YoTS: Lord January ~ 9! *updated

CHAPTER 9

A piece of flapping white cloth exited the shelter. Grant had sliced off a piece of bandage and attached it to the end of the blade. It was followed immediately by Grant’s sheepish face. He waved the flag in surrender, hoping not to be skewered on the spot.

The guards and Vassals looked at one another, then at Grant, then back at each other, and drew their weapons. “Where is Sir Thirty First?”

Grant went with the best excuse he could think of, one with at least a little truth to it. “He… he needed to lie down. It’s been a long day, said something about… asthma?”

“He has been struggling with his allergies.” Another Vassal nodded along, unwittingly helping Grant’s deception. “He hates it up here amongst nature, away from the city. He has the worst hayfever!”

“Maybe we should just let him sleep it off then.” Grant nodded his head too vigorously causing blood to dribble down the sword and splatter across the cobbles.

“Oi! What’s that?” An eagle-eyed guard demanded. “Why do you have a sword? A sword requires a permit, which you assuredly do not have.”

“Jelly. It’s jam and jelly. Sir Thirty First had a jar of raspberry jam, no idea where it came from, but he used this to scoop it out.” The armed men nodded and muttered amongst themselves.

“Does he have a spatial device? That lucky beast, he’s been holding out on us! Well, he does like his jam…” As the Vassal finished the last word, a slick of red liquid seeped out of the door and pooled around Grant’s feet.

“There… um… there was a lot of jelly!” Grant laughed nervously. This time, there was no one that believed him. They had seen too much blood not to recognize a pool of it.

“Sir Thirty First has been slain! Get him! For Sir thirty First and Lord January!” The heavily armoured Vassal lumbered towards him, plates of toughened leather bouncing off his body, a sword aimed directly at the young man’s chest. Grant stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do. If he held still, maybe it would hurt less? Maybe being still would be a good idea.

<Dodge!>

“What? Who said that?” Grant called out to the owner of the phantom voice.

<Dodge, if you don’t want to be turned into a kebab, thickness!> Grant stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding the sword as it embedded itself deep into the door with a thunk. <Thrust forward.>

Rather than think twice about it, Grant followed the instruction that no one else seemed to hear, thrusting the sword directly forward and somehow managing to put the metal between the plates of armor and into the exposed midsection of the Vassal.

Damage Dealt: 4.5 (3 * 1.5 critical) piercing damage! Multiple organs damaged, debuff added! -10 health per second as Poison/Acid damage!

The Vassal promptly collapsed in a heap, bleeding and groaning. Glassy eyes stared accusingly up at him. “I’m gonna miss… breakfast…”

<Goes to show that you can’t ignore an attack from someone weaker than you. Good kill.>

“Wait. He… he died?” Grant’s body glowed a now-familiar soft glow, indicating that he had levelled up. The three other men closed in on him, wary after witnessing the sudden demise of their colleague. “Wait, please don’t kill me!”

<One out of four targets down.> The unknown, echoing voice stated jovially. <Only three more to go, and you’re golden. Congrats on the level, by the way!>

“Who…”

<Duck!> Grant dropped down, narrowly missing a spear streaking in an arc overhead. A few stray hairs weren’t so lucky. <Focus, maggot!>

The voice was hard now, the previous playfulness gone. Grant quickly took stock of his opponents and surroundings. He had his back to the door. A sword swiped at him from ahead and two additional swordsmen were either side, blocking his escape and looking for an opening to quickly end the fight.

<Drop down and push forward with your right shoulder.>

“What?”

<Now!> Grant obeyed, slamming into the lancer and bowling him over. <Slice!>

“I don’t want to do this!” Grant took February Twenty Nine and ran the edge along the exposed flesh of the prone figure’s neck, who grasped at the clean cut before succumbing to his fatal wound.

Critical hit! Coup de grâce! You have landed a critical hit against a helpless target! Bleed damage tripled!

<Behind you!> The swordsmen on the left spun his long sword in a figure eight, and stepped carefully from side to side. Grant was too slow, as he spun to avoid the blade, he took the impact across his thigh. <Abyss it, boy, have you never fought before?>

“Ahh!” Hot fire spread through Grant’s body. Blood drenched his trousers, and he felt like he was going to collapse from the pain… but adrenaline kept him upright. Breathing heavily, his white knuckles clenched the sword in a death grip.

<Defensive pose.>

“What’s that?”

<Fecal matter. You haven’t had any lessons yet, you worm? What kind of Noble are you? No wonder you’re useless in a fight. Stop wagging the sword out in front of you and bring it close, in front of your body. Project your vulnerable trunk. What a trunk you have to protect! Ugh, you are such a large target that I’m surprised that you only took one hit so far.>

Grant did what he was told. The combatants looked at each in confusion, wondering who their opponent was talking with. <Following the death of their Lord, the Vassals lost the Lesser Sword Expertise ability. Despite this, they are a level above you and have years of experience to fall back on, and they are still Vassals until that is revoked by the new Wielder!>

“Great. I feel much better now, knowing for sure that I’m going to die.” Grant grumbled pedantically.

<Don’t let them get behind you. Keep an eye on both sides at all costs.>

“I’m trying!”

<Try harder if you want to see tomorrow, cake for brains! Swing your sword up and left, it’s called a parry!> Grant deflected the blow of a surprised swordsman. <Counter! Hit him!>

Grant pushed back against the blade and rammed the hilt into a proud-looking nose. It made a satisfying crunch, and the sound was followed by a spray of blood. The swordsman fell back, grasping at his nose.

