YoTS January ~ 30!

CHAPTER 30

The following day, he was forced to skip breakfast. The rich food he was not used to, combined with strange pain in his gut and stomach had kept him up all night. Grant hobbled over to the training yard, preparing to smack a wooden dummy in the yard to take his frustration and grumpiness out on it. Attempting to activate his training module resulted in a similar message to the one he had gotten yesterday.

Sword Expertise disabled until further notice! Eat small portions of healthy food to regain access to skill. Training is locked until caloric overage is balanced. Caloric overage: 9,400. Recommended actions: Running, weight training. Weight training is optimal for fastest usage of calories.

“It's over nine thousand?” Grant glared at the message. He hated being told off or punished; it reminded him of being back in New Dawn. “Everyone stuffed their faces, so why shouldn’t I…! It took an hour of running to get almost eight hundred calories burned! This… almost eleven hours of running?”

“Everything alright, Grant?” Sir Friday‘s voice pulled Grant back to the present moment.

Grant put his sword in his scabbard and turned to face his benefactor. “I don’t feel well. Had a bit much to eat.”

Sir Friday laughed. “The food is rather rich, but you get used to it after a while. Make sure to get an early night today, as tomorrow, we set off for Castle January!”

Despite the lack of a training module, Grant still managed to get in an hour split between  weapon and physical cultivation. Then, panting and exhausted, he knew there was nothing to do but start working off his debt. Grant started running around the training yard, trying to pace himself so that he could go as long as possible.

After a long, grueling two hours, he collapsed to the ground and stared up at the sky. He quickly checked his status sheet, since watching the numbers increase was highly addictive.

Name: Grant Friday (Updated from Grant Monday)

(Identity hidden. Potion effect will remain active until it is dispelled. Click here to end potion effect: Hidden Identity.)

Class: Wielder

Cultivation Achievement Level: 6

Cultivation Time: 77:48 Hours (Time to Next Level 922:12 Hours)

Cultivation Stage: Mid Spring

Inherent Abilities: Four Seasons Cultivation

Health: 125/125

Mana: 3/3

Characteristics

Physical: 49 -> 50

Mental: 12

Armor Proficiency: 15

Weapon Proficiency: 29

“That’s a big jump in health and physical cultivation! Really though… the gains seem all over the place, but at least the time spent training is also slowly increasing overall cultivation time.” Grant really wanted to ask Sarge about the seemingly random increases in his characteristics, but no matter how he asked, Sarge refused to talk to him.

Finally extremely hungry from his long morning workout, Grant went to the dining area and tried to get some food. However, a message kept appearing whenever he went to pick up a piece of food; especially a greasy sausage or pudding.

Warning: This food contains a high level of fat and cholesterol. Eating this will increase your caloric balance, which will need to be repaid before Sword Expertise unlocks.

He didn’t know what cholesterol was, but it seemed to be in most of the delicious cooked dishes before him. The only time Sword Expertise appeared to be happy - that is, it remained silent - was when he selected a healthier option, such as a small piece of toast or fruit. Wanting to be able to use his sword properly again, Grant grumpily acquiesced and ate only a tiny amount of food; and only the things that did not increase his debt.

Grant returned to training. Running, slowing, and finally walking when he could run no more. It took until just after midnight, but the caloric debt was paid. He collapsed into his bed, only to be shaken awake what felt like only moments later by the household servants. At this point, he was too afraid to eat another thing, at least until he had heard from Sarge one more time.

As he climbed aboard the carriage; he was in a foul mood. His stomach was pleading to be filled, everything was loud, and his body hurt like it had never hurt before. He waited in the carriage for almost an hour before other people began to join him. Luckily, Grant had the chance to take a short nap, which helped a small amount. The four enormous carriages rolled out of the estate shortly after breakfast. Sir Friday Twenty-ninth, Grant, and Sir Friday’s entourage of Noble Lords and Ladies went in one house-sized carriage.

Another held staff, Vassals, and personal effects such as clothing, armor, and weaponry. The third was a mobile kitchen, containing ovens and a smattering of chefs already hard at work. Grant could smell lunch being prepared as the carriages trundled along, and almost puked from the painful reaction of his empty body.

The final carriage contained all manner of food stores, ranging from live animals ready for the slaughter, dry goods, finally smoked and salted meats. Clearly, Sir Friday didn’t intend to starve himself on the long trip to the castle. Grant felt that he was completely alone now, even sitting amongst the painted faces of the Nobility. Sarge had apparently had enough of him, and was punishing him even though he had paid his debt. Sword Expertise didn’t approve of his dietary choices and was still refusing to let him train until the full twenty-four hours had passed - and worst of all - his friends would think he was either dead or had abandoned them.

It was too much. He couldn’t handle this anymore.

“Sir Friday,” Grant shouted over the din of the wheels rumbling along the rough road. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go with you.”

Sir Friday spat out the mid-morning snack that he was nibbling. A Noble lady shrieked at being sprayed with a fountain of crumbs, but kept her mouth shut after realizing it was Sir Friday that did the spraying. “Grant. What, what, what?”

