YoTS: Lord January ~ 8!

CHAPTER 8

Darkness had fallen hours ago, but Grant still hid in the bushes outside the estate listening for movement. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

The cows should have been making some noise, certainly the chicken should have! He snuck around the perimeter, careful not to make too much noise. A couple of times a twig snapped underfoot, and each time he stood motionless. The only noise was that of his heart hammering in his chest, and an owl hooting as it hunted overhead. Finally satisfied that all was clear, he laboriously climbed over the wall.

His shelter door was ajar, just as he’d left it. Grant crept inside. Relieved, he found that the onyx figurine still sat where he’d left it. As Grant picked it up, the shelter door slammed closed. By picking up the figurine, he had tripped a trap of some sort, alerting his captors to his whereabouts in a cacophony of trumpeting alarms. Was this a spell? He pulled at the handle. It wouldn’t budge. Grant was straining with everything he had left, he biceps and back protesting, but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t open the door. He was sealed inside.

“Come out with your hands up!” A genteel voice, presumably that of Sir Thirty First, broke the silence of the night a short while later.

“No!”

“What… what do you mean, ‘no’?” Sir Thirty First bellowed at the closed lean-to, “First you make me chase after you, then you refuse my orders? Who are you to refuse a Wielder?”

Grant floundered for an answer to that, and came up with a plausible explanation for his refusal. “Well, Sir… whatever you used? I’m sealed in here. I can't get out.”

“Oh. Yes. I forgot about that.” Sir Thirty First chuckled, and a snapping sound resounded through the area. “I’ve switched the seal off. Now, come out with your hands up!”

“Still… no.”

“What? Why not? The seal is gone.” There was no fury, only confusion at the words this time.

“I haven’t done anything wrong. Leave me alone!”

Sir Thirty First wasn't sure how to respond to this demand, he stamped his foot and huffed at the closed door. “If you are so innocent, why did you run? Why are you refusing to comply with a Noble of House Monday?”

“Good call, boss,” answered one of the Vassals, pleased with his Lord’s detective skills.

“I was scared and tired. I heard my name and panicked. I’ve had a terrible year so far and just want to be left alone.” Grant’s voice dropped off, then picked up for one last shout, “So go away!”

“Lad, I just want you to answer some questions. Come out!” The Noble was almost kind with his words.

“No. What are you going to do? Throw me in prison? Look at how Randall makes me live, that would be an improvement!” Grant leaned against the wall, as far away from the door as he could get, just in case they smashed it.

“You little brat… if you don’t come out, I’m coming in!” the Noble declared with a threatening growl. The door swung open, and Sir Thirty First had to duck and turn sideways to maneuver his bulk through the opening. Once inside, he wiggled enough that he could get the door closed. Immediately after catching a whiff of the foul air, he sprayed a perfume bottle around. “What a… delightful place you have here.”

“What can I say? According to my status, I am only a child, which means this is how Randall treats the children in his care. See why I don't trust anything that he does? He brought you along with him. That means I can't trust you.” Grant wasn’t going to fall for any tricks, he was prepared to draw his weapon whenever he saw the Noble make a single threatening move.

Sir Thirty First sprayed a silk handkerchief with more perfume and pressed it firmly against his nostrils, then used an outstretched finger to light the solitary candle. “A minor issue that I can easily address. Let’s get down to business, shall we? Grant Leap was it…?”

He squinted up at the name tag above Grant's head, but couldn’t quite read the name clearly. The candle provided little light at the best of times, and was wholly insufficient for the middle of the night, instead casting an ominous shadow against the multitude of chins and dainty hands holding the handkerchief. “Come closer so that I can see you better.”

“No. I’m fine here.”

“I’ve had enough of your games, young man.” Sir Thirty First stuffed the handkerchief back inside his armor, wrinkled his nose and held his hands out in front. A nimbus of yellow light was gathered from the shadows. It spread in arcs from the base of his fingers to the tips. Moments later the shack was bathed in yellow light as he struck Grant with a minor lightning spell. “Now then, let’s begin, Grant… Monday? Wha… no, you can’t… he treated a Monday like this? I’ll kill him myself!”

“Yes. Okay. Deal.” Grant closed his eyes and took a deep breath from his charred lungs. He twitched as feeling returned to his limbs, “You kill him, then we’ll talk.”

“Randall!” The bellow made dust fall from the unsteady roof of the lean-to.

“Yes, Sir Thirty First! How can I be of assistance? I would be happy to punish the boy for you. Give him a thorough beating, take a few layers of skin-”

“You dare?” The unexpected question brought Randall’s words to a halt immediately. “I thought you said his name was Grant Leap?”

Trying to regain his steam, Randall nodded vigorously even though the Aristocrat could not see him. “Yes. Of course. He was born on a leap year almost twenty-three solar years ago now. Five, almost six leap years old!”

“Well… why then am I staring at Grant Monday of the Noble house Monday?” Sir Thirty First’s words were met with silence, and finally a sputtered reply.

“That… that can’t be! It must have something to do with last night!” Another pause, and Randall latched onto the lifeline. “That must be it! He stole a name!”

“Stole a name? Are you braindead, Randall?” Sir Thirty First’s words were met by total silence this time, so he turned cold eyes on Grant. “Hmm… very unusual. Care to explain, Grant Monday?”

“Not… not really.” Grant was now on his feet, his hands clasped behind his back. “In fact, I’d love to just go.”

“What do you have there?” The bulky man positioned himself so that there was no way Grant could slip past him.

“Where, Sir Thirty First?”

