February ~ 19!

CHAPTER 19

Clean, well-fed, and rested, and with a tightly bound stack of Time in his pack, Grant took one last look at the boarded-up shops and faded signs before leaving the city behind. According to Waylon, the place used to be teeming with life, with craftsmen and shopkeepers hawking their wares to passers-by. He tried to imagine what it once was like, the rasping of saws and beating of metal. Physical cultivation and bettering yourself was important, but not if it led to this.

“What a waste.” He tore his gaze away and focused on the road ahead. Waylon and their escort trailed behind, and he shouted at them playfully. “Come on, Waylon. We’ll never reach the House Wednesday’s enclave next to Valentine if you walk at a snail’s pace! How am I more motivated to get walking than you are?”

“If you hadn’t noticed…” Spittle flew as Waylon spoke the words faux-haughtily, “I was injured during our spidery encounter.”

“Why don’t you reach into your wagon and put one of those expensive poultices on it and get a move on? We don’t have all day!” Grant then did something for the first time that he would never forget: a one-handed cartwheel into a front flip. With his body still being larger than healthy, it looked especially impressive. “I think you Februarians might be onto something with this physical cultivation thing!”

“How in the world-” Waylon gaped at him.

“Woo-hoo, physical cultivation!” Grant taunted the injured man by flipping again.

<Now this gives me ideas.> Sarge’s malicious excitement set Grant on edge instantly. <Remember how you were mentioning to me that you thought Lady February’s ability to move was impressive? Well… let’s just say you don't become a sword saint by ignoring the environment around you. Congratulations! Now that someone else is pulling the wagon, you get to return to practical training! Get up that tree and start learning how to jump between branches. Watch out for regular spiders, and all sorts of orange menaces!>

“S-Sarge, I was just showing off my-” Grant whimpered, only to be cut off by the sword.

<No, no. You’re right. Now that you’re at an acceptable level of physical cultivation, just being normal is beneath you. By the time we reach Valentine, you’ll be able to run a tumbler backward! I said up the tree.>

Taking a deep breath, he started climbing and got to the lowest branch. He jumped, missed the next tree over, and hit the ground hard.

Damage taken: 5 terrain.

“Ow.”

<Fool. You think you can get to a higher branch by jumping up when the branch is twenty feet away? Your cultivation isn’t that high. Start high, jump down, then get enough momentum to be sent up.>

“Grant, stop that! I wouldn’t want your death on my conscience. Let’s just walk, okay?” Waylon trotted forward stiffly in an attempt to catch up with his fallen companion. “We’re at least three days from the estate, longer at my pace.”

“No can do.” Grant’s words revealed such a deep longing for walking that Waylon was completely confounded. “Walking at the pace of a geriatric turtle just isn’t in the cards for me. I’m going for a… jog. *Hurk.* Can’t believe I said that out loud. I’ll stick next to the main path. If you hear screaming, it’s just me screaming; so please send help.”

“In that case, I’ll enjoy the peace and quiet with our armed escort. Hey, if you’re gonna be in the trees, be on the lookout for some redcap mushrooms, would you? Do you know what they look like?”

“Mushrooms with a red top, I’m guessing?” Grant paused and rummaged through his pack, pulling out two wilted and slightly smooshed fungus. “I have two here.”

“What?” Waylon’s reached for them. “Do you find pleasure in my suffering or something? I thought we were friends, Grant.”

“Of course we are! What are you talking about? Are these hurting you somehow?” Grant’s eyes widened in horror. “You’re allergic, and the reaction made it so you could barely fight against the spiders!”

“Not cool, Grant. I was fighting as well as I could.” Waylon huffed and looked away sharply. “Those mushrooms have medicinal properties. They aren’t powerful like full poultices, but they are a base ingredient and will stop bleeding and provide pain relief. I’d love to have those if you don’t mind. Some of these gashes have opened already.”

Grant couldn’t bring himself to explain that he had no idea what they were when he plucked them during his travels, though he slightly remembered the mushrooms maybe being on the stump of the Gleam-Fang nest? “Please, take them if it’ll help. I’ll leave my pack in the wagon as payment, sound like a plan? Actually, maybe you should sit in the wagon?”

“Like a weakling? Waylon scoffed as he accepted both the mushrooms and started rubbing them on himself.

Not sure what Waylon’s comment meant, Grant shrugged, put away his pack, and got back to training. “Hope you feel better. I’ll keep an eye out for more redcaps during my jog.”

<Enjoy your ‘jog’.> Sarge cackled as Grant got back into the tree. <Next time you fall, there’s a flying orange Vivian-spider coming to nibble on your neck. No teeth, but fourteen tongues.>

“By the Regent…!” With that potent threat, Sarge left Grant to his thoughts. The warm afternoon February sun warmed his face as he cautiously plotted each individual movement. After the initial terror of flying through the air unsupported faded, he was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself. Back in January, he would never have imagined voluntarily swinging through trees to train his reflexes, let alone enjoying it.

The odd path brought him across a glade, then the trees ended and he leapt up onto the upper wall of a humpbacked stone bridge. He marveled at his increased balance as he mimicked the feat he had once seen Lady February accomplish; albeit with far less grace. Everywhere he looked, spring was bursting into life; the harshness of Winter all but a memory now as frost lost its grip on the land.