His face went completely red as he spluttered. “It’s too late, brat! I've already sent a magigram and substantial fee, enrolling you in the tournament. You will fight, young man!”

“Stop the carriage. I can’t do this. This isn’t what I want. I’ll live out my final days free,” Grant ended cryptically. He stood and walked unsteadily to the door of the still-moving carriage.

Sir Friday slapped his hand on a pillow. “We have everything here! The finest wine and food from all across the land, you are amongst Nobles… what more could you want? Do you want pay?”

“I miss my friends. They’ll think I abandoned them.” Grant put his hand on the doorknob.

“Friends? I will buy you all the friends that you want!” Sir Friday was shouting now, he refused to believe that Grant would give all of this up. “Tell me what you want, and we will do it!”

The young man paused. “There is only one thing I want, Sir Friday. Pass by Twelve Iron Circle in the Crafting District, and give my friends the option of joining us. Their names are Red, Fergus, and Skinny. I suppose we could invite Derek as well?”

“You’re killing me, Grant! We are already late-”

“No, Sir Friday.” Grant spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the clamor of the wheels. “I'm specifically not killing you. That is the reason I’m here.”

“Ha! You insolent whelp! How dare you talk to me like that? Everyone,” Sir Friday bellowed, “clear the room! I need to have a word with our friend here, in private!”

The carriage ground to a halt, and Lords and Ladies couldn’t move fast enough; not wanting to be the focus of Sir Friday’s wrath. When the room in the carriage was clear, the man himself spoke softly to Grant. “Do not disrespect me like that ever again, Grant Monday. I am a patient and generous man, but I will not lose face in front of my Nobles. I don’t know what issues you are facing, and to be honest, I don’t care. If it will get us past this, I will do as you ask. We will travel by the South Gate of Mid January, and from there I will have my Vassals collect your friends. After that, I will suffer no more of your insolence. Agreed?”

“Yes… Sir Friday the Twenty-ninth. Thank you. I’m sorry…” Grant felt small and weak in front of the simmering bulk of Sir Friday, whose anger was barely held in check.

The large man deflated. “Splendid. I’m sorry too.”

“Huh? For…?” Sir Friday’s Wielded Weapon smacked into his jaw. Grant didn’t even feel the impact of his paralyzed head connecting with the floor of the carriage. Sir Friday bent over, and brought his smiling face close to Grant’s. The upside-down face looked at Grant, who was slobbering helplessly on the floor. “Sorry about that, brat. I had to punish you for your disobedient tone earlier. The Nobles would have seen me as weak otherwise. I hope you understand.”

The Lords and Ladies came back into the carriage soon, tittering at the slumped figure laid out in front of Sir Friday. Most of them gave him an approving nod, and soon the small caravan was on the trail again. A short while later, there was a knock on the door and a Vassal stepped through.

“Sir Friday, there was a little trouble at Twelve Iron Circle, but we managed to collect all the residents, as ordered.” Grant, still unable to speak properly, and with spittle dribbling freely from his slack jaw, looked on in horror as a cart rolled up containing several bound, writhing bodies.

“This wasn’t what I…!” Sir Friday growled in frustration and put his head in his hands. He snuck an apologetic glance at Grant, and motioned for the Vassel to move out of the way, then for the Vassals to remove the gags and untie the wriggling men.

“Grant!” Red lumbered over to the still-paralyzed young wielder. “You’re alive! I thought the worst, then this lot showed up demanding we came with them. We put up a fight even you’d be impressed with, but the bounty hunters used their tricks on us. Blinded and bound, we were carted off here, fearing the worst.”

“I missed breakfast,” a distraught Skinny announced with tears streaming down his face.

“My good man,” Sir Friday replied with a hand over his mouth at the scandalous words he had just heard, “I am so sorry that my men interrupted so badly that you were kept from a meal! If you choose to join us on our trip to Castle January in January’s End, you will feast like a Wielder! Fine specimens such as yourself are hard to come by, and should be held up as an example for others to aspire to become.”

“I’m in.” Skinny nodded vigorously, only hearing the word ‘feasting'.

“Castle January?” Fergus slowly nodded his head. “Yeah, why not. I’ve come this far. It will keep me out of the family’s hair for a while. I’m in.”

Red shook his head, “I was going to head back to the Grand January Caravan. Jo would take me back as Random Guard Number Two, and the pay is decent…”

“We just so happen to have an opening for a guard position,” Sir Friday declared when he saw Grant's anguished look. “Your job will be to look after Grant Friday here, and make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble!”

“Friday?” Red’s confused question was cut off with a sharp gesture.

“I may as well come along,” the muscular Derek came into view. “I tried to explain that I wasn’t with this lot, but the bounty hunters wouldn’t listen! Anyway… this works just fine. I’ve been looking for a reason to get away from Mid January, needed a vacation. Enough people saw me getting dragged away that I will probably be able to get my position back when I return.”

The small group boarded the staff carriage, as there wasn’t enough room for the party in the Noble’s carriage. Grant went with them, and was bombarded with questions. He responded by slobbering enthusiastically, saliva flying in all directions since his face was still too numb to property control.

It wasn’t long before the carriages were rolling again, and Grant was finally on his way to defeat Lord January.