February ~ 4!

CHAPTER 4

The majority of the crowd dispersed, the main event clearly over. Only a few people hung around to watch the next batch of sweaty, shaky competitors pass through the square. Even so, the people overflowed with energy and excitement. They were friendly and enthusiastic, but Grant still felt wildly out of place around them. He decided to try and take stock of the information he had gathered, and re-center his thoughts.

“All these people are serious physical cultivators that apparently have a cultivation method. Does that mean that every single person in this District is a cultivator? At least a physical cultivator? I can’t tell if they do weapon, armor, or mental cultivation. Heh, being so narrow-minded, I doubt they do mental cultivation.”

<Oh, wise one.> Sarge broke into his thoughts at this point, <The mental cultivation characteristics you’ve gained have almost entirely been gained by increasing your Cultivation Achievement Level. Actually, only your weapon cultivation can be said to have really benefited from cultivation directly, at more than double what you’ve been getting passively.>

“Well, I have no idea what that looks like, so I can’t exactly-”

<I’ll let you see so that you can understand the abject failure that you showcased in District January.> Sarge grumbled for a moment, then a screen popped up as he finished with, <We’re gonna need to do way, way better than we did.>

Weapon Cultivation: 18 bonus characteristics, 364 hours spent cultivating

Armor Cultivation: 8 bonus characteristics, 329 hours spent cultivating

Mental Cultivation: 8 bonus characteristics, 330.55 hours spent cultivating

Physical Cultivation: 7 bonus characteristics, 290 hours spent cultivating

<As you can see here, you’ve absolutely been wasting your time. Look at these atrocious numbers. There are eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours in a year!> Sarge stopped and waited for a reply from Grant, but the young man was only confused.

“But… if there’s thirty-one days in January, that means there’s only…” Grant tried to put together the numbers, and the silence began to stretch. “C-carry the eleven…?”

<Seven hundred and forty-four hours, Grant!> Sarge barked into his mind. <If you’re training all four of the methods simultaneously, that means you could have achieved two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-six hours of cultivation last month! That’s nearly three Cultivation Achievement Levels, and you only earned one.>

“But what about sleep?” Grant begged the sword, but Sarge wasn’t having any of it.

<I was clearly too easy on you, but with all the training devices I now have access to… that will no longer be an issue. You can sleep peacefully when you’re dead, Grant. If you aren’t working nearly every single second, that’ll be in three hundred and thirty-four days. Tell me right now what you want: to take it easy and keep complaining the month away while all of you opponents get stronger, or to get out there and become a true competitor for the position of Calendar King?>

“I was only making a joke…”

<Well, stop. The punchline to that joke is your life.> Sarge heartlessly demanded. <You have your work cut out for you, and you need to get moving. Today is February second, which means that after today… you only have six hundred and forty-eight hours to cultivate this month. If you somehow managed to make it happen, you could get two and a half levels from cultivating alone!>

Grant was quick to deny him, “Sarge, that’s not possible!”

<Did I ask you if it was possible? No! I said it’s time to go train! Go do what you did yesterday, and run on the track for the rest of the day. Now make your choice! You wanna half-heartedly move, or do you wanna->

“Sarge.” Grant clenched his fists, and stopped to look skyward. “I… I want to be a true contender.”

The sword seemed to consider something, finally giving Grant an order, <To help facilitate your training, my training simulations will be active all day long. You’ll be under constant attack. To help you identify whether the situation is real or fake, any monsters created by me will be a bright orange. Wear your armor as you run, and make sure your sword is out at all times.>

Time remaining to begin training: 5… 4…

It was only at that moment that Grant realized he had been standing right next to the multi-mile running track. He got on it and started running—also making the countdown vanish, to his great relief. Grant pulled out his sword and maintained a balanced pose as he ran slowly, trying to ensure that he’d be able to maintain this pace for the… rest of the day? Grant slowed down, and the countdown restarted. “No slacking off at all? Not even to maintain?”

<You can maintain this pace the whole time you’re moving. I know your body better than you do.>

Feeling very put-upon, Grant looked off to the side as he ran up a hill, getting a great view of the road into the distance. Far off, he was sure he could make out a tiny pink dot zooming along the main road for a few seconds, before it was too far to be noticeable any more. As he ran, a pair of smiling joggers bounced past. With a small burst of speed, he joined in alongside them. “Lovely day for a run, isn’t it?”

“Perfect. The weather is warming up nicely now that February is coming into ascendance.” The woman who spoke took a sip from her bottle and wiped the green liquid from her lips. “Mmm! Can’t get enough of this stuff. It works wonders. Stops me from hitting the wall.”

“The wall…?” Grant looked along the path, unable to see any obstructions. By this point, he’d only jogged a few hundred yards, but his legs were already starting to feel the burn. “That drink sure is… something. Certainly not like anything I’ve ever come across. If you don’t mind me asking, why would you hit a wall? Are you doing some kind of weapon cultivation?”

