February ~ 5!

CHAPTER 5

Three hours into this ‘run’, Grant was sweating freely. Heavy breathing was matched by a steadily increasing pulse. He could feel the pounding of blood as it pumped through his veins. This was not a fun experience, but he couldn’t give up yet; not while he still had energy. He wanted to, but being browbeaten by his sword - and killed over and again -was a wonderful motivator.

He lifted his feet higher with every step to stop them dragging along the dirt road. The flat section was an order of magnitude more challenging than the occasional downhill section. Grant’s lungs and legs were burning when he came across a bridge that crossed a wide, lethargic river. The cool water sparkled in the light, and fish flopped on the surface. He wanted nothing more than to jump off the bridge and into the water… then he saw movement under the surface.

Knowing Sarge was up to something, he sprinted across the bridge; making it to the far side just as orange tentacles launched up and smashed the bridge to bits behind him. Grant was struck with flying splinters and logs, and it felt like one of his ribs had broken. <Aww. Was I really that transparent?>

Looking back, Grant half-expected to see a mess of shattered wood, but the bridge was in perfect condition. No tentacles in sight, either. “I really don’t like that you can do that now.”

<Too bad that you can’t stop me, isn’t it?> The instant rebuttal gave Grant pause, then he started to laugh.

“Yeah… yeah, it is.” He agreed ruefully—just before he screamed. He looked down and saw a fuzzy orange snake pumping venom into his ankle just before his vision went dark. A few moments later, he was blinking sand out of his eyes and working to get to his feet. “It really is. Snakes? Seriously?”

<Not every threat to your life is the size of a carriage, Grant.> The deadly seriousness in Sarge’s mental voice forced Grant to accept what he was saying. <I wasn’t joking when I said you need to have constant and perfect awareness of your surroundings.>

After the bridge, he had two choices: continue along the main road, or take the path alongside the river. Knowing that there would be far more tentacles than he wanted to deal with if he stayed near the river, he chose the main road. Now that he knew that there would be tiny things attacking him alongside the normal stuff, Grant’s eyes were constantly roving. He spotted several ambushes, sunbathing critters, and bright orange bandits. Too often, he failed miserably and ended up ‘dying’; the main perpetrators of this were giant spiders that just somehow appeared without warning.

“Is this really fair, Sarge?” The young cultivator finally exploded, his resentment hitting the boiling point. “Where are they coming from?”

<Trap spiders.> Sarge curtly explained. <They’re too real of a thing. They live underground, and spring out of holes at high speed to take down their prey.>

“These things really exist?” Grant’s blood went cold. He hadn’t ‘survived’ a single time against the spiders. If this situation was real… “How do I fight against them? I can’t really always be holding out my sword, not if I’m ever going to be around people.”

<That’s a good point. Okay… training opportunity! Put me away, we’re going to be practicing ‘Iaijutsu’, a combative quick-draw sword technique that is unique to swords like February Twenty Nine.> Sarge slowly started walking Grant through the steps of using the technique, and Grant found that he was very talented at doing it incorrectly. They trained with it as he ran, during breaks, and when he could barely breathe. Sarge didn’t allow him to stop until he had actually managed to perform it… functionally.

As soon as Grant had the movement somewhat practiced, all the attacks on him became sneak attacks. If he couldn’t kill the monsters that jumped at him nearly instantly, Grant ‘died’. Needless to say, within the next hour he had stopped bothering to even clean the dirt from the road off his face after he ‘came back to life’.

Grant’s lungs and legs were on fire. He half ran, half stumbled forward, his poor running form replaced by a desperate need to struggle onwards. Despite his heart beating its way through his chest, he wanted to learn and improve. He wanted to be the best, and he wanted to prove it to everyone. His run was cut short as he caught his foot on a rock, and tumbled head over heels, coming to a stop spreadeagled on the dusty dirt road.

“I… can’t do any… more.” He sucked in deep breaths and choked on the dust. “I also think I’m now terrified of spiders. I can’t fight any more right now.”

<No… I don’t think you can. Nutrition, rest, and mental strength are almost as important as your level of physical cultivation.> Sarge’s voice turned consoling and cheerful. <Good work for now, let’s take a long physical break.>

“More rest sounds good.” Grant agreed wearily.

