YoTS: Lord January ~ 12!

CHAPTER 12

As Grant walked in a daze, trying to understand the rapid changes in his life, Sarge kept telling him that he was in shock. The young Wielder couldn’t seem to focus on the voice. The excitement of the past few days seemed a distant memory, and Grant smiled and looked around with glazed eyes as he came within viewing distance of the entire estate. “I didn't have a bad life. I got to work and train in peace and quiet, and I had all the fruit that I could eat…?”

He looked at the orchard and smiled brightly. Today, despite the ache in his leg, he’d hardly broken a sweat, almost effortlessly walking along the sometimes-steep path. In the distance, he could see Daisy merrily munch away. A notification appeared, shaking him out of his current state.

<Alright, fine. This should get you out of your head. It’s time for you to complete your daily training.> Grant didn’t answer at first, so Sarge snarled, <This is your only warning.>

Sword Expertise - Daily Training

Warning: Failure to complete the built in training plan will lock the ability for 24 hours!

“Training plan… what training plan? Hey. What am I doing?” Grant remembered something about a training plan being one of the sword’s absorbed abilities, but he had no idea what that meant. He got the ‘training program’ for… killing Sir Thirty First. He looked back at the orchard and muttered, “I could always ignore it…”

Sarge's voice rammed into his head, loud enough to make Grant wince, <Look here, maggot. I put a lot of effort into developing this training plan. The least you could do is drop your mental pitchfork and pick up the sword you’ve always dreamed of having. I’m here now. Put some effort in. Unless… are you happy with your current level? Maybe we should go find someone else who can make better use of February Twenty Nine, huh? Take that girl’s advice and just give up now if you are going to fall out! Go stuff your face. Knowing the exact day you die will make you really live it up. Just give up on exercise forever.>

“Wait! that’s not fair!” Grant glared at the sword that had appeared in his hand. “I’ve been working my butt off by going all over these paths! I never walk this fast over such a long distance!”

<You call that work? Ha! That wasn’t even a warm up.> Grant could practically feel Sarge glaring holes into him. Confusing, as the sword didn’t have eyes. <You either get to work now, or I won't just lock for twenty-four hours. We're done.>

“Fine. Just… how?” Grant tried to access it by saying ‘training plan’, ‘begin’, and a few other choice words. The weapon lay silently on the bench and he felt like a fool talking to the inanimate object.

<Look…> Sarge sounded irritated, likely because it needed to explain itself. <I can’t give you all the answers! You need to start thinking for yourself. I get it. I really do. Stuck on the farm and downtrodden, you don’t get many opportunities to challenge the ol’ grey matter. Why don’t you start by opening up your status sheet? There’s a good lad. Now you have been given plenty of hints, figure it out.>

Grant didn’t respond to the patronising tone. Sarge was right, hand feeding chickens and cows, picking fruit, and completing low level grey quests like ‘Cow Pat Collector’ weren’t exactly intellectually challenging. “Status.”

There it was, something that he hadn't seen since, well, ever. A new tab. ‘Training’. He flicked across to it, opening it up and reading the information.

To start your daily training, say or think ‘I want to become the very best, most powerful, prettiest Sword Expert there ever will have been. Ever.’

“Sarge, I swear to Regent December that I will chuck you in a lake. I don’t care if I stop existing after a year, I’m not saying that.” The text changed to ‘say become a Sword Expert’ in the next instant. “That’s better. Become a Sword Expert!”

As Grant said the words, the familiar barn and farm in the distance faded, becoming insubstantial and grey.

Sword Expert - Training Program - Level 1 (The Heavy Man’s Introduction to Swordplay.)

Attack.

Training dummies faded into existence around him, and Grant tensed up; ready to be swarmed by the strange scarecrow-like creatures. However, they didn’t move. It appeared that they were waiting for him to attack. Grant felt proud that he had figured that out by himself without asking for help. “Attack? Well, here goes.”

Using February Twenty Nine in a one-handed grip, he thrust the sword forward, penetrating through the chest of the straw man. As he did, out of the corner of his eye he saw a straw arm swiping at his head. He ducked and sliced the weapon in a circular arc, cutting down the remaining assailants. “This was easy? Ooh. I like this program.”

The odds scarecrows appeared again, apparently no worse for wear. The word Dodge appeared, and Grant paused to consider it. “So I need to learn to-?”

One of the straw men slammed into Grant’s chest, knocking him over and forcing the air out of his lungs. He rolled over and rose up on shaky legs as fast as he could manage. “Lords, Sarge! That hurt! My thigh is still messed up, take it easy!”