“Haha, you are so funny!” She gazed over at him, not finding a name tag or number. “‘What wall’, indeed! You’re right, with appropriate training and pacing, we should never hit the wall. The reality is often much different, isn’t it? I’m glad you joined us, I see you understand that when you are doing a long run, you should take a pace that allows you to hold a conversation. Great for training your lungs and breathing patterns.”

Grant couldn't reply to this, as his body was forcing him to heave for air. The guy jogging along the woman saw his predicament and chimed in to give the teen a chance to even his breathing. “You should try getting some Bed in you. Gets you in the zone, and really aids recovery! Say… any chance you’re planning on competing?”

Notice! Competing in an event will reduce the time needed for running each day by two hours! Winning a competition will grant additional rewards.

“Yes! Absolutely I will! Where do I sign up?” Grant jumped on the opportunity to escape the monotony of his feet pounding on the pavement.

“You… haven’t signed up?” The pair shared a confused look, and the lady winced as she let him know the facts, “Every event is usually booked up months in advance. Get down to the stand near the start line? I mean, I don’t think you’ll be able to get a spot, but you never know.” The jogging man glanced at Grant, then his running partner, and jerked his head to the right, as if to tell his partner something. “We better be off. We should… increase our pace. That was just a recovery mile, and we’re doing interval training. Good luck, maybe we’ll see you around!”

The cheerful couple waved and picked up the pace, having hung back to chat with him. As soon as they left, Grant stumbled to a standstill, his head spinning from the exertion of keeping pace with the joggers. “Why is this so hard?”

<Because you aren’t used to it.> This time, since Sarge’s voice held no anger, Grant listened closely as the sword started lecturing, <Your physical cultivation is maxed out for your cultivation stage, Grant. The fact of the matter is that you should be able to utterly dominate any of these people. That man was no older than twenty-two, and not a Wielder. He’s only a Method Cultivator. If he does physical cultivation, started five years ago, and used your cultivation manual for twelve hours a day, he’d be at Cultivation Achievement Level twenty-one, and have accrued five hundred and forty-seven points of physical characteristics.>

“That… is way more powerful than I am. Like… so much more powerful than me.” Grant couldn’t even fathom that kind of strength, except by thinking about the power Lord January wielded.

<Heh. Knew that’d scare you.> Sarge chuckled to gently put Grant’s fears at ease, <If they’re all using a publicly available cultivation method, and they can all understand it, that means it must be the most basic of basic methods. I’d estimate them getting… perhaps a quarter of the characteristics as you get per level. That’d also mean that they gain a characteristic for every one hundred and sixty hours of physical cultivation. Someone might be at level twenty-one, but they’d be sitting at around one hundred and forty physical characteristic points at the top end.>

“Sarge, none of what you’re saying is help… oh.” Grant had a moment of inspiration just before Sarge gave him the answer. “The changes likely started five years ago, even if Lord February started shifting the mentality of the District. If they made this method available, how long did it take for everyone to get it? To learn it, and put it in practice? Until these foods and recovery drinks became commonplace, how many people could actually cultivate that method for a full half day?”

<Now you’re thinking. It’s likely that this reached its peak within the last year or so. Keep running, that’s enough of a break.>

“Okay…” He caught his breath and watched the joggers disappear into the distance. “I have to find that event they mentioned. They pointed at that side path, here’s hoping they weren’t trying to get rid of the competition - ahh!”

The newly-christened Lord January was taken to the ground by a massive, hairy spider. It’s beady eyes stared death into his own, and it’s bright orange fangs ripped into his abdomen. Grant’s blood splattered across the track… and then he found himself on his back, alone, and unhurt besides a rapidly-healing bruise on his rear. “What by all the Sword Saints was that?”

<That was part of your training program. As it turns out, one of the great failings of Sword Expertise was that you could always discern reality and illusion. It let your mind wander, and you only needed to focus when the world around you went grey. Isn’t this so much more exciting? Now you can always be in the true mindset that you could die at any moment!>

Ignoring the sadistic sword that he had no choice but to obey, Grant shakily got to his feet and followed the sound of excited chatter on the side path. As he followed the road to its natural end, the smell of freshly cut grass assaulted his nostrils: the telltale sign of the Bed drinks.

The sensory explosion led him to a packed area where Joggers quaffed their beverages. A runner wearing black gloves that went to his elbows was there, proudly displaying a token that guaranteed him entry to the main tournament. Other runners fawned all over him, treating him like a highborn Noble holding court. Grant approached a clapping teenage girl, her hair dyed the same shade of pink as Lady February’s. “Excuse me, what’s the big deal? Why are people going crazy over him?”

“That’s Windsprint Friday!” She turned to Grant, her clapping never once slowing down. “He’s the first person in the last three years to come so close to beating Lady February in the thousand meter dash!”

“That’s…” Grant looked at the man, not recognizing him at all. “When did he race against her?”

“His event was a few days ago, he’s doing a District-wide motivational tour. It’s incredible, isn’t it?” The girl turned her eyes back to the lanky, near-skeletal man, and sighed adoringly. “He lost by only forty-one seconds!”