<Since you can’t do more physically, let’s keep your mind warmed up! Let’s discuss nutrition and mental strength. Planning, managing time, and being disciplined is your priority. You’re going to have to make sacrifices if you want to perform optimally. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but training isn’t about not enjoying your life, but about setting boundaries and balancing the amount of time spent improving and recovering.>

<These elements, along with an appropriate training plan, should be able to rapidly improve your physique to match your cultivation.> Sarge let him digest that information. <As you reach higher cultivations, these become less of an issue. When you can heal any damage done to yourself in mere instants like Lord January could, you can get away with a lot. Back to the main point, let's start easy. Plan: what did you have for breakfast?>

Grant lifted his sword and looked at it. “Sarge, you know everything I do. I had a bar, and mineral water.”

<Yes. Listen, this is going to sound counter-intuitive, but you’ll need way more food than that.>

“What!” The sword couldn’t get another word across as Grant grunted, “Food here is ludicrously expensive! Won’t that slow down how you said I’d ‘match my physique to my cultivation’?”

<Not if you follow the training plan that I craft for you. Right, back to learning. Let’s start discussing major muscle groups! Ohhh…!>

Grant cast his eyes down at his toes as Sarge sang about triceps and ligaments for the next five minutes or so. His poor feet ached from the punishing effort he’d been putting them through, and he wasn’t sure how much more they could take. Sarge let out a roar of laughter as he pieced together what Grant was likely thinking. <Don’t worry, training like we did today is almost all that you’ll be doing this month! It’s gonna hurt, a lot! Remember, even the most flawed lump of steel can be smelted over and over again… until it can be molded into an efficient weapon. That’s enough resting, I think I hear rattlesnakes!>

As it turned out, Grant had collapsed almost exactly at the halfway point of the track, which meant he got to run the same amount of distance to get back to Hajimeni. He ‘died’ fewer times, but that was only due to Sarge sending fewer monsters at him because of his inability to function properly. “Can’t… I won’t give up. It’s only February second, I have plenty of time to train. Just gotta… put my trust in Sarge. He’s gotta know what he’s doing. I’ll be… the first new Sword Grandmaster in a thousand years!”

The path back up the road to Hajimeni was certainly more challenging than the way down, he hadn’t realized exactly how far downhill the road had taken him until he needed to get back up. Grant kept moving, he kept battling and dying, but he kept moving. The world around him was hazy, and his brain was telling him that he was slowly dying of lack of oxygen, which is why he missed the first time he completed his sword technique perfectly.

The bright orange spider had been pierced through the brain and his sword had been put away, and still Grant did not notice, simply working to continue putting one foot in front of the other. Sarge wanted to compliment him, but he knew that if he interrupted Grant's focus, it was likely that the young man would collapse for the remainder of the day.

He made it back to the place he had started the intense run, and in his muddled state almost continued along the track. Only a familiar voice caused him to stumble to a halt, and he looked around exhaustedly for the sound. Miko was bouncing over toward him, and held out a thin binder. “Looks like you’ve been working hard, Grant! I’m really impressed, I hadn’t expected you to actually be so committed. I was wrong to treat you poorly. Here, this is your race package. The number you’ve been assigned is ‘two nine two’. The number will stay with you throughout the events, if you, um… show up.”

Grant blinked at her, looked at the number, then back at Miko. “Two nine two…? February Twenty Nine. It’s… ideal. Thank you, Miko.”

“I don’t know if you know this, but you can get a Bed for free twice a day anywhere that sells them if you either wear your number like this, or show up after clearly exhausting yourself.” Miko let him know, reminding him of what the server had mentioned at the tavern the previous day. “I really think you should go get one, especially if you plan to be able to compete upon the morrow. You’ll need to pay the fee before competing, so hand over two Days.”

“You got it.” He pulled out the requested Time and handed it over, then turned and started stumbling back to the center of town, deliriously excited to get the cut-grass drink into himself. For free, even! How had he forgotten that he got two for free each day? He’d even been hustled by a street food vendor!

“Good luck during the Tumbler, tomorrow!” Miko called after him nervously, her eyes distant. “Still can’t believe people want to be in those. I’ll stick to normal races.”

“Um, thanks?” As he walked off, he considered going back and asking her what she meant. If the race wasn’t normal, then what was it? Why had she shuddered at the end? “I’ll be fine… it’s a three mile race. I ran for hours today, and if I pace myself better, I’ll at least finish. If I could do this…” He held up the race package as he daydreamed about winning, “I can do anything!”