If it wasn’t for the hilt held in one hand to stop it clattering against his hip, he could have forgotten that he was on a mission to defeat Lady February and move through the world by dancing with his blade. Jumping off the bridge, he landed on a slippery stone; falling and winding himself. The promised human-torsoed spider jumped at him with a banshee scream, and he nearly matched it with his own. He had completely forgotten the punishment, and had only thought it applied to falling out of a tree.

Even so, the bright orange monstrosity was easily defeated—his sword flashed out of its sheath and returned so fast that Grant himself had barely recognized what had happened. He stared at the fading training device and looked at February Twenty Nine. “This is just the Beginner tier?”

<It only gets better. Work hard.>

He hadn’t needed to use conscious thought to have the weapon leave his sheath, and this was the first time he hadn’t needed to use both hands to carefully put it away. Grant just intrinsically knew that the sword would do what he needed. Getting back to the task at hand, he reached the trees on this side of the river and started moving.

After bounding along for over an hour in one direction, Grant decided that he either needed to wait for the others or head back. Hopefully, Waylon’s injuries would have healed enough so that he could make faster progress. He entered another glade right next to the road and smiled. This was an ideal place to stop and wait, and he was loath to backtrack and lose his progress. He came to a halt and started pulling on his sore limbs.

<Behind you!> Grant was too busy stretching after the strenuous exercise to react quickly.

*Thud.*

Damage taken: 43 blunt (12 mitigated) (Sneak attack).

A spiked log attached to a rope smacked dead-center into his back just between his shoulders, and he went tumbling as a half dozen people erupted from the woodline around him with ropes and weapons. “Don’t worry, mister. We’ll have you out of that armor in a jiffy! Milly, don’t just stand there, give me a hand.”

Grant was on his feet in a flash, his hand on the hilt of February Twenty Nine. Then he saw who was after him. A young teen girl ran forward with a dark laugh then did as she was told, making Grant hesitant to attack. He wanted to ask them what they were doing, but it was pretty clear that they were mugging him. After a quick glance around, Grant confirmed that many of the people here were even younger than his nineteen years. The others, the older ones, let the youngsters go forward to shield themselves.

The man that had spoken grunted when he saw that Grant was almost entirely unharmed. “Well, isn’t that something. Must have a pretty hard head, that gear is nowhere near good enough to block a hunting trap to the spine. Normal person woulda been dead, but I’m guessing that you’re important and rich enough to be a real competitor.”

‘Milly’ screamed at Grant to get his attention as well as psyche him out, then held a sharp dagger in front of her. “Lose the armor or your life.”

Not wanting to fight kids, and uncertain if he could fight off the full score of people that had spilled out of the woods, Grant hesitantly pulled off his helmet. When no one moved to attack, he took off his torso and leg armor; standing in just his normal clothing and travel-worn boots.

Milly moved forward and patted him down to make sure he wasn’t hiding anything else, then unsheathed February Twenty Nine. The look of disappointment was etched on all the thieves’ faces. “Scrap metal. Whatever, it’s still a sword. Someone will buy it.”

Confused, Grant looked over at the blade. It was as they described, but…? Then he remembered that without the upgrade provided by Weapon/Armor Synergy, the blade reverted to its former rusty appearance.

“Get moving, kids!” The older man sighed in frustration. “We need to keep moving, this is Wednesday turf.”

Milly jammed the helmet on her head. In different circumstances, Grant would laugh at the comical sight of the young girl wearing his oversized leather skullcap. It was so big, it almost completely obscured her vision. He stood there helplessly as the random highwaymen backed away slowly, then made a mad dash for a deeper area of the Whispering Woods.

It took about a half hour, but Grant had calmed down by the time familiar voices echoed down the road. Thinking that the robbers had probably been fleeing the entire time, Grant decided he had waited long enough. He reached toward a wispy white distorsion in the air, “Time is Space.”

He pulled February Twenty Nine out of nothing, and let a small smile grace his lips as he thought about Milly screeching in fury somewhere. With a sigh, he rubbed at his deeply bruised back and got onto the road proper. A familiar face was waiting for him. Waylon struggled to contain his laughter as he saw Grant approach through the trees.

“Have a… pleasant jog?” Waylon covered his mouth to hide his laughter at Grant’s glare. “You appear to be missing your suit of armor.”

“It was holding me back, so I took it off.” Grant snapped sarcastically. “I got robbed. Bandits using kids to stop me from fighting back took anything that had actual value.”

“Bandits?” Waylon glanced sharply at Beginner, who shrugged.

“Unsurprising.” Beginner told them apologetically. “We try to patrol the area, but we’re a glorified guardhouse. There were thousands of people that used to make their living in the city, not all of them found… gainful employment.”

“I’ve never had issues.” Waylon pondered the issue, but shrugged after a long moment. “Sorry, Grant. Not much you can do about it. At least you have a fat sack of Time to spend when we get to Valentine. I’m sure you’ll be able to get decent gear. Also, I’m feeling much better, if that helps. Those redcap mushrooms worked wonders.”

It was good news, but Grant couldn’t find it in him to make happy noises right now. He walked down the road, rusty sword bared and in his hand at all times due to being down one leather sheath.