YoTS: Lord January ~ 7!

CHAPTER 7

Back at the farm, he quickly turned in the quest for Cow Pat Collector before he forgot; obtaining five cultivation hours as a reward. “Only nine hundred and ninety-ish hours until I level up!”

After his whole life of not being able to level up or increase his cultivation, that huge number was actually exciting for him. He crept past the front of the estate, terrified that he might be heard and bring the wrath of the household down upon him. Yet, as he turned to leave, a small gust of wind whistled through a crack in the front door. With a *creak*, it slowly swung open. “Randall must have forgotten to lock it? Come to think of it… I think I saw his face in the market. The news of the light show must have really spread like wildfire.”

“Where is everyone?” As he went to close the door, the onyx figurine on the mantle caught his attention again. He didn’t know why, but he felt the overwhelming urge to investigate it. Against all good sense, he crossed the threshold and stood in the kitchen. The table was heavily laden with half-eaten plates of bacon, eggs and sausages. Grant’s mouth watered, threatening to leave a trail across the floor. Without another thought, he stuffed a sausage into his mouth, almost choking before forcing it down with a gulp of water from a nearby crystal decanter.

If Randall saw him now… Grant might literally be killed. He would be within his rights, yet even still, he couldn’t help himself. He was starving. All he’d had since yesterday was a few oranges he picked, cider, a stolen cake, four eggs, and some milk from Daisy.

Rashers of bacon were shovelled into his awaiting mouth. His hunger was eventually satisfied by the salty treats and washed down with quality juices. It was only at that point that he remembered where he was and came to his senses. Grant snatched the figurine and slammed the door behind him in a panic. He didn’t know what had come over him. Never before had he been so disobedient or so reckless.

Now in his secondary - and much more basic - lean-to by the barn, he took the onyx figurine from his pocket. He didn’t know why, but it was… important. He had a niggling feeling that he’d seen it before, but couldn’t place where. As he stared at the smooth stone surface, a notification popped up on his status sheet.

New Quest, for more information see Status Sheet.

Quest: Ties that Bind (Epic)

Important Information: Multi tiered quest. Proceed to Mid-January for more information.

Rewards: Unknown

Failure Conditions: Unknown

“Well, that’s mysterious… what will happen in mid-January? That’s almost two weeks away.” He pocketed the small humanoid stone figure. Grant looked at the broom handle and considered carrying out his sword forms. They were an important part of his daily routine, and his personal quest to level up his cultivation. “Wait… I own an actual sword! Why in the twelve districts would I train with an old broom handle?”

Curiosity about the sword led him to jump into the haystack in search of the needle. He found it almost instantly - causing sudden concern about his lack of skill in hiding things - and thankfully only received a few small cuts to show for it since the rusty blade had a mostly-dull edge. Sure, he’d knocked a couple of hit points off, but they’d regenerate over time. They always did.

In the noonday sun, Grant carefully looked at the sword, February Twenty Nine, for the first time. He ran his fingers over the handle, feeling the contours and details. He looked down the length of the blade. It was straight and true, if extremely rusty. He could only imagine how spectacular it would look when new or once it was properly restored.

Due to the length of the handle, it could be wielded as either a one or two-handed weapon. The handle was separated from the blade by a circular guard, a ring of steel: on closer inspection, it showcased two stylized dragons forever chasing one another’s tails. He balanced the blade on his index finger. Most of the weight was in the ornate hilt, perfectly balanced. With a finger from his other hand, he nudged the end of the hilt. The sword spun effortlessly atop his finger.

He didn’t know a great deal about swords, but it looked similar to a traditional katana, with the length from point to buttcap around a hand longer than his outstretched arm. The handle was dull, but Grant could almost imagine the two dragons breathing fire and clawing at one another. The ivory dragons were inlaid in gold, which would buff up nicely, but he didn’t want to bring any more attention to the weapon than need be.

As if it were responding to his thoughts, the hilt and guard shifted, becoming dull, black leather and plain iron. It was all he could do not to throw the weapon when it shifted in his hand like a snake.

“How? Magic? I need to learn more about this thing.” He closed his eyes and felt the weight of the blade in his hands. First, holding the sword in his left hand, he flicked his wrist. It made a soft whistle as it sliced through the air. After stretching and flexing the muscles in his wrist and forearm, he repeated the process with the other arm. Now limbered up, he held the weapon in a two-handed grip and thrust forward.

“Ha!” The chickens scattered with flapping wings and cries of alarm, startled by the announcement. For around an hour he swung the sword in both a one and two-handed grip. Thrusting, slicing, and parrying the weapons of imagined foes. After a quick water break, he was back on his feet, excited about the possibilities offered by the sword. He looked at the fence. “What are you looking at, huh? I’ll show you who’s a worthless Leap!”

Grant pictured Mo standing there laughing at him, ready to torment him once again. Holding the sword in both hands, he sprinted toward the fence post. Clearly, it was frozen in fear, as it didn't even attempt to get out of the way. With a roar and downward thrust he took aim at Mo’s head. As the blade connected, the vibration reverberated up its length and the sword sprang out of his grip, landing several feet away. He rubbed numb hands and arms.

“That’ll teach you!” In his mind, the sword was embedded in Mo’s surprised skull, instead of gathering a fresh layer of mud. Grant picked up the sword, and - more carefully this time - hacked at the fence post. The last thing he wanted to do was break the blade on his first attempt at using it! Over the next few hours he switched between attacking the fence post and a series of imaginary foes that closed in from all sides. He sliced, swiped, and ducked until his arms gave out and he struggled to raise the tip of the blade off the ground.

After the sweat-inducing three-hour training session, Grant put down the sword. Reality flooded back in. Mo was gone, replaced by a fence post covered in cuts and missing chunks. Thankfully hadn’t decapitated or sliced any chickens or cows during practice, but the damage to the post wouldn’t go even a day before being noticed.

Grant looked over the blade; the edge was pristine. He hadn’t nicked or rolled the edge. Hesitating a moment, he finally decided that rather than hide the sword in the hay and risk turning his fingers into kindling, he'd take the sword into his shelter. He could use the bandage Becky had kindly provided to wrap it behind a post in the back corner where even he could barely fit. No one else in January was going to look for it there, or even fit in there without tearing the entire structure apart. Before stepping out of his ‘house’, he checked his status sheet to see what, if any, progress he had made.

Name: Grant Monday

Class: Wielder

Cultivation Achievement Level: 1

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

Cultivation Stage: Early Spring

Inherent Abilities: Swirling Seasons Cultivation

Health: 59/59

Mana: 1/1

Characteristics

Physical: 6

Mental: 2

Armor Proficiency: 3

Weapon Proficiency: 3

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) Locked

2) Locked

…

12) Locked

Spells Known

1) Elemental: None.

Quests (2 active)

“Nice! The cultivation bonus is still active from Beat the Bully… but does it only apply to actual Cultivation, and not quest rewards? Feces.” Completion of his chores and handing in Cow Pat Collector brought seven hours of physical cultivation, along with the three hours of weapon cultivation from the training session. He had gotten a thirty-six minute bonus added from squeezing in the training before the expiration of yesterday’s quest, but had been hoping all rewards would get the bonus.

The two active quests were ‘Ties that Bind’, and ‘Heal the World’. He hovered over February Twenty Nine to see if it would offer more information, and to his surprise, it did.

Wielded Weapon: “February 29”

Weapon Type: One / two-handed Uchigatana

Description: The word uchigatana is formed from two words. ‘Uchi’ which means ‘to strike’ and ‘gatana’ (katana) meaning ‘sword,’ so that uchigatana means ‘sword to strike with’. The uchigatana was originally used only by individuals of low status or rank, such as the ashigaru.

Well… as a Leap child he certainly held a low status in society. It was fitting then that February Twenty Nine was an… uchigatana. He rolled his eyes, knowing that he was going to just call it a Katana and be done with it. In the tiny shelter, Grant lit a candle which instantly spluttered and threatened to go out. He left his attempt at a door ajar in an attempt to air the place out and get some much needed light, since the solitary candle did little to penetrate the oppressive gloom.

*Clop, clop, clop*.

The sound of horses reached him, and he felt his heart constrict. He didn’t recognize that gait, and there were a lot of hoofbeats quickly increasing in intensity. They soon thundered through the gate of the estate, the horses coming to a stop in the courtyard. The overfed beasts snorted and breathed heavily from exertion, their manes slick with sweat.

Grant pressed an eye to the gap in the door, curious but trying to remain unconcerned. Randall often had highborn guests over to entertain, it was only his nerves and the light treason he had committed that was making Grant uneasy.

Randall extracted himself unceremoniously from a large bay horse, which looked relieved to be rid of its bulky load. There were five other black horses - equally sturdy so they could deal with their loads - and a couple of pudgy hounds. An enormous fellow jumped down, the clang of his boots hitting stone startling the dogs and making them snarl.

Randall looked like the ‘dieter of the month’ award winner compared to the new fellow. Dressed in a full suit of armor, the obese figure mopped frantically at his brow;  looking wildly unhappy to be here. The other four individuals, slimmer than the one who was clearly the boss, dismounted and formed a ring of steel around him, lances and swords arranged in a loose defensive formation. They were clearly not expecting trouble, and from the way they were rubbing at their sore rears, it was unlikely they could handle any if they found it.

Grant couldn’t hear much, but a gust of wind brought the words ‘Grant Leap’ and a moment later ‘out collecting cow pats’. They were about to enter the house, but Randall waggled his hand in the direction of Grant’s shelter. The four guards and their boss walked toward the lean-to, increasing Grant’s confusion and nervousness. “Maybe they will go inside the house… what do they want with me? How could they know?”

Sweat beading his brow, he quickly snuffed the candle and prayed to the Lords of the Month for guidance. The footsteps were getting louder; heavy boots smacked off cobbles. Breathing heavily now, Grant made a decision. He grabbed February Twenty Nine, made sure it was tightly wrapped in the bandages, then strapped it across his back. It was too large to fit inside his shirt or down his pants, and an unfortunate slip with it down his pants risked turning him into a eunuch! He slipped out the crack in the back ‘door’, hoping they wouldn’t see him-

“Stop, by the order and authority of Sir Thirty First!” A Vassal bellowed at Grant’s now-frozen form.

“Grant, come here, boy.” Randall shouted over in a calm and loving tone. That more than anything made Grant terrified. “Don’t make this more difficult than it need be. Sir Thirty First here just wants to ask you some questions, is all.”

He had a friendly grin, but Grant knew that Randall couldn’t be trusted. He only grinned like that when he punished Grant, relishing the pain and discomfort he inflicted. Like a cornered deer, Grant bolted; scrambling over the boundary wall. He fell heavily, but was up and going right away. The physical barrier would only buy him a few moments; he needed to move. Grant slid down a steep ravine, tumbling as he lost his footing and landing in a heap at the bottom. He quickly flexed his arms and legs; nothing appeared sprained or broken.

*Toot, toot, toot, to~o~ot*.

The hunting party was already closing in. Grant started running.

*Woof*!

The hounds! He didn’t think about how he would outrun them. He pictured himself being ripped to pieces by gnashing teeth or speared by a stray lance before they had a chance to question him. Panicking, Grant had no time to think; he could only react. He looked around and heard the burbling of water. Huffing, he stumbled over roots and boulders that appeared as if out of nowhere.  They seem to have something against him, always reaching for his legs and trying to trip him up. Grant couldn't let it happen. Dog bites were nasty business, more often than not leading to long-term debuffs.

The rushing water was louder now. He reached a stream.

Baying dogs were close, almost on him. Grant splashed along the bank, following the flow of the stream, feet sinking into the mud or smacking painfully off rocks. He barely felt the health loss. Louder than the dogs was the sound of his heart hammering in his chest, and his breath as he tried to catch it and keep from sobbing in terror. The noise he was making was matched by the rush of water ahead, as the stream abruptly ended. Grant found himself teetering at the top of a waterfall. His only options were jumping or waiting for the inevitable teeth closing in.

He chose to jump.

In mid-air, as his life flashed before his eyes, he wished he had taken the time to learn to swim. But why would a farm worker need to swim?

*Spash*!

He belly-flopped into the freezing water. It dawned on him as he sank, weighed down by his clothes and sword, that he should have taken a breath on the way down. His lungs burned, and his vision darkened; he longed to inhale, but the cool wetness of the water reminded him that this was a bad idea. Feet finally touched the bottom, and with a frantic kick he propelled himself back up; breaking through the surface and choking giant gasps of air. The roar of the waterfall filled his ears; ironically he was forced to doggy-paddle to shore. He wrenched himself up onto the bank, soaked through but still alive.

After a moment of lying there, Grant got on all fours and stood unsteadily. The sword was somehow still strapped on by the bandages. If it had rested at the bottom of the waterfall, he didn’t think he’d have the courage to go get it.

*Ruff*.

The hounds were still searching. He sighed and carried on, kneeling down first to spread the soft silty mud over his face and exposed flesh. Hounds hunted by smell, or so he’d been threatened by Randall. The memory was particularly vivid because Randall had forced Grant to remain in a tree that night, his favorite hunting hound jumping and snarling at him whenever he descended even a little.

Grant walked until his blisters had blisters of their own, and the yelping of the hounds and tooting of horns long since faded away. A quest completion notification popped up. Breathing slowly now, he went to the page to see what was going on.

Quest: Who Let The Dogs Out? Who, Who?

Information: Outrun or outsmart a pack of hunting dogs.

Reward: Live to fight another day + 20% Physical Cultivation Bonus for 24 hours

His mind now on quests, Grant fumbled around in his pockets, looking for the  strangely familiar lump of onyx. For some reason it gave him comfort. He searched one pocket, then another. Both were empty. All he had with him were his soggy boots, clothes, and rusty sword. “It’s… I don’t have it.”

He laughed in a manic rhythm as he realized what he was about to do. “I have to go back? I can’t go back.”

Grant remembered that he’d placed the figurine on the stool before lighting the candle. It was important. He wasn’t overly bothered about the associated Epic level quest, but he knew that the small statue was… it was important to him? He knew that what he was doing was risky, it was dumb… but he doubted that Randall or Sir Thirty First would expect him to go back to the shelter. By now, they would be digging into their nightly feast and waiting for a report from the people still searching.

Maybe he had finally had enough, perhaps owning a Wielded Weapon had changed him, but Grant wasn't leaving without his statue.