YoTS: Lord January ~ 15!

CHAPTER 15

Grant dashed forward to strike down imaginary enemies. To the nonplussed onlookers, it even appeared that the invisible foes fought back, making Grant collapse to the ground after a particularly vicious blow.

“Did he lose his mind?” Red was watching Grant with a critical eye.

Fergus shrugged and went back to chewing on a drumstick. “Maybe it was something he ate?”

“Huh?” Red scratched his head. “He has barely eaten anything in the last few days, and that's at training rations!”

“Then maybe it is something he didn't eat? Forget it. He’s clearly insane. Not only is he fighting something that isn't there, they’re winning!” Fergus lounged on top of the final carriage next to Red and made a few more off-the-wall comments.

“The piece that gives it away to me…” Red lazily waved a chicken wing in Grant's general direction. “Who in their right mind would jog beside the caravan when there are fried fowl to enjoy?”

“Crazy, I told you!” Fergus shook his head in wonder. “He’s an odd one. Talks about ‘bettering’ himself, you can believe that? He says he’s doing physical cultivation.”

“Haha. Cultivation is so slow that it's virtually pointless. Doesn’t he know that?” Red chuckled at the thought as he tore a chunk from his meal. “Just flat out not worth it. You get an hour of physical cultivation for every five that you spend on it? Why bother?”

“What are you two doing? Work? Unlikely.” Lady Vivian, the daughter of Joviality Thursday, started climbing the stairs to stand beside the lounging guards. “You’re doing what you’re always doing, eating all my father’s food.”

“Part of the contract, my lady. Jo, er, I mean, Lord Thursday, doesn’t mind. In fact, he encourages it. We’re entitled to all the rations we can eat, which is why our pay is… the way it is. Fergus has a fast metaba… metab… wotsit called? Look at how skinny he is! Plus, we need the energy to be able to fight off intruders.”

“I don’t see any intruders.” Lady Vivian pointedly scanned the empty landscape.

“Exactly! See? Our strategy is working. As long as we keep eating, no foe will dare attack the caravan.” Red chortled around a mouthful of chicken.

“All I know is that you’re literally eating into our profits. Hmm. Also, the word is metabolism. I've no idea why we employ people with such low mental cultivation.” Sudden and rapid movement near the carriage caught her eye and made her flinch away. “Oh, my. Who is that, and what in the twelve districts is he doing?”

“That,” Red shook his head sadly and pointed with a fresh, greasy drumstick, “is Grant Monday.”

“Monday…? As a Noble house, they are well respected for their combat proficiency. Born leaders, they say.” She mused softly as she watched blood start to pour from Grant’s nose. “But… what is he doing jumping around like that? He’s using a rusty sword, is that… helpful?”

“Says he’s ‘training’,” Fergus answered, spitting half chewed food with his words. “The lad joined us about a week ago now. Trying to better himself through training and cultivation; what we were just talking about, matter of fact. Poor fool is a few sandwiches - and a lemonade - short of a picnic, if you know what I mean!”

All three of them laughed while they observed Grant from the comfort of the loungers atop the carriage. Red’s eyes gleamed as he had a dark thought. He could mess with Grant, and laugh at Vivian at the same time. “Lady Vivian?”

“Hmm. What is it, guard dog?”

“Grant was saying, the other day like, after one of his training sessions, that he has a thing for strong, dominant women.” Red pinched Fergus before he could comment and ruin his joke.

“Really?” She perked up, focused on what he had to say, even though she was clearly uncertain if he was telling the truth.

Red nodded heavily. “Oh, yes. Now, I shouldn’t be spreading rumors… but I believe he may have a thing for you. Not only are you the princess of his employer, you have the reputation he desires to partake in.”

“Oh. Do behave! You naughty, naughty man. What utter nonsense!” She fanned herself furiously as her cheeks flushed. “That you think you can talk to me like this and get away with it…!”

“Fergus?” Red turned his head fully to the side so that Vivian couldn’t see his wicked grin. “Is it my imagination, or is Grant thinner than he was a week ago?”

Both guards turned a critical eye on Grant, and frowned. It had been meant as a joke, but Red actually had a point. Fergus lifted his chicken bone, then lowered it with a frown. “Can’t be because of the training. Everyone knows you don’t lose size through physical cultivation; you get bigger. Probably just skipped his meals? What do you think, Vivian?”

“Muscles… I see broad shoulders and taught muscles? He did smile at me the other day…” she mumbled as her fan fluttered even faster. “I’m sure of it. I had though he was just being friendly, as we’ve never met… but perhaps he has simply been admiring me from afar? That would make sense?”

“He is a friendly chap. Smiles at everyone.” Fergus got a backhand to the side from Red as he said those words. “Though, yes, who doesn’t admire you?”

“I… I suddenly feel faint. I think I need to lie down… I’ve been in the sun too long.” Vivian gazed down at the shirtless, sweat-soaked Grant, who was resting after his intense session. She abruptly left the two men to their spread of food and retired to her carriage.

“That was a mean thing to do.” Fergus shook his head. “That wasn’t like you, Red.”

“How so?”

“Telling porkies and playing tricks. Saying Grant has a thing for how she acts?” The guard turned a level stare on Red. “We both know he barely speaks to anyone, and can’t meet the eye of the lowliest of us. Being bold enough to announce his feelings just isn’t something that would happen.”

“But he does!” Red claimed with a look of false astonishment.

Fergus turned and gave him a level glare. “No, he doesn’t! It was me that said I can’t say no to strong, dominant women. You’ve met my wife, haven’t you?”

“Oh… huh. Now that you mention it…” Red took a bite of poultry to hide his grin.

That didn't stop Fergus from speaking, and he shuddered at the thought of Lady Vivian coming after him. “But even I wouldn’t cross paths with Lady Vivian. She scares the cake right outta me!”

“Oh, no… what have I done?” Red grasped at his chest in false panic. “Please, Fergus, I’m sure she’s forgotten about it already. We were just having a bit of fun.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. She’ll eat him alive, Red. Afterwards, she’ll crack his bones and suck out the marrow.” Fergus’s eyes widened as Red started laughing and couldn't stop; joining in after a moment. They took deep swigs from the wine jug, quickly forgetting the conversation.

…

Grant sucked heaving breaths of air into tired lungs. His fitness was improving, but the training sessions took everything out of him. He glanced up and noticed that Red and Fergus were spectating atop the Grand January Caravan. They had the ‘important responsibility’ of protecting the rear against attack. In his mind, all they were protecting was their rights to be as close to the food wagon and eat all the rations they could get their grease-stained hands on.

As someone with a deep knowledge of hunger, it pained him to witness everyone, not just those two, constantly gorging themselves. “When is it going to be my turn to live well?”

Grant had seen a stout-looking woman wearing a frilly dress joining the guards, but when he looked up after his training session; she was already gone. He ignored that; he didn’t have time to daydream. Sarge snapped him out of his thoughts with a sharp, <Grant. Can I finally have your attention again? There will be plenty of time to booze and feast with your band of merry men after you’re a sword expert.>

“I was just catching my breath, Sarge!” Grant heaved himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he did so.

<Hmm. Almost a week of training, and you’ve mastered the most basic of the basic poses, and learned some feeble attacks. Celestial Lords above, I’m even starting to believe that there’s a slightly lower chance that you’ll trip over your own feet, or impale yourself during your next battle. Let’s see how much you’ll disappoint me. The next lesson begins!> As the caravan trundled along, a straw man ran towards Grant, sword raised high. As it swung, he easily parried the blade before slicing across its stomach. Another straw man followed; sword held low. He parried the blade as before, then sliced deeply, ending the training dummy in a puff of smoke.

“This is too easy!” A third dummy ran at him, sword held high. The grin was wiped off his face as a boot connected with his chest. Grant flew backwards and hit the ground with a thud. Lying there with his back hurting and his chest bruising, he fought to get air into his lungs.

<In a real fight that kick would have been followed up by a sword through the heart, custard brain. Don't get complacent just because you can do one thing over and over again.>

“I thought…”

<You didn’t think, you reacted! Reacting in combat allows a more intelligent opponent to deceive you. The point of this lesson is to learn about deception and avoiding repetition. As you can see, falling into predictable or repetitive patterns of movement can result in unfortunate consequences. You can’t just parry, thrust, and dodge in every encounter and expect to live to fight another day! You may get lucky against some low-level Vassals, but that’s about it.>

<Before you charge in, you must study your opponent, and continue to monitor their movements throughout the fight. Do they move in predictable ways? As you study them, disciplined fighters will also be studying you, looking for a weakness to fatally exploit. The best fighter and victor isn’t necessarily the strongest or highest level. Randomize your methods of attack. Now, I’m sure that info dump has already passed through the mass of pudding between your ears and exited the other side. Isn’t that right?>

“Yes. I mean no! I was listening! Deception. Study my opponent and move in unpredictable ways.” Grant got to his feet and prepared for the next foe.

<My, my. Maybe you aren't quite as dense as I thought. Good. Let’s follow up with a little test. I've prepared a scenario for you. Deal with the attack and the lesson will be complete for the day.> There was noise of fingers clicking, and reality faded away. The caravan was now as insubstantial as early morning mist.

Grant found himself on a wooden pier. In front, there was a massive body of water stretching into the distance. He assumed it was the sea or a large lake; he’d heard people talk about the sea at the market. Nobles had villas along the coast, and would summer there during the warmer months.

An eruption of water followed by the crash of an object landing on the end of the pier brought him back to the semi-reality of the training scenario. He looked on in terror as a monstrous thing pulled the rest of its bloated body onto the pier. Angry tentacles, each twice the length of a grown man, smacked the planks. Vibrations reverberated up his shins and through his teeth. Grant wanted to run, but was pinned in place by fear: knowing that it was only a test didn’t make him feel any better.

<That, my newly-minted maritime-monster-murdering martialist, is a baby Kraken.>

“A baby…?” He didn’t want to meet an adult. Abyss, he didn’t want to meet this! “Ok, so just imagine it like I’m facing eight opponents, and deal with them one at a time?”

Grant stepped forward, closely examining the movement of the purple tentacles. There was no easy way to target it, too many limbs were moving erratically. He stopped, forcing the creature to grope its way along the planks toward him. A ropy tentacle swiped at him from the left. Grant pretended to dodge, but instead swiped upwards. A length of severed gelatinous arm was cleanly cut off, and landed on the deck. It flopped around with a mind of its own before falling over the edge and into the dark water.

Rather than retreat, he took the opportunity to dart forward while the creature flailed around in pain. He jumped over a tentacle taking a retaliatory swipe, and managed to hack off two more flailing tentacles before rolling back to safety.

Another whipped at him from the right. He assumed that it wouldn’t fall for the same attack, but he managed to sidestep as the arm battered the planks into kindling. A cartwheel-sized eye, filled with hate and what looked like slimy tears, focused on Grant. The baby Kraken opened its beak and let out a shriek. Grant stepped back, but where he expected planks, he was met with air. With the memory of jumping over the waterfall fresh in his mind, he managed to take a breath before submerging. His head bashed against the underside of the pier as he attempted to find a way back to the surface, and panic set in. Training simulation or reality, this felt painfully real.

A thickly muscled tentacle wrapped around his waist and squeezed, forcing out any air remaining in his lungs. His body broke the surface, but he was unable to inhale. The rubbery arm was holding on tightly to its prize. Grant’s vision began to darken through lack of oxygen, and yet the Kraken hadn’t finished playing yet with its toy. It pummeled his broken body repeatedly into the deck, and the last thing Grant remembered before passing out was the multiple rows of undulating gnashing teeth and a foul fishy breath… just before his body made its way towards the gaping razor lined maw.

He awoke from the nightmare on familiar grass. The Grand January Caravan was already a speck in the distance. Sarge cheerily called, <Well, that was fun, wasn’t it? I bet you can’t wait to visit the seaside now. Maybe do a spot of fishing? Build a sandcastle?>

“Ugh…” The horror and pain had left Grant a quivering mess. “So… many… teeth.”

Sarge seemed to decide that it was time to test Grant’s knowledge. <What lesson did you learn? You failed to kill the Kraken, but did you learn anything?>

“Stay away from the water?”

<For you… that may be a good idea. But, you fail. The lesson was one in deception.>

“But how could I have-?”

<It deceived you by sacrificing its limbs. You were lulled into a false sense of security, and blithely hacked away at the limbs that it was practically giving you. The Kraken had smashed the pier on purpose, knowing that you would fall into the water: its domain.>

Grant shook his head furiously, unable to believe what Sarge was telling him. “Why would it sacrifice its arms? That seems… unrealistic.”

<No, not really. They grow back. Not for you, but for it. Now, about this lesson. I know it wasn't fair. But… it was fun to watch! In all seriousness, Grant… no combat is ever fair. There’s almost no one who will start a fight with someone when they know that they are going to lose. In a fight between two people, both of them believe that they will win, for one reason or another. However, only one of them can be correct. You must learn all you can about your enemy, and give yourself the greatest chance of victory. If you don’t do this, you will die. Never pity your enemies. Take every advantage you can get. Learn your failings, and fix them. Learn their failings, and use them. From now on…>

<Ignorance is no excuse.>