You have dealt 2 blunt damage! Bleed debuff (minor) added to opponent!

<Improvise. You’re on your own now.>

“What? Don’t leave me now! I need your help.”

<I’m already almost out of energy. There’s a reason Sword Expertise is an out-of-combat only ability! If I tell you everything, you’ll never learn, and I’ll never wake up again. Step back.>

Grant stepped back. Ducking or parrying would have been a fatal mistake. “Okay… What should I do? Hey! Hey!”

The cogs in his brain spun as a sword streaked down towards his head. He dodged, slicing across the armor and losing his grip on his sword. Somehow, he caught it in a one-handed grip before he fell. As he did, he managed to pull the sword back and slice the leather cords binding the plates of armor together. The swordsman's cuirass clattered to the ground, and Grant kicked it to the side. More determined than ever, the Vassal raised the sword and let out a bellowing battle cry before lunging at Grant.

Rather than dodge, the chubby young man stepped in to engage, getting under the weapon and slicing twice at the exposed flesh of the sagging belly. Fatty flesh parted like tissue paper, and the long sword clattered to the ground; the Vassal crying in agony as he held his stomach, trying to stop his guts from spilling out onto the cobbles. “I yield!”

Sword versus unprotected flesh… sword wins!

Damage dealt: 8 (slashing * 2 attacks)! Major wound added to opponent, multiple debuffs!

Fuelled by rage and adrenaline, Grant spun. The blade whistled forward eager to end the Vassal’s life. He stopped himself just in time, confused by listening to a man that was trying to kill him. Still, the man was down and wasn’t a threat. He had to deal with the other swordsman first. An inner light burst forth once again!

“Another level? This is awesome!” February Twenty Nine was raised in the… defensive posture? Grant ran like an avenging angel at the swordsman nursing his broken nose.

“Stop, please!” The man spluttered, spitting flecks of blood. Grant continued on, his rage clouding his judgement. “No!”

The cultivator’s arm was raised in defence as he knelt on the ground. “I have a family. I just got this guard job to pay the bills! Little Billy loves cake and chocolate, and it costs so much!”

After hearing this random information, Grant stumbled to a halt, sword still raised and ready to strike. He looked around at the carnage. Sticky blood slicked the cobbles. The bodies of two people lay in oversized heaps, eyes staring blankly at the sky or ground. One swordsman struggled to hold in his guts and would likely die. The other’s nose was destroyed and he knelt here, a snivelling mess. He did this. Grant’s sword clattered to the ground in the realisation of what he had done. “I… I had to do it! They were going to-”

<Stop. Calm yourself. Well done. There may be hope for you yet! We haven’t been formally introduced. I am February Twenty Nine’s current training program, obtained by the absorption of the skill Sword Expertise. You can call me ‘Sarge’.>

“Y-you? You’re the sword?” Grant’s knees started to waver, at all the new and terrible things that he was experiencing. He had killed people, and he had a voice in his head. He had heard that was a sign of being truly sick. “Why are you talking again? I thought you were… out of energy or something?”

<Your cultivation level increased. I got enough back to tell you one last thing.> Sarge words faded into silence as he finished his thoughts. <You do realise that defeating a Wielder or Vassal doesn’t mean you need to kill them? You can kill them, but defeat comes in several forms. I’m off to sleep now.>

“What is that supposed to mean? Why does that matter?” Grant surveyed the courtyard. Randall was nowhere to be seen; he had probably taken the opportunity to escape at the first sign of bloodshed, the coward. He walked over to the defeated Vassal. “Here, take my hand.”

“You’re not going to kill me?” The surprised swordsman reached out instantly.

“I really don’t want to do that. But I need your help.” Grant helped the man get to his feet. “We need to save your friend.”

Grant darted back in the shelter, and squeezed past the bulk of Sir Thirty First to collect the remaining bandages Becky had given him. He sprinted back to the moaning cultivator that was trying to hold his guts in. Together they managed to wrap the bandages several times around the fat stomach. A slick of blood spread across the white cotton, but it was the best he could do at the moment. “Help me load him on to a cart.”

They huffed and puffed as they struggled with the protesting cultivator. “Let me… die! Sir Thirty First is waiting for me in the afterlife. In the land of milk chocolate and… honeycakes…”

“Not today, if we can help it.” Loaded onto the cart and hooked up to one of the bay horses, Grant set off out of the estate with the moaning cultivator in tow. Looking back, he could see the lone figure of the broken-nosed Vassal standing there, bewildered. His Lord was dead, he was out of a job… but maybe he could still go back to his family and feed little Billy those sweet treats he loved so much?

As Grant rushed to the apothecary, he took the opportunity to check the changes to his status sheet.

Name: Grant Monday

(+20% Physical Cultivation Bonus: 21 hours remaining)

Class: Wielder

Cultivation Achievement Level: 4

Cultivation Time: 10:36 Hours (Time to Next Level 989:24 Hours)

Cultivation Stage: Early Spring

Inherent Abilities: Swirling Seasons Cultivation

Health: 82/82

Mana: 2/2

Characteristics

Physical: 21

Mental: 7

Armor Proficiency: 8

Weapon Proficiency: 14

“Is this really what it takes to become stronger?” Grant’s eyes were dry as he rushed to the town: he had shed all the tears he would for these men.