YoTS: Lord January ~ 4!

CHAPTER 4

Grant pushed the wheelbarrow with purpose out of the estate, then promptly released the acidic contents of his stomach in a nearby bush. The world spun as he clung on to the wheelbarrow, taking in great lungfuls of air. He had to press on. The sooner he had collected the cow pats, the sooner he could forget this day had ever happened.

“Sta... tus.” He managed to get the slurred word out, wondering what condition he was in.

Name: Grant Leap

(Poisoned: 1 hour remaining. Intoxication: 3 hours remaining)

Class: None

Cultivation Achievement Level: 0

Cultivation Time: 0:00 Hours (Time to Next Level 1000:00 Hours)

Cultivation Stage: None

Inherent Abilities: None

Health: 23/50

Mana: 0/0

Characteristics

Physical: 0

Mental: 0

Armor Proficiency: 0

Weapon Proficiency: 0

Quests (1 active)

Hovering over the Quests tab, under active quests it showed:

Common Quest (Cow Pat Collector)

Objective: Collect 50 cow pats and deliver them to caretaker Randall. Only old solid cow pats. No one likes warm ones! Cow pats are a valuable resource and can be burned as fuel in the colder months of Winter and Spring. Reward: 5 Hours Physical Cultivation. (Cultivation method required for rewards.)

It was late afternoon by now and the January sun was getting dangerously low in the sky. As much as he wanted to lay down and have a nap, Grant had to continue on if he wanted to make use of the last of the day’s light. The last thing he wanted was to put his foot in a still warm cow pat, or fall asleep and freeze to death in the field. That actually may have been Randall’s intent, now that he thought about it.

Grant staggered past the farm and headed up the hill towards the woods. By the time he reached the top of the hill, he was panting heavily from the effort of pushing the empty barrow. He slipped on the loose dirt, but forged on towards his destination. Using the shovel, he scooped up a dried old cow pat. It wasn’t that bad a job. As long as they were old and dry, they were more like bricks than turds! Everything was going well until the sun sank behind the trees, then *shloop*. “Ugh!”

His foot sank into a warm one. As it did, he managed to overbalance the wheelbarrow and cover himself in old cow pats. He righted the barrow and filled it back up, adding one more to the already heavy load with a sigh. Just then, a commotion came from over the hill. *Moo!*

*Moo, moo!*

The cows were going crazy. Something had really riled them up. Leaving the wheelbarrow where it was, he grabbed the shovel and made his way over the uneven terrain. One misstep could mean a broken or sprained ankle… or falling in excrement. Again.

He flopped to the side, narrowly avoiding a wide-eyed bull careening towards him. Getting up, Grant could see the silhouettes of the cows via a bright light radiating from a spot at the edge of the forest. By this point, his itchiness had worn off. So, emboldened by his intoxication, he brandished the shovel in front and swiped left and right, clearing a path through the long grass. There were no threats in the region to deal with, no dangerous animals. The worst thing that could happen, and almost did happen, was to be trampled by a herd of cattle.

His eye caught the glint of something in the distance. It looked like some sort of metallic object. “Stupid cows, scared of anything. It’s probably a tool or piece of farm equipment.”

Just as he reached the object, time stood still. The twilight was replaced by an intense aurora. Swirls of red, green, and purple light danced playfully in the heavens. Squinting up in awe, the colors took the form of a sword thrusting, spinning, parrying and deflecting. As the colossal cloud sword spun, it impacted phantom armor in a detonating shower of fireworks. Multicolored sparks rained down, and still the sword danced. The insubstantial shadowy enemy fought back, but the sword of auroras deftly spun, perfectly timing parries and counterattacks. Thunder boomed as the phantom weapons collided, along with lightning and fireworks of weapon sliding against weapon and armor. It was a spectacle the likes of which he could never imagine.

Entranced, Grant somehow managed to pull his eyes down towards the object. The aurora glimmered off its reflective surface. No… it was coming from this thing. He reflexively stepped back, his breath caught in his throat. Grant knew immediately what it was: a Wielded Weapon.

One of only three hundred and sixty-five Wielded Weapons in the entire world! Eyes darting from left to right, he looked around to make sure no one had witnessed him even looking at the weapon. It was a crime, treason in fact, to take a Wielded Weapon from the Noble houses. As he stepped backwards, his hand ventured forth seemingly with a mind of its own, grasping longingly towards the hilt.

On a normal day, the aurora would have alerted everyone for miles around. The hill would be swarming with activity as people investigated the source. In the district of January, Grant knew that people would be too busy partying, as they did day and night. They would assume that any lights in the sky were just part of the night’s entertainment. Perhaps a gift from Lord January on his holy day.

The well of frustration in his heart overflowed. His life couldn’t get any worse! It was the first day of the year, and he had been beaten, lost everything he owned, poisoned, forced to drink copious amounts of cider… the thought of which made his stomach turn. On the other hand, the booze altering his thoughts helped him make his choice.

“Why should only the nobles have Wielded Weapons!” Grant declared as blood thundered through his veins. All of his effort over many years, completing countless low level quests, had amounted to nothing. Cultivation rewards from quests were denied to him, and adding insult to injury, he was once more Minuteless; having been robbed by his ‘caretaker’. He strode forward, grasped the weapon, and pulled it out of the log it was embedded in.

Grant proudly thrust it into the air.

The aurora instantly dissipated, replaced by the darkness of night. A crescent moon shone weakly above, struggling to penetrate the menacing shadows of the forest. As the sword reflected the moonlight, Grant could make out the name of the weapon etched on the side: February Twenty Nine. A three hundred and sixty-sixth Wielded Weapon? The sparkling sheen of the perfect weapon was replaced by a thick coating of brown rust.

Status update: name change.

“What have I done?” Grant frantically opened his status sheet.

Name: Grant Monday (updated from Grant Leap)

(Intoxication: 3 hours remaining)

Class: Wielder

Cultivation Achievement Level: 1 (updated from 0)

Cultivation Time: 0:00 Hours (Time to Next Level 1000:00 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

Quests (2 active)

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) None

2) None

…

12) None

Spells Known

1) Elemental: None.

Grants snapped closed the status sheet. All he had read was that his name had changed to Grant Monday, of the Noble house Monday. He threw the sword down as if he had been bitten by a poisonous snake, and fell backwards into the grass. Hyperventilating, his mind spun at a thousand miles a minute.

“Swords and saviours. Lord January preserve me!” He slapped the sides of his head. “Wake me from this nightmare!”

Grant squeezed his eyes closed, then took another peek at the status sheet. It boldly displayed, Grant Monday. In a panic, not knowing what to do, he grabbed the weapon and flung it in the waiting wheelbarrow. With adrenaline-fuelled urgency, he bounded over the rough terrain and skidded onto the dirt road. As he ran, he tried to think of how he would manage to hide his identity for the rest of his life when anyone that can make out your features clearly can see your name boldly above your head.

As he sprinted towards the comfort of the farm, he failed to notice a shining message in his status sheet.

Quest gained.