Damage taken: 5 blunt damage.

Current health: 54/82

<I thought after last night’s adventure that lesson would have been self explanatory?> Sarge commented breezily. <Better start paying attention. You’ll end up dead if you’re killed by these things. Surprise! Dying kills you.>

Dodge.

This time Grant leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding the dummy’s three-clawed hand. A terrible pain shot through his chest and he saw the tip of a sword protruding from it before the world turned to black.

Attacks can come from any direction. Be ready at all times. You died due to negligence. Attacks survived: 4. New high score!

An unknown length of time later, Grant was back in the training arena, blinking in the grey light of this world. “Wait. I died? Like… actually dead?”

Dodge.

Grant yelped and threw himself to the side, actually dodging and retaining awareness of his surroundings. The training dummy leered at him, and Grant started to get mad.

Counter.

He thrust at the enemy, skewering it through where a heart would be on a human. It disappeared in a puff of smoke, but then Grant was surrounded once again.

Thrust. Dodge. Repeat x3.

He followed the instructions, thrusting then dodging attacks from the side. He almost completed it as well, only forgetting the final dodge and taking eight piercing damage. His arm was made of lead. Grant clearly lacked the strength to wield his weapon one-handed for a prolonged length of time, so switched to a two-handed grip. Strangely, this made the lesson shift slightly and start over. He took it to mean that there were different forms he needed to learn for each stance he was in, and was forced to repeat the lesson until he proved that he understood what he was supposed to be doing.

<There are three basic poses,> Sarge gruffly chimed in, disrupting Grant’s concentration and causing him to take four points of blunt damage. <Defensive. Balanced. Offensive. Poses can be switched at any time. The pose you use can greatly influence the outcome of a battle.>

The words for the poses appeared in the air, and under them stood three training dummies. Each was standing with a replica of February Twenty Nine, their posture and sword position perfectly demonstrated. Even to Grant, who knew little about sword fighting, he could see that with the sword held high in a two-handed grip, it could be swung down powerfully, potentially slicing a victim in half.

A negative aspect was that the body was exposed and open to attack. On the other hand, with the defensive pose the sword was once again held in a two-handed position but lengthwise across the body. The Wielder of the sword could carry out a weaker slashing attack while also protecting their vulnerable midsection at the same time.

<This lesson would have been handy last night, huh?> Sarge laughed sharply, cutting off his humor as though flipping a switch, <Select the appropriate pose and fight. Do it wrong and you’ll die again.>

Targets ran at Grant from all sides. Instinctively he drew the blade close to his body. A sword slashed down. He brought his blade up. The other blade slid down it in a ring of steel. <No! Protect your-!>

Blood sprayed into the air, and Grant screamed in pain while Sarge tsked in frustration. Another sword slashed across Grant’s side while his arms were raised. His hand pressed against the wound, and he glanced down expecting to see his river of life streaming from it… but he was fine. There was no wound? But the pain was real. The fight reset, and Sarge lovingly informed Grant that he had died again.

Attacks survived: 24. New high score!

Grant staggered around to face the second of three attackers swinging at him. He parried the blade and thrust forward. February Twenty Nine sunk deep into the dummy’s gut, poof. Gone. Two remained. They all circled each other and took turns finding a weak spot. While he was focused on Lefty, pain lanced through his shoulder as Righty got in a clean shot. In a real battle the fight would be over; he’d have lost the use of his arm. As it was his dominant arm, he’d be completely at their mercy.

The pain was excruciating.

<Hurts, don’t it? Hurts donut, the least popular treat on the planet. Grant, to make the fight as realistic as possible, I made sure that the pain simulation was top notch. Also, each time you die, just know that is what it feels like. The tunnel vision, everything going dark and numb? Get used to it, and learn to fight on. It’s the only way you’ll learn. Unfortunately we can’t really make you bleed, but blood spray and making you feel like it’s in your eyes is the next best thing.>

“I’m… a bit too busy to chat right now!” Grant snapped at the snarky sword, sucking wind as he struggled to breath through the pain.

<Shame we don’t have any roasted nuts, I do love a good show.> Sarge’s words had the unintended effect of making Grant’s stomach rumble. <Don’t even think about it. You aren’t getting out of here till we’re all done.>

Grant decided to name the dummies in his mind so that he could focus on them individually - and not his hunger - and Lefty took advantage of Grant’s distraction to swipe in an arc. Though he was in pain, he was ready. He half-rolled, half-belly flopped under it. As he passed under the blade, he slashed up and sliced deeply across the back of Lefty’s legs. In a puff, it was gone. That left only Terror. Grant's vision darkened. The pain simulation was way too accurate.

