Battleforged
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Chapter 159 - Trading Pointers
🕑 Added 2022-08-24 04:00:03 +0000 UTCEric raised a cautionary finger at the sudden look of unbridled hope in his young friend’s gaze. “I can’t make any promises, Sam. I’ll do my best to help you, but I have absolutely no idea what your configuration looks like. I’m hoping that when we party up, maybe I can get a sense of it. But unless you have a twelve meridian configuration like mine...”
Those words earned a startled look from Samuel.
“Are you serious?” Sam sputtered in mock outrage. “You have a royal configuration?”
Eric grinned. “Yeah. Wild, isn’t it? I sure as hell wasn’t expecting it. The whole reason why I had given up is because the seven meridian configuration chart did absolutely nothing for me. And since that was human standard...”
“But you’re not really human, are you? I mean… not entirely, right?”
Eric winced. “The way I see it, I’m just as human as anyone else, even if my parentage was a bit mixed.”
This earned a quirked eyebrow. “After you told me your mother was basically the Winter Queen of Faerie?”
Eric shrugged. “You do know that pretty much everyone has Neanderthal or Denisovan bloodlines somewhere in their family tree, right?”
“Not everyone,” Sam said with a cheeky grin. “In case my handsome features and ebony skin didn’t give it away, my ancestors were African. It’s only all you mutts that left on your migrations and got freaky with all the tribes that had migrated out of Africa a hundred thousand years before, like Captain Kirk and his horny crew on the starship Love-Prize, that got all the cool mixed genetics going on.”
“Touche,” Eric acknowledged with a smile. “But you’re not going to tell Morlekai and Alice that they aren’t human, right?” Eric flushed at his friend’s grin. “I mean, the Irish-Italian part of their heritage. Not the well...”
“Vampire and Succubus parts?”
Eric chuckled ruefully. “Exactly.”
His friend nodded thoughtfully. “I get what you’re saying. We’re all humans, most of us are mutts, and even if someone had a Neanderthal mother, they’re no less human than their grandchildren or descendants a thousand years later.”
Eric nodded. “Exactly! So even if my mother’s a power-mad elf, or Alice’s mother drained her husband dry, that doesn’t make either of us any less human than we are, any less human than a billion other souls, even if we’re a bit closer to our exotic roots than some.”
Sam snorted. “Actually I think it is different for Succubi. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, since your ears look like everyone else’s.” He frowned thoughtfully. “But Aurelia Silver, I mean your mom, I’ve never seen any trace of exotic ears in any of her movies.”
Eric sensed Sam’s flush even through his dark skin as he chuckled awkwardly. “And maybe I did have a bit of a crush on… never mind. Point is, her ears look normal to me. Did she have surgery?”
“Nope, turns out there is a round-eared elven tribe called, originally enough, Roundears. Their ears look just like yours and mine.”
Sam gazed at Eric for long moments. “Do you have any idea how much of a cheesy hack that is? It’s like I added a Skydragon racial-mod where my race has all the advantages of every single race combined that just happens to look like your typical Swede, but with none of their disadvantages.”
“I know, right?” Eric said with an agreeable nod. “It’s ridiculous. Who ever heard of an elf without pointy ears? Even my friends in Blue Corp have properly pointed ears. Even if they’re more sci-fi Volkanesque than Tolkeinesque. Still, at least it’s something! These things?” He said, rubbing the rounded ridges of his own ears. “A bullshit hack that allows me an Elf’s quick mana regeneration that Alice would kill for, while still looking as human as my completely psychotic mother.”
Sam snorted. “How you suffer. You’re character sheet is so broken that I’d rip it up and chuck it if I was your DM.” He winked. “Unless, of course, you bribe me with snacks for the gaming session, in which case I might deign to forgive you.”