Grant shook his head in confusion, “Isn't’ that… a huge loss in a race?”

“You clearly don’t understand.” Her voice was firm as she replied, clearly she was upset that Grant was getting in the way of her excitement. “It’s an awesome achievement, he closed the gap by over a minute since he first started training. His accomplishment earned him the position of her Herald! No one else is trusted to deliver the most important news as quickly as he is. Not only that, but because of him, there’s hope that someone will manage to beat Lady February someday!”

“Thank you for the information,” he glanced up at her nametag, “Sara? Can you point me in the direction of the information booth? I want to sign up for a preliminary event and… do I get a nametag and number there?”

“You’re here to compete and better yourself? Really?” She squealed and clapped harder, jumping up and down in happiness. Eventually she managed to point toward a banner near the mass of runners. “I wish you the best in your fitness journey!”

Grant pushed through the crowd, wearing a real smile for the first time today. After seeing what she was capable of, he didn’t honestly believe that he could fairly defeat Lady January after only one month of training. Still, no one would ever have believed how far he had already come. He struggled to believe it himself, but here he was, in February and on his way to sign up for a race of all things! “Hello! I’d like to-”

“You again?” The girl with the ponytail he kept bumping into was manning the booth. “Don’t do anything strange! I’ll scream! I had nightmares last night after you waved that sword at me.”

“That was a misunderstanding, I swear! I’m here… I want to take part in one of the preliminary events.” Grant gave up on trying to explain himself and simply pushed right into the main point.

“You… can’t be serious. Look, you’re holding up the line.” Grant turned around, it was clear that he was the only person waiting to be helped. Rubbing at his head, Grant decided to be as forthright as possible. He looked up and read her name tag, then met her eyes. “Look, Miko, right? I just want to race, and… better myself? Isn’t this just you turning me away because you think I can’t win? Does it matter to you if I lose? Won’t I come out on the other side as a healthier person?”

His words shook her confidence, and Miko’s expression softened. “You… okay. Who am I to impede your journey, even if you started out as a creep? Let me check the roster.” Ignoring his wince, she thumbed through a sheaf of paper containing hundreds of names, numbers, and race details. “Sorry, doesn’t look like there are any openings for standard race packages.”

“Look for a non-standard one?” Grant shrugged helplessly, not really knowing how to handle this situation. “Sword Saints, I can’t believe I’m standing here arguing to get into a race.”

“Okay, I think I’ve got one…” She stated after flicking through the pages. “There is one spot. Comes with a deluxe race package. That’ll be two Days, you want it?”

Grant thought about it, but he had really been hoping for a method of reducing his training today. “Is there anything… sooner? I don’t want to wait two whole days.”

“What? Oh. I see the confusion. No, the preliminary race is tomorrow at seven in the evening. The top two positions from every heat go through to the main tourney. The entry price for that slot,” she laughed as she finally got to take a minor revenge for him chasing her with a sword, “is two Day coins.”

“I… see.” The color had drained from Grant’s face. “The prize for winning is entry to the main tournament? Anything else…? Maybe a cash prize?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Miko’s smile started to vanish as Grant's eyes seemed to deaden. “No cash prize for the preliminary, but the deluxe race package entitles you to unlimited Beds on the day of the event, spring water, and snacks. You just have to display the coupon to one of the food vendors.”

<Time for training! You had your chance to get into events, but you failed to make it happen. Get back on the track and prepare yourself for all sorts of ambushes!> Grant almost jumped out of his skin at Sarge’s interruption. Usually he waited until Grant was alone, or at least in dire circumstances. <I’m so excited by the possibilities! I don't know why it never occurred to me that if you are constantly on guard, that will count as mental cultivation. Having complete situational awareness is absolutely ideal for a Swordsman, today will be fun!>

Grant made his excuses, much to Miko’s self-satisfaction since he didn’t book the spot, and started hustling over to the long-distance running track as soon as a timer appeared in his vision. It was frustrating that he was controlled by his sword, and not the other way around, but he had to admit that it was only the training Sarge had given him that had kept him alive to this point. “Can we avoid the spiders tearing into my intestines this time?”

<Nonsense. How do you ever expect to become a master Swordsman if you don’t train as if the battle is real?> The sword laughed at him, a metallic tinge in the sound making Grant shiver. <Besides, when you are experiencing pain, that will increase your armor cultivation efficiency far more than just wearing your armor!>

“Are you telling me that you’re intentionally going to be causing me pain?” Grant idly considered simply throwing the sword away, as he had at least once a day since he had first picked it up.

<Only until you can stop every monster that comes at you head-on, in an ambush, sneak attacks, assassinations…> Grant didn't say a word as Sarge rambled on, listing all of the possible ways he could be attacked. He simply got on the track, pulled out his sword, and started running. Over the course of the day, as monsters seemingly spawned out of nowhere and tore into him, Grant continued mumbling a phrase that slowly became a mantra.

“Three hundred and thirty-four days, then cake for a month! Three hundred and thirty-four days…!”