Right now, in a real battle he would be suffering from major blood loss. He knelt in the dirt, breathing heavily. On his right, Terror stalked closer and brought his sword down to end Grant. From somewhere he found a hidden reserve of energy; bringing his sword up with a roar. At this angle, rather than parry; the sword tip whistled through the dummy’s upper arm. Its sword disappeared, and a stunned Terror stood for a moment waving his stump of an arm before joining its sword in a puff of smoke.

End of Lesson. Free Fighting Mode Unlocked.

<Bravo. I did not expect… that! I might hang around after all. We are going to have a lot of fun, me and you. I may even up the pain next time, you can really fight through it! That was what about… thirty percent of real sword wounds feels like. Overall I give you a… C plus. Acceptable for a first lesson, like any common person could do, so a ‘C’ for ‘common’. Could also be a lot better. The plus is purely for the entertainment value you provided.>

The pain immediately ceased, and Grant’s health showed only what he had been missing while his leg continued to heal; all the damage from training had vanished. “Sarge, you’re right. Beyond the pain, this was… fun? Is that a good word for this? I hated it, but want to do it again soon? It was definitely more effective than spinning around with a broom handle, or sword-shaped wooden lump.”

Filled with adrenaline and enjoying the novelty of the new training system, Grant reactivated the training program and carried on fighting the dummies, focusing on thrusts and dodge attacks. In the end he completed two hours of intense Weapon Cultivation.

He had been introduced to poses, but assumed the system would provide further training at a later date. The dummies were pretty, well, dumb, and didn’t put up much of a fight. Multiple dumb enemies attacking together on the other hand were far more of a challenge, and he was looking forward to seeing what else was available. “Time to check my status.”

Name: Grant Monday

(+20% Physical Cultivation Bonus: 6 hours remaining)

Class: Wielder

Cultivation Achievement Level: 4

Cultivation Time: 15:00 Hours (Time to Next Level 985:00 Hours)

Cultivation Stage: Early Spring

Inherent Abilities: Swirling Seasons Cultivation

Health: 71/82

Mana: 2/2

Characteristics

Physical: 21

Mental: 7

Armor Proficiency: 8

Weapon Proficiency: 14

Wielded Weapon: "February 29"

Weapon Inherent abilities:

1) Weapon Absorption: Weapon Absorption: This sword has the ability to absorb the power of another Wielded Weapon, taking its ability into itself. Restriction: Only one weapon per Monthly series.

Weapon Absorbed abilities:

1) Sword Expertise: create a non-combat model that allows for physical, and weapon cultivation. Restriction: the training plan must be followed, else the ability locks for 24 hours. There is only one warning given per day.

Quests (2 active)

The stats included a twenty-four minute Physical Cultivation bonus from his quest about escaping the dogs. That had really only been yesterday? It felt like it had been ages ago. Other than that, Grant had levelled up four times in the past two days, and he didn't really understand how. It was supposed to take a long time to level up via cultivation, and he was determined to do so; yet the hours needed had not changed at all, and he had still somehow increased in level.

Looking up, the sun was directly overhead. “Midday already and I still haven’t taken the produce to market? Wait… nevermind. I don’t get to do that anymore, do I?”

<You don’t. I’m glad you woke up. Why are you even thinking about that, Grant? There is no way that turning yourself into Randall can help you, and you’d just be putting yourself in a position to be tossed in jail or killed for treason.> Sarge’s words made Grant nod, though he remembered loading up the cart oddly fondly. <You realize that you can only die and come back in my training simulations. You fail the quest by getting tossed in jail? You know what happens, Grant. There are no do-overs.>

“After mouthing off to Mo, I’ll need to watch my back. The Peacekeepers may be after me.” Grant nodded and turned away from the farm, heading back toward the town for his second visit of the day. “Okay. I have a plan. I’m gonna join the caravan as a guard and get to the capital.”

<Grant, if I had feet, I would be kicking you. If I had hands, I’d be slapping sense into you. Stop! You have no experience making plans and you’re terrible at it.> Grant wrapped the sword in the by-now tattered bandages and felt the familiar shape of the lump of onyx in his pocket, wondering once more what it was for.

Grant ignored everything the sword was spewing at him, and started his journey to the Grand Caravan.