Eric laughed at that. “Deal.” His gaze hardened. “As far as suffering goes, let me put it this way. I had to flee from Freetown as fast as my legs could carry me, plugging up my ears with blood so a certain psychotic bitch’s voice wouldn’t enslave me as utterly as I fear my sister has been, while being forced to leave a girl I really think I could have fallen in love with, behind. And I wasn’t able to do shit for her ,when my mom was fucking with her head, because I’m so damned vulnerable that my freedom lasts only for as long as I stay free of my mother’s clutches, and away from the bloody chains of obligation that I deny with every fiber of my being! Because I’m as human as I am anything else. And I’ll be damned if I let any mixed-blood ass-hattery deny me my birthright, the freedom to choose my own path through life, without any Sylvan chains of obligation tied to my soul!”
Sam winced, clearly sensing the pain in Eric’s voice. “Sorry, Eric. When you put it that way… yeah. It’s good to be born human. And free.” He flashed a smile filled with sudden hope. “Do you think maybe I might have a royal configuration, Eric?”
Eric shrugged, rubbing his brows, easing away the unexpected burst of frustration and the ache in his chest, a part of him so desperate to hold Rica close, protect her from all of life’s hardships and threats, and tell her that everything would be okay. But as it was, he could do nothing for her. Not until he grew stronger. Strong enough that he could meet even his mother’s gaze, and not flinch from his path.
So he took a deep breath, pushing aside painful regrets that would do him absolutely no good here and now, and focused on what mattered. Getting stronger, getting his friend stronger, and enjoying every step of his transformation along the way.
Eric forced a smile, as if his eyes weren’t stinging with tears, ignoring the look of pained sympathy in Samuel’s gaze. “Who knows? There are three other configurations in there. Including one for Dragons. Any of them will make you a full-blooded cultivator. And from what the book implies, anyone with even a few intact nodes can make at least some headway as basic cultivators. But only those with complete configurations will be able to take advantage of those charts. Everyone else needs a master who knows what the hell they’re doing.”
Sam sighed. “Charts that are allowing you to do in a handful of days what might take anyone else months or years.”
Eric winked. “Damn right. But a hell of a lot of that is thanks to my Fire Essence being absolutely perfect for burning through blockages, as well as tapping into all of my stored potency.”
Sam’s eyes widened at this. “Wait, you’re able to use your stored experience points to help you cycle? So you’re basically multi-class now, able to level up as a Conscript and a Cultivator?”
Eric laughed. “Well, let me put it this way. My level 9 experience pool is down by a full third after my latest cycling session, and I’m on the cusp of Rank 3 cultivation. So… yeah, that and my Fire Essence are allowing me to bypass the number one deterrent from becoming a skilled cultivator.”
“And what’s that?”
Eric gazed intently at his friend. “Time. Let’s be real, Sam. There’s a hell of a lot going on in the world we left behind. Alien invaders are consolidating their power while empires that are completely inimical to humanity’s long-term best interests are being formed. And you’d damn well better believe that the most powerful players are getting stronger with every passing month.”
Sam winced and shook his head. “Shit. You’re right. It really is a race, isn’t it?”
Eric nodded. “Not that that means we have to play the fool and miss out on a golden opportunity. But we certainly don’t have limitless time to waste here. A handful of weeks, though? Sure. I’ll even spend a couple of months here, if I’m making steady progress. Especially if there’s any chance that I can actually clear my meridians completely and claim some of that priceless fruit hanging so tantalizingly in the peach grove stretching as far as the eye can see. But when weeks turn to a season or more, if the time I have to spend recovering between breakthroughs stretches too long, we’re going to have to make some hard choices. You know that, right?”
Eric grinned at his friend’s trouble expression as he stepped out of the pool, still dressed in rawhide shorts. “Alright, enough brooding about shit we won’t have to worry about for weeks or months. It’s time to change into our sparring uniforms. Because if there’s one thing all the wuxia novels got right, it’s that working out is the perfect accompaniment to hours of meditation. Keeps the blood and lymphatic fluids flowing, