Chapter 172 - Training For The Big Fight

A yawning Samuel favored Eric with a puzzled frown when he saw him striking a summoned carcass with fists and spear.

“Eric, it’s the middle of the night! What are you doing?” Sam's eyes widened at the sound of Eric’s fists pounding in to the monstrous rib cage of the beast before him. A beast that had been toughened the way corpses primed for necromancy effortlessly were for him. Yet despite that, it was the massive ribs that popped to his blows, to the disbelieving gaze of the boy before him, the flesh bruising and cratering as the massive ton and a half corpse was jerked across the rear portion of the cave with his blows.

“Fuck, man, that’s a hell of a lot tougher than the meat slab we practice on! How the hell are you… Eric, you’re not even wearing our rawhide gloves!”

Eric flashed a fierce grin. “I know.”

“Then how?”

“Physical resistance is at a baseline of six, which I’m getting the feeling is a hell of a lot more than just six points of damage. Even 1 makes a huge difference. Best of all, just like in my favorite progression novels… the System’s making it damn clear that if I train hard enough, I just might just be able to boost it, even if only by a fraction of a point.”

His friend nodded. “Well of course, even everyday mortals can toughen their knuckles and strike points with appropriate training. Normally its bags filled with dried beans or, hell, punching meat carcasses, which I guess that basically is.”

Eric nodded. “Best of all, My strength finally went up .01%.

Sam grinned. “Sweet! What’s your Strength now?”

A panting Eric grinned. “69.92”

Sam gazed at him with a deadpan expression for long moments. “I hate you so much right now.”

Eric snorted. “Don’t. That stupid fraction’s been hanging on my ass for months, when Morlekai, back when he was giving the badass made-man vibes, just had to push us all off the deep end, right before I could get my strength to a nice, round number.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I think it might have been 16? Not sure, to be honest. But still, every point I had earned up to then had been from training my ass off. Even if the System did let me get the burn four times a day, I still earned it.”

Sam laughed. “Poor Eric, how you suffer. Just a fraction of a point away from a nice round 70.”

“I know, right? Not Vitality, though. But damn if I won’t get that up there too, when I can.”

Sam nodded, bemused grin turning to one of gentle concern. “Is there a reason why you’re focusing so hard on your body’s evolution right now? Eric, your cultivation base...”

“Stable,” a wincing Eric assured. “Even if I did get a scare today.”

Sam blinked. “Shit, you didn’t push yourself to an extreme again, did you?”

Eric flashed a tight smile. “Actually I did… but in the same way I’ve been doing it for the last two weeks, using the most basic rejuvenating technique that our cultivation manual went to such efforts to break down for all cultivating configurations, even if it barely touched anything else. I’ve just been super saturating it with Potency, or what every gamer ever knows as experience points. And as long as I don’t pull an Alice, losing myself in life-draining sweetness and failing to stop when my kill pool runs dry… shit, Sam, I must have gotten the equivalent of a thousand hours of cultivation in already.”

Sam gazed at him deadpan. “Really.”

Eric chuckled. “Turns out my clever strategy of using Fire-Essence infused cultivation to blaze through all the plaque in my meridians might have been great to start, but nearly destroyed me at the end. Now I’m just happy that I’m slowly removing the equivalent of calcified deposits using the very techniques I learned from the start. The only techniques I dare infuse with my Potency Pool right now. I’m just glad the plaque’s finally breaking down!”

His friend’s gaze hardened. “That’s because you’re now on two hunts per day. Filling up your experience meter twice. Purifying it down to nothing, then rinse and repeat, and pray you don’t tear free too many months or years of your life if you accidentally overextend, tapping into your own reserves.”

Eric winced, guilty of scraping the barrel a bit more than he wanted to admit, though he was still in the 32 lost years mark, praying it never hit 33, so tired of playing the utter fool.

Sam glared. “Please don’t tell me your burning the candle of your soul at both ends again?”

Eric quickly shook his head. “Hell no. Not if I can help it, I’ll promise you that much. I don’t know if 49 Vitality will make up for 32 years of my life lost...”

“What? You’ve lost how many years?” Sam looked genuinely horrified.

Eric’s cheeks flushed with sudden shame. “Yeah. Let’s just leave it at that, alright?”

“Shit, Eric, that’s insane! Your becoming a textbook example of what budding necromancers should never do!”

Eric’s gaze hardened. “Careful, Sam. I lost over 20 years of that stopping a litch and sealing a realm gate that would have absolutely destroyed Junk Town. A town I sacrificed so much of myself saving like the most idealistic of would-be heroes, only for the mayor to stab us all in the back. Because he didn’t just deny us the prize we had risked our lives earning, he actually set us up to be collard and sold to Confederate slavers.”

Sam’s eyes widened with horror. “Shit, Eric. That’s messed up on all sorts of levels!”

Eric’s eyes glittered hotly. “You’re damn right it is. But that’s alright, friend. Even with that treacherous Stibbs doing everything he could to fuck us over, I still got the gold in the end.”

Sam whistled. “Dude, I’m dying to hear this story.”

Eric laughed, happy to take a break and spend a few hours regaling Sam with some of his adventures, the youth’s genuine wonder, heartfelt laughter, and painful cringes making him the perfect audience, since he was both interested and genuinely seemed to care.

When Eric went to sleep that night, it was with a surprisingly light heart, the burden of his own regrets eased with the gentle retelling of his tale.

Even if he had left out the more intimate bits, his friend still winced with sympathy when first one than a second girl stormed through his life, and how he feared he’d never see a certain Primal Hunter who had pierced his heart, ever again.

“Shit, Eric, if your mother wasn’t a possessive control freak… and you say Rica’s in trouble?”

Eric nodded. “I fear she is. But it’s my sister, mostly, that I’m worried about. I get the feeling that Mother can take care of herself no matter what. She’s the fucking Winter Queen, after all. But Elonia’s already suffered after being used as heavy arcane artillery.”

“Because of goblin assassins.”

Eric clenched his jaw. “Marked assassins. Bastards that will pay the price for daring to hurt my own.”

Sam paled. “I believe you. Remind me not to get on your bad side, Eric, like ever.”

Eric smiled in memory of his friend’s tongue-in-cheek declaration as he slipped into deepest slumber. Because he really was determined to push himself to the point that no asshole, no matter how powerful, would ever think him an easy mark, one more human sucker to push around.

Not without paying a price Eric would happily tear free from any foe that opposed him, thoughts of his sister’s panicked eyes striking him so profoundly the next day that he couldn’t cultivate until he had purged his terror with fury and absolute resolve, pounding the carcasses he pulled out of storage with what were soon trembling fists, channeling every ounce of his Strength and so much more, visualizing countless foes falling to his blows.

“Eric?”

He flashed his friend a sympathetic smile that morning, so much said with Sam’s worried gaze.

“It’s alright, buddy. Come on. Let’s get that cultivation session started.”

Sam gave a relieved nod. Quickly seating himself, but not before squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “Eric? It’s going to be okay.”

Eric sighed. “Will it?”

His friend nodded with absolute certainty. “Damn right it will. As soon as you finish healing your damaged gate, you’ll be clearing your final meridians and you’ll ascend with a basketfull of peaches to your name before you know it.”

Eric laughed at that. “Good thing it’s finally finished healing then.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Really? No shit! That’s fantastic news!”

Eric nodded, gaze hardening. “Now it’s time to dare the flames once more.”

“Shit, Eric. I thought you weren’t going to do that any more?”

Eric sighed, measuring his friend for long moments. “Do you know why I’m spending afternoons pounding the fuck out of those corpses and teaching you the basics of spear fighting with the pilum which are pretty much perfect for it?”

His friend nodded. “I notice you cooled the heat on the pair we use. I hope you didn’t waste too much experience doing that...”

“Hardly any at all. Flame is coming really easy to me, nowadays.”

Sam grinned. “I’m guessing you’re doing your best to raise as many skills to Journeyman or Adept level as you can. Because the more stat points you have… the more stat points you have.”

Eric nodded. “Exactly. And Journeyman status means far more on the galactic scale than a small town’s newly minted smith. Think scholar with a world’s wisdom traveling beyond his system in search of fresh bits of lore and wisdom until he’s ascended to Adept level, making him a renowned craftsman, or warrior, even on the galactic stage.”

Sam gazed at Eric for long moments. “I was wondering why so many of the so-called trainers and students of the arcane that Grandfather brought to our manor, made such a big deal out of just hitting Apprentice Rank when bragging about their skills or knowledge base over fine meals while talking shop.”

Eric nodded. “Because that means even the galactic elite just might take you on as an apprentice, as you have at least some potential on a scale that matters. That much I was able to deduce from my snarky Interface. But the one thing Apprentice rank doesn’t gain, unless you’re ranking a hidden or Elite skill, of course, is stat bonuses at Apprentice rank.”

Samuel blinked at this, a slow smile dimpling his cheeks. “Wait, there are skills you can get stat bonuses, just getting up to Apprentice rank?”

Eric winked. “Maybe one or two,” he admitted.

Iado skillcheck made!

Eric’s saber flickered in the blink of an eye that Sam hardly seemed to follow, before his frown turned to a whistle of awe, upon catching sight of five gaping slashes in the tusker Eric had been using for practice.

“Shit, Eric, did you just...”

Eric nodded. “I did.”

Sam blinked. “Show me. Slow motion. Please.”

Eric nodded, for these were lessons he was hoping to teach his young friend anyway, unsheathing his blade in a sweeping draw cut as he twisted his torso before ripping open his prey in a series of underhanded moulinets, every shift of wrist and hips conveying devastating speed and power with tightly controlled movements that nonetheless flowed into a final series of overhand cuts that would have decapitated any human foe.

Sam gazed at Eric for long moments as he solemnly cleaned and resheathed his blade. “That was nothing short of badass. You know that, right?”

Eric smirked. “It’s even better when I flip sword for bardiche for the overhanded swings, but yeah. Anyone who fucks with me is going to get more than bargained for, assuming they don’t just snipe me at range.”

Sam blinked. “Shit.”

Eric smirked. “Don’t worry. Thanks to a certain treacherous mayor, I managed to pull a Master Criminal title when I claimed my rightful cut of the gold. Which was all of it,” he said with an icy grin. “One of the perks that title gives me is a tingle in the base of my spine whenever someone’s getting a bead on me.”

“Of course you can!” Sam laughed. “Fucking Hero’s Journey my ass. You’re an outright Mary Sue!”

Eric laughed at that. “Damn right I am. A Mary Sue who just got challenged by the alpha of this entire pocket realm. A creature so strong that coming for him before I’m ready will kill me via ruptured meridians before I can even get within a hundred yards of him.”

Sam blanched at those words, voice turning apologetic. “Shit, Eric, I didn’t realize.”

Eric shrugged. “I think I got a temporary reprieve because I’ve been dutifully cultivating, and my affinity for flame means that cultivating here leaves me feeling so connected to my environment it still fills me with awe sometimes. Hopefully this pocket realm feels the same way about me, if it feels anything at all. Maybe just as important, haven’t been butchering piglets and sows. But I sure as shit don’t have forever.”

He gave a tired shake of his head. “So, yeah. If I can eke out a few points pushing Spear to Adept Rank, even though is tied close enough to other polearms that I’m not sure if it will give me the full nine points, I’m still taking it. Because pinpoint strikes timed just right will also boost my Find Weakness skill. Even if that means hunting the boars with this javelin in melee range, trying to earn Adept rank the hard way, it’s worth it. Because the experience I get timing its charges, fainting and striking my target’s eyes at just the right moment to plunge straight through it’s brain, might mean the difference between life and death when I really am fighting for my life in very short order.”

Sam nodded. “That makes sense. But wasting an hour a day punching pig corpses?”

Eric smirked. “We’re walking cultivator’s paths. Of course we have to punch the shit out of things. That’s just understood.”

Sam snorted. “You know the basics of boxing, Eric, but you can’t kick any better than I can. You sure as shit don’t know Muay Thai or Kung Fu, or any badass crap like that.”

Eric held his friend’s gaze for long moments. “And yet the punches I know were enough to push me all the way to Journeyman level.” He clapped Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not an idiot. I know I’d have to learn a hell of a lot more before I earn Adept rank on the galactic level. And I’m pretty damn sure I never would have hit Adept in any martial skill, even with my skyrocketing Finesse, if my mother hadn’t been using so-called HEMA stunt training as a pretext to teach me the basics of exotic fencing and polearm techniques for over half a decade.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Shit, you’ve been learning specialized alien fighting techniques?”

Eric chuckled. “More like I had a very personalized, very intense trainer, and the shit was similar enough to the Self-Tube HEMA videos I watched that I didn’t worry too much about it. But… yeah. The little I’ve seen of Sylvan Alliance sparring or fighting that I saw guards practicing on the way to Freetown matches my own style perfectly.” Eric shrugged. “For half a second, I had wondered if they were all HEMA practitioners, before finally figuring out that I had been the one getting the unorthodox lessons.”

Sam whistled. “That’s pretty badass, I’m not going to lie. But still, why the focus on punching?”

Eric frowned thoughtfully. “Weird as it may sound, I think there’s something to all the unarmed fighting techniques you see emphasized in all the Wuxia novels. Pushing your physical body to its limit really does seem to help with mind-body mastery, coordination, and expelling waste Qi. Or maybe it’s just another form of exercise purging toxins in our sweat, same as it does for any mortal trying to stay healthy.”

Sam laughed at this. “Yeah, I’ll say. I’m glad we’re sleeping in opposite ends of our sweet little cavern, because buddy… you really do need to hit the baths more often.”

Eric flushed at this, having deliberately taken the time for a daily soak, no matter how focused on his training he might be.

His friend seemed to read his mind. “Two bathes, Eric. You need two bathes a day, if you really want to avoid funking up this place.”

Eric grinned. “Tell you what. If you promise to stop giving me the pitying stares when it’s clear I’m doing something stupid, I’ll do just that.”

Sam laughed. “Like trying to burn away more impurities?”

“Exactly,” Eric said. “Now enough talking. I got a massive spirit beast eager for a date in less than a month, and somehow I’m pretty damn certain he’s going to insist on that dance, or us leaving. So let’s get cultivating.”

Whatever else Sam might of said was lost on Eric, because all he could hear was the roaring fires of his own soul as, for the first time in weeks, he infused his Qi cycling technique with the Essence of Flame once more.

But this time it was a flame very carefully controlled, Eric now determined to use it as a precision instrument and not a blow torch, gently coaxing free plaques and crystallized deposits with only the most precise application of flame, exercising exquisite control as he stretched what had once been minutes-long blasts of white-hot heat into endless hours of gentle precision flame.

Such by the time he was done with his session, he was trembling with sweat and exhaustion, before stumbling to their quickly heated pool with Sam’s imprecations at his back, flashing an exhausted smile as he washed truly foul smelling gunk from his body, so relieved that his meridians felt nothing but invigorated that he didn’t even mind the lack of any additional breakthrough.

Because now that he thought of it, he had been doing it all wrong from the start.

Why push himself with super intense sessions of Fire Qi, only to spend a full experience bar’s Qi rejuvenating and repairing the damage done?

Far better careful daily cultivation sessions embracing the gentlest of flames that needed very little in the ways of repair at all.

Part of it, he realized, was his growing proficiency as a cultivator, truly learning to manipulate his flame on a Spiritual level, in addition to the arcane. Part of it was a growing sense of his meridian channels, and part of it was just better knowing himself, and his strengths and weaknesses as a cultivator.

But even with a surprisingly gentle purification session under his belt, he still spent the afternoon and all of the following day embracing sessions of pure rejuvenation using the cultivation manuals most basic techniques, interspersing his cultivation sessions with the hunts that always filled him with excitement, loving the thrill of the chase, and battle, getting ever better at the pace and timing of combat, learning to slip past goring tusks and spear his opponent exactly where he intended.

First he would seek to hinder his foe with calculated strikes to joints and limbs, making the most of his growing Find Weakness and Spear skills before finally going for the kill, piercing deep into his foe’s skull with every lunge, so strong he could pierce through even the massive pig’s skulls with surprising ease.

But he never counted it a true win lest it was a strike through glaring red eyes that saw his prey shudder and collapse, a savage twist making sure that each death was almost instantaneous, his prey suffering so much less than they would under the jaws of any wild predator before Eric collected his kills and headed back to camp.

It was a ritual he repeated both morning and night, a strain to his smile even as he delighted in Find Weakness and Spear both getting ever closer to Adept status.

Because one thing all the skill growth couldn’t slow down was the growing sense that he was running out of time.

“Eric, it’s the middle of the night! What are you doing?” Sam's eyes widened at the sound of Eric’s fists pounding in to the monstrous rib cage of the beast before him. A beast that had been toughened the way corpses primed for necromancy effortlessly were for him. Yet despite that, it was the massive ribs that popped to his blows, to the disbelieving gaze of the boy before him, the flesh bruising and cratering as the massive ton and a half corpse was jerked across the rear portion of the cave with his blows.

“Fuck, man, that’s a hell of a lot tougher than the meat slab we practice on! How the hell are you… Eric, you’re not even wearing our rawhide gloves!”

Eric flashed a fierce grin. “I know.”

“Then how?...”

“Physical resistance is at a baseline of six, which I’m getting the feeling is a hell of a lot more than just six points of damage. Even 1 makes a huge difference. Best of all, just like in my favorite progression novels… the System’s making it damn clear that if I train hard enough, I just might just be able to boost it, even if only by a fraction of a point.”

His friend nodded. “Well of course, even everyday mortals can toughen their knuckles and strike points with appropriate training. Normally its bags filled with dried beans or, hell, punching meat carcasses, which I guess that basically is.”

Eric nodded. “Best of all, My strength finally went up .01%.

Sam grinned. “Sweet! What’s your Strength now?”

A panting Eric grinned. “69.92”

Sam gazed at him with a deadpan expression for long moments. “I hate you so much right now.”

Eric snorted. “Don’t. That stupid fraction’s been hanging on my ass for months, when Morlekai, back when he was giving the badass made-man vibes, just had to push us all off the deep end, right before I could get my strength to a nice, round number.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I think it might have been 16? Not sure, to be honest. But still, every point I had earned up to then had been from training my ass off. Even if the System did let me get the burn four times a day, I still earned it.”

Sam laughed. “Poor Eric, how you suffer. Just a fraction of a point away from a nice round 70.”

“I know, right? Not Vitality, though. But damn if I won’t get that up there too, when I can.”

Sam nodded, bemused grin turning to one of gentle concern. “Is there a reason why you’re focusing so hard on your body’s evolution right now? Eric, your cultivation base...”

“Stable,” a wincing Eric assured. “Even if I did get a scare today.”

Sam blinked. “Shit, you didn’t push yourself to an extreme again, did you?”

Eric flashed a tight smile. “Actually I did… but in the same way I’ve been doing it for the last two weeks, using the most basic rejuvenating technique that our cultivation manual went to such efforts to break down for all cultivating configurations, even if it barely touched anything else. I’ve just been super saturating it with Potency, or what every gamer ever knows as experience points. And as long as I don’t pull an Alice, losing myself in life-draining sweetness and failing to stop when my kill pool runs dry… shit, Sam, I must have gotten the equivalent of a thousand hours of cultivation in already.”

Sam gazed at him deadpan. “Really.”

Eric chuckled. “Turns out my clever strategy of using Fire-Essence infused cultivation to blaze through all the plaque in my meridians might have been great to start, but nearly destroyed me at the end. Now I’m just happy that I’m slowly removing the equivalent of calcified deposits using the very techniques I learned from the start. The only techniques I dare infuse with my Potency Pool right now. I’m just glad the plaque’s finally breaking down!”

His friend’s gaze hardened. “That’s because you’re now on two hunts per day. Filling up your experience meter twice. Purifying it down to nothing, then rinse and repeat, and pray you don’t tear free too many months or years of your life if you accidentally overextend, tapping into your own reserves.”

Eric winced, guilty of scraping the barrel a bit more than he wanted to admit, though he was still in the 32 lost years mark, praying it never hit 33, so tired of playing the utter fool.

Sam glared. “Please don’t tell me your burning the candle of your soul at both ends again?”

Eric quickly shook his head. “Hell no. Not if I can help it, I’ll promise you that much. I don’t know if 49 Vitality will make up for 32 years of my life lost...”

“What? You’ve lost how many years?” Sam looked genuinely horrified.

Eric’s cheeks flushed with sudden shame. “Yeah. Let’s just leave it at that, alright?”

“Shit, Eric, that’s insane! Your becoming a textbook example of what budding necromancers should never do!”

Eric’s gaze hardened. “Careful, Sam. I lost over 20 years of that stopping a litch and sealing a realm gate that would have absolutely destroyed Junk Town. A town I sacrificed so much of myself saving like the most idealistic of would-be heroes, only for the mayor to stab us all in the back. Because he didn’t just deny us the prize we had risked our lives earning, he actually set us up to be collard and sold to Confederate slavers.”

Sam’s eyes widened with horror. “Shit, Eric. That’s messed up on all sorts of levels!”

Eric’s eyes glittered hotly. “You’re damn right it is. But that’s alright, friend. Even with that treacherous Stibbs doing everything he could to fuck us over, I still got the gold in the end.”

Sam whistled. “Dude, I’m dying to hear this story.”

Eric laughed, happy to take a break and spend a few hours regaling Sam with some of his adventures, the youth’s genuine wonder, heartfelt laughter, and painful cringes making him the perfect audience, since he was both interested and genuinely seemed to care.

When Eric went to sleep that night, it was with a surprisingly light heart, the burden of his own regrets eased with the gentle retelling of his tale.

Even if he had left out the more intimate bits, his friend still winced with sympathy when first one than a second girl stormed through his life, and how he feared he’d never see a certain Primal Hunter who had pierced his heart, ever again.

“Shit, Eric, if your mother wasn’t a possessive control freak… and you say Rica’s in trouble?”

Eric nodded. “I fear she is. But it’s my sister, mostly, that I’m worried about. I get the feeling that Mother can take care of herself no matter what. She’s the fucking Winter Queen, after all. But Elonia’s already suffered after being used as heavy arcane artillery.”

“Because of goblin assassins.”

Eric clenched his jaw. “Marked assassins. Bastards that will pay the price for daring to hurt my own.”

Sam paled. “I believe you. Remind me not to get on your bad side, Eric, like ever.”

Eric smiled in memory of his friend’s tongue-in-cheek declaration as he slipped into deepest slumber. Because he really was determined to push himself to the point that no asshole, no matter how powerful, would ever think him an easy mark, one more human sucker to push around.

Not without paying a price Eric would happily tear free from any foe that opposed him, thoughts of his sister’s panicked eyes striking him so profoundly the next day that he couldn’t cultivate until he had purged his terror with fury and absolute resolve, pounding the carcasses he pulled out of storage with what were soon trembling fists, channeling every ounce of his Strength and so much more, visualizing countless foes falling to his blows.

“Eric?”

He flashed his friend a sympathetic smile that morning, so much said with Sam’s worried gaze.

“It’s alright, buddy. Come on. Let’s get that cultivation session started.”

Sam gave a relieved nod. Quickly seating himself, but not before squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “Eric? It’s going to be okay.”

Eric sighed. “Will it?”

His friend nodded with absolute certainty. “Damn right it will. As soon as you finish healing your damaged gate, you’ll be clearing your final meridians and you’ll ascend with a basketfull of peaches to your name before you know it.”

Eric laughed at that. “Good thing it’s finally finished healing then.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Really? No shit! That’s fantastic news!”

Eric nodded, gaze hardening. “Now it’s time to dare the flames once more.”

“Shit, Eric. I thought you weren’t going to do that any more?”

Eric sighed, measuring his friend for long moments. “Do you know why I’m spending afternoons pounding the fuck out of those corpses and teaching you the basics of spear fighting with the pilum which are pretty much perfect for it?”

His friend nodded. “I notice you cooled the heat on the pair we use. I hope you didn’t waste too much experience doing that...”

“Hardly any at all. Flame is coming really easy to me, nowadays.”

Sam grinned. “I’m guessing you’re doing your best to raise as many skills to Journeyman or Adept level as you can. Because the more stat points you have… the more stat points you have.”

Eric nodded. “Exactly. And Journeyman status means far more on the galactic scale than a small town’s newly minted smith. Think scholar with a world’s wisdom traveling beyond his system in search of fresh bits of lore and wisdom until he’s ascended to Adept level, making him a renowned craftsman, or warrior, even on the galactic stage.”

Sam gazed at Eric for long moments. “I was wondering why so many of the so-called trainers and students of the arcane that Grandfather brought to our manor, made such a big deal out of just hitting Apprentice Rank when bragging about their skills or knowledge base over fine meals while talking shop.”

Eric nodded. “Because that means even the galactic elite just might take you on as an apprentice, as you have at least some potential on a scale that matters. That much I was able to deduce from my snarky Interface. But the one thing Apprentice rank doesn’t gain, unless you’re ranking a hidden or Elite skill, of course, is stat bonuses at Apprentice rank.”

Samuel blinked at this, a slow smile dimpling his cheeks. “Wait, there are skills you can get stat bonuses, just getting up to Apprentice rank?”

Eric winked. “Maybe one or two,” he admitted.

Iado skillcheck made!

Eric’s saber flickered in the blink of an eye that Sam hardly seemed to follow, before his frown turned to a whistle of awe, upon catching sight of five gaping slashes in the tusker Eric had been using for practice.

“Shit, Eric, did you just...”

Eric nodded. “I did.”

Sam blinked. “Show me. Slow motion. Please.”

Eric nodded, for these were lessons he was hoping to teach his young friend anyway, unsheathing his blade in a sweeping draw cut as he twisted his torso before ripping open his prey in a series of underhanded moulinets, every shift of wrist and hips conveying devastating speed and power with tightly controlled movements that nonetheless flowed into a final series of overhand cuts that would have decapitated any human foe.

Sam gazed at Eric for long moments as he solemnly cleaned and resheathed his blade. “That was nothing short of badass. You know that, right?”

Eric smirked. “It’s even better when I flip sword for bardiche for the overhanded swings, but yeah. Anyone who fucks with me is going to get more than bargained for, assuming they don’t just snipe me at range.”

Sam blinked. “Shit.”

Eric smirked. “Don’t worry. Thanks to a certain treacherous mayor, I managed to pull a Master Criminal title when I claimed my rightful cut of the gold. Which was all of it,” he said with an icy grin. “One of the perks that title gives me is a tingle in the base of my spine whenever someone’s getting a bead on me.”

“Of course you can!” Sam laughed. “Fucking Hero’s Journey my ass. You’re an outright Mary Sue!”

Eric laughed at that. “Damn right I am. A Mary Sue who just got challenged by the alpha of this entire pocket realm. A creature so strong that coming for him before I’m ready will kill me via ruptured meridians before I can even get within a hundred yards of him.”

Sam blanched at those words, voice turning apologetic. “Shit, Eric, I didn’t realize.”

Eric shrugged. “I think I got a temporary reprieve because I’ve been dutifully cultivating, and my affinity for flame means that cultivating here leaves me feeling so connected to my environment it still fills me with awe sometimes. Hopefully this pocket realm feels the same way about me, if it feels anything at all. Maybe just as important, haven’t been butchering piglets and sows. But I sure as shit don’t have forever.”

He gave a tired shake of his head. “So, yeah. If I can eke out a few points pushing Spear to Adept Rank, even though is tied close enough to other polearms that I’m not sure if it will give me the full nine points, I’m still taking it. Because pinpoint strikes timed just right will also boost my Find Weakness skill. Even if that means hunting the boars with this javelin in melee range, trying to earn Adept rank the hard way, it’s worth it. Because the experience I get timing its charges, fainting and striking my target’s eyes at just the right moment to plunge straight through it’s brain, might mean the difference between life and death when I really am fighting for my life in very short order.”

Sam nodded. “That makes sense. But wasting an hour a day punching pig corpses?”

Eric smirked. “We’re walking cultivator’s paths. Of course we have to punch the shit out of things. That’s just understood.”

Sam snorted. “You know the basics of boxing, Eric, but you can’t kick any better than I can. You sure as shit don’t know Muay Thai or Kung Fu, or any badass crap like that.”

Eric held his friend’s gaze for long moments. “And yet the punches I know were enough to push me all the way to Journeyman level.” He clapped Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not an idiot. I know I’d have to learn a hell of a lot more before I earn Adept rank on the galactic level. And I’m pretty damn sure I never would have hit Adept in any martial skill, even with my skyrocketing Finesse, if my mother hadn’t been using so-called HEMA stunt training as a pretext to teach me the basics of exotic fencing and polearm techniques for over half a decade.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Shit, you’ve been learning specialized alien fighting techniques?”

Eric chuckled. “More like I had a very personalized, very intense trainer, and the shit was similar enough to the Self-Tube HEMA videos I watched that I didn’t worry too much about it. But… yeah. The little I’ve seen of Sylvan Alliance sparring or fighting that I saw guards practicing on the way to Freetown matches my own style perfectly.” Eric shrugged. “For half a second, I had wondered if they were all HEMA practitioners, before finally figuring out that I had been the one getting the unorthodox lessons.”

Sam whistled. “That’s pretty badass, I’m not going to lie. But still, why the focus on punching?”

Eric frowned thoughtfully. “Weird as it may sound, I think there’s something to all the unarmed fighting techniques you see emphasized in all the Wuxia novels. Pushing your physical body to its limit really does seem to help with mind-body mastery, coordination, and expelling waste Qi. Or maybe it’s just another form of exercise purging toxins in our sweat, same as it does for any mortal trying to stay healthy.”

Sam laughed at this. “Yeah, I’ll say. I’m glad we’re sleeping in opposite ends of our sweet little cavern, because buddy… you really do need to hit the baths more often.”

Eric flushed at this, having deliberately taken the time for a daily soak, no matter how focused on his training he might be.

His friend seemed to read his mind. “Two bathes, Eric. You need two bathes a day, if you really want to avoid funking up this place.”

Eric grinned. “Tell you what. If you promise to stop giving me the pitying stares when it’s clear I’m doing something stupid, I’ll do just that.”

Sam laughed. “Like trying to burn away more impurities?”

“Exactly,” Eric said. “Now enough talking. I got a massive spirit beast eager for a date in less than a month, and somehow I’m pretty damn certain he’s going to insist on that dance, or us leaving. So let’s get cultivating.”

Whatever else Sam might of said was lost on Eric, because all he could hear was the roaring fires of his own soul as, for the first time in weeks, he infused his Qi cycling technique with the Essence of Flame once more.

But this time it was a flame very carefully controlled, Eric now determined to use it as a precision instrument and not a blow torch, gently coaxing free plaques and crystallized deposits with only the most precise application of flame, exercising exquisite control as he stretched what had once been minutes-long blasts of white-hot heat into endless hours of gentle precision flame.

Such by the time he was done with his session, he was trembling with sweat and exhaustion, before stumbling to their quickly heated pool with Sam’s imprecations at his back, flashing an exhausted smile as he washed truly foul smelling gunk from his body, so relieved that his meridians felt nothing but invigorated that he didn’t even mind the lack of any additional breakthrough.

Because now that he thought of it, he had been doing it all wrong from the start.

Why push himself with super intense sessions of Fire Qi, only to spend a full experience bar’s Qi rejuvenating and repairing the damage done?

Far better careful daily cultivation sessions embracing the gentlest of flames that needed very little in the ways of repair at all.

Part of it, he realized, was his growing proficiency as a cultivator, truly learning to manipulate his flame on a Spiritual level, in addition to the arcane. Part of it was a growing sense of his meridian channels, and part of it was just better knowing himself, and his strengths and weaknesses as a cultivator.

But even with a surprisingly gentle purification session under his belt, he still spent the afternoon and all of the following day embracing sessions of pure rejuvenation using the cultivation manuals most basic techniques, interspersing his cultivation sessions with the hunts that always filled him with excitement, loving the thrill of the chase, and battle, getting ever better at the pace and timing of combat, learning to slip past goring tusks and spear his opponent exactly where he intended.

First he would seek to hinder his foe with calculated strikes to joints and limbs, making the most of his growing Find Weakness and Spear skills before finally going for the kill, piercing deep into his foe’s skull with every lunge, so strong he could pierce through even the massive pig’s skulls with surprising ease.

But he never counted it a true win lest it was a strike through glaring red eyes that saw his prey shudder and collapse, a savage twist making sure that each death was almost instantaneous, his prey suffering so much less than they would under the jaws of any wild predator before Eric collected his kills and headed back to camp.

It was a ritual he repeated both morning and night, a strain to his smile even as he delighted in Find Weakness and Spear both getting ever closer to Adept status.

Because one thing all the skill growth couldn’t slow down was the growing sense that he was running out of time.

Chapter 173 - Objective Complete