“Behind your back!” The huge man’s face flushed to a dark purple. “Did you find… something last night?”

“Oh, no. It’s nothing. I just stand like this when I’m nervous.” Grant laughed nervously, fiddling with the bandages that were covering his sword.

“Enough of this farce! No Monday would live like this. Somehow… Randall must be right. This is what irritating a true Noble really means.” Sir Thirty First gathered a fresh charge into a swarm of lightning and slapped his hand against Grant’s chest before the boy could move.

“Ahhh!” Pulse after pulse sizzled Grant’s skin. Arcs of plasma formed between his limbs, lighting up the small space and causing the smell of cooked pork to overwhelm the stench of the shack.

“Are you going to talk, Leap? Or am I going to go report a tragedy?” The Noble’s smile told Grant everything he needed to know: the ‘tragedy’ would be reported by the end of the night if he got his way.

“I…” Sparks connected from the bottom to the top of his teeth before Grant could get anything else out. Sir Thirty First maintained the spell with a terrifying gleam in his eyes. Grant knew that this man just wanted to kill him at this point. The electricity suddenly cut off, and Grant sank to the floor. Sir Thirty First dabbed his forehead, having finally tired from the strain of maintaining the spell.

“What did you find in the field last night? Tell me, and I’ll let you go after only cutting out your tongue for your insolence.” The arcing electricity finally broke Grant, and the young man gave up.

“Please! Don’t… don’t shock me again. I’ll show you!” The yellow light cascading across Sir Thirty First’s hands faded, then dissipated completely; leaving only the light of the single guttering candle to illuminate the space. Grant rolled to the side when he could force his body to listen to him, and heaved his bulk off of the trapped sword. With a pull at the cloth, Grant presented February Twenty Nine to Sir Thirty First, holding the sword with both shaking hands.

The information about the sword that appeared when he inspected it was so terrifying  for Sir Thirty First that he began to have an asthma attack. He clutched at his chest and gasped for breath, falling forward and impaling himself on the unsheathed sword. Grant tried to scramble out of the way, but between the exertion of the day and the pain racking his muscles from the electrical spell, there was nothing he could do to dodge. A sound like tearing paper filled the room, and the new corpse finished its fall by landing on Grant and taking him to the ground.

Critical hit! Coup de grâce! You have landed a critical hit against a helpless target! Instant kill!

Grant’s body was infused with a soft light that seemed to be coming from within him, and all aches, pains and weariness instantly disappeared. Then the light was gone, and only the amazing feeling of sudden perfect health gave any indication that it had been real in the first place. He shoved the limp body off of himself and scrambled backwards into the corner. He didn’t have to go far, and his feet were still touching the body. “Oh, swords and calamities… what have I done? I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it! Sir Thirty First! Are you okay?”

The enormous bulk of the clearly dead Sir Thirty First knelt before him, too thick to look like he was laying flat on the ground. The candle cast an eerie glow against the corpse, making it look like he would rise at any moment. That wasn’t likely, since February Twenty Nine was penetrating his neck, brainstem, and poking out the top of his head. Sir Thirty First’s armored cap teetered on the tip of the blade comically, like a flag over a conquered fortress.

“Son of a sweet bun.” Grant covered his face and peeked out occasionally. Yes, the body was still there, and it was still dead. “I really, really am sorry. You… I… I need my sword back.”

He crept forward and yanked on the sword.

*Shlurp*.

It exited with a spray of blood.

“I’m no killer. I’m not… a murderer.” The armored cap fell to the floor, startling Grant. The candle went out, and the light finally faded from Sir Thirty First’s eyes. Grant’s sword suddenly became weightless and flashed with a golden light. Words that only he could see appeared in almost slow motion.

Do you, Grant Monday, wish to absorb the power of January 31: Sword Expertise? Accepting ‘Sword Expertise’ will override any previous Wielded Weapon power absorbed in the current monthly series. If not overridden by another weapon of the same month, this ability will return to its current Wielded Weapon at the end of the year, unless the quest ‘Heal The World’ has been successfully completed.

Accept / Decline.

“Sword Expertise… that sounds useful. I need something to… I need help.” As a fringe benefit, he didn’t have any previous weapon power to worry about overriding. “Accept!”

February 29 now has the ability ‘Sword Expertise’. Further information can be found on the Status Sheet.

The sword, still bloody from its recent adventure, dropped back into his hands. Grant decided that now was a good time to check his status. Anything to get his mind off of the fact that a person voided their bowels after death, and Sir Thirty First had a very full colon.

Name: Grant Monday

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

Class: Wielder

Cultivation Achievement Level: 2

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

Cultivation Stage: Early Spring

Inherent Abilities: Swirling Seasons Cultivation

Health: 71/71

Mana: 1/1

Characteristics

Physical: 14

Mental: 4

Armor Proficiency: 5

Weapon Proficiency: 7

Wielded Weapon: "February 29"

Weapon Inherent abilities:

1) 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.

2) Locked

3) Locked

4) Locked

Weapon Absorbed abilities:

1) NEW! Sword Expertise: create a non-combat model that allows for directed physical and weapon cultivation. What you have been doing so far barely qualifies enough to gain cultivation, as the Swirling Seasons Cultivation manual is practically a joke. Prepare for real training. Restriction: the provided training plan must be followed, else this ability locks for 24 hours. There is only one warning given per day.

Quests (2 active)

Grant’s eyes flashed as he saw the changes. “That’s what the inner light was. I levelled up and got to Cultivation Achievement Level two! But… how?”