can quickly wear down an opponent.”

Grant imagined his sword exploding into flames, and himself diving into combat. Unfortunately, the thought reminded him that there was a dragon somewhere that was going to turn him into ash. “Not a defense against fire…? Probably a no from me.”

Completely undaunted, Waylon showed off the next one, “Wind Walk. It’s active ability generates a gust of wind that increases movement speed. How long it lasts depends on your mana reserves, but theoretically—with enough mana—you’d be able to run forever without getting tired. It’s passive ability adds a gust of wind to every swing of your weapon, a little bit of knockback, or drying out the eyes of your enemy.”

Grant thought about it, but slowly shook his head. “For some reason, it just doesn’t resonate with me.”

“Okay… Earth Slap! It sends a wave of mud-”

Grant cut Waylon off, “No, thank you, but I’m actually happy with my spell as it is now. My cultivation is increasing, and I’m learning so much about mana use. Even if it hurts, I can just fight through it. Somehow I doubt that these other spells scale up like this one does-”

“Yeah, they’re all flat damage.” Waylon confirmed.

“-which means that this will be more useful as I get better at using it.” Grant finished, nodding to acknowledge Waylon’s words. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even figure out how to improve it someday, make it work without frying my eyeballs.”

“I have my doubts.”

<Seconded.>

“Well thanks for the vote of confidence.” Grant wasn’t sure which of the two he was speaking to, but felt mildly offended at the lack of trust.

“Well… in that case, I’m not sure what else to say. Um. Stay on guard against any Stalkers that snuck past the subjugation squad, and may we meet again?” Waylon scratched his head awkwardly, but Grant slapped it away and glared at the still-outstretched hand.

“I’m not a pet, Waylon.” Both snorted at the other’s antics, and started back toward the main corridor containing the stuffed animals. They still freaked Grant out, but he tried to ignore them. Waylon stopped in his tracks. Grant, busy examining the various beasts, bumped into his back.

“Hey. What are we stopping for?” He peered over Waylon’s shoulder, finding that the reason was standing right before them. Heavyweight Wednesday stood with his arms folded.

“Waylon, may I have a word?” Heavyweight Wednesday’s deep voice resonated through the corridor. “Follow me into the War Room, and make sure to bring your Monday friend with you.”

As Heavyweight Wednesday disappeared into what was apparently the ‘War Room’, Waylon and Grant shared a concerned look. The gig was up, their goose was cooked. He didn’t know how, but House Wednesday had discovered that they’d snuck into the vault.

“Just stay quiet, and only speak if spoken to!” Waylon whispered harshly. Grant nodded and followed him into the War Room. Even more animal busts lined the walls, along with shelves full of hefty tomes.

Heavyweight Wednesday stood over a table, his hands spread wide and with his back to them. “It appears to be weakening further, Waylon. We’ve received reports from Wielders and Vassals throughout the District. Sir Monday, can you come over here, please? I hear you have good insight into archaic information.”

Grant went wide-eyed. Why would Heavyweight Wednesday want to speak with him? Waylon just motioned for him to do as he was told, and the wrong words squeaked out of his mouth. “I can explain.”

“Really? I haven’t even told you what the problem is yet… perhaps Monday has information they haven’t shared? I know Monday’s are prized for their informational skills. Please, enlighten me.”

Heavyweight Wednesday moved aside, allowing Grant access to the massive sheet of parchment stretched across the desk. For a moment he was confused until he saw a marker highlighting the Whispering Woods. He was looking at a map, but not just any old map, this one had such crisp detail that he expected objects to start moving of their own accord. Even so, he was unfamiliar with the District and so struggled to understand what anything represented. Surrounding the District were the shimmering barriers separating January, February, and March.

In a bid for time, he picked up a magnifying glass that lay beside the map. It looked similar to one of Randall’s he’d played with and been punished for using without permission as a child. Stating intently through the glass, he noticed that the barrier between February and March had faded as though someone had taken an eraser to the oil painting.

Pain shot through his body, and he let out an involuntary yelp as he doubled over. Both Heavyweight Wednesday and Waylon jumped at the sudden noise. Heavyweight leaned over the map and demanded. “What is it? What did you see?”

Sarge’s sheepish voice slithered into Grant’s mind. <Ah… sorry about that. Was adjusting Spark Shield, didn’t mean to make it go through that particular sensitive area. I can confirm that your spell still works.>

Grant was glad they couldn’t see his face turn red as he resisted shouting at his sword in front of them. He stabbed at the barriers around the District, “Here, and here, the barrier seems to have faded, going by the erasure, but perhaps knowing your specific issue would help me find what you need?”

“Hmm. I didn’t notice that spot, but that’s what I was afraid of. Who was the last person to alter the map?” Heavyweight Wednesday turned to look at Waylon, then his eyes flicked to the butler, who shook his head minutely. “Hmm… I suppose the regions where the barrier is weakening coincides with the sightings of mutated monsters. We believe that the barriers have begun leaking mana, and altering the creatures near them. Waylon, I want you to investigate them further and report back to me. Is that understood?”

“Of course, Father.” Waylon went pale as three pairs of eyes stared holes into him. “I-I-I mean, yes, Heavyweight! I’ll get right on it.”

Heavyweight Wednesday let the awkward silence stretch a moment longer, then turned back to the map. “It doesn't appear to be urgent, yet, but get on it as soon as you can. Grant, you’ve been inspected by members of our House, and as far as we can tell… the scent markers from the Stalkers have been fully eradicated by the alchemical soap. I received a report that no less than three subjugation squads reached and burnt out the nest; doubly checking for any additional creatures and finding no survivors. We believe that the threat has passed. In that case, our duty to protect you from being stalked has ended. You may both leave. Thank you for your… insight, Sir Monday.”

“Before I go…” Grant hesitatingly pulled out the Wielded Weapon he had found in the Gleam-Fang Stalker nest. “I’d like to give this to you. Your House has aided me beyond what they needed to do, and before anyone ever calls their actions into question, I’d like to absolve any debt between us.”

Heavyweight Wednesday stared at the shining rapier, then between Grant and Waylon. “This… good. You are an honorable man, Sir Monday. I thought I was going to have to… no, none of that. Thank you. This will allow me to explain the gifts that the House as a whole gave you, instead of needing to punish a single individual or two for indiscretions. Know that I will speak well of you if it is ever needed.”

Waylon gulped deeply as the brooding House Lord locked eyes with him. Leaving the man to his map, they closed the door behind them very gently. Grant wiped a small river of sweat from his forehead, then turned to Waylon. “I suppose… we both have places to be, so I better get going. Thanks again for your help, and I hope we meet again.”

As Grant walked towards the main door, Waylon stopped him with a hesitant call, as though he expected Grant to snap at him. “Wait. You’re a man of your word, and have risked yourself to rescue me on several occasions. You apparently also saved me from the punishment of giving you a spell, as well as sneaking you into restricted areas. Would you… mind continuing to travel together? My mission to the barrier will take me in the same direction anyway…?”

“Waylon…” Grant started slowly, turning to face his contemporary with a feigned look of disgust. “I don’t know if I can handle much more of your Lordliness. The heir of Heavyweight Wednesday? What would the gossips say when I try to make my own name at the tournament?”

<I remember when you could barely spell your own name!> Sarge chimed in with a touch of snark. <Ah, how much you’ve improved in a month!>

Sarge’s cheekiness rolled off Grant like water off a duck, but Waylon looked like he’d been struck by the words, so Grant reached out to clasp forearms with his friend. “It was a joke! Given the option, I’d keep you in my pocket so we could travel the world together!”

That got a laugh out of Waylon, then a snort before sharing the mental image he had, “Hopefully your shirt pocket. I’ve seen exactly how often you wash your pants, you filthy monkey.”

“Of course my shirt pocket! How else would you enjoy the view as I swung along in the trees?” The outlandish conversation broke all the tension, and they laughingly left the holdings of House Wednesday and walked along the well-made roads. Under the light of the moon, they headed out the wrought iron gate and towards the lights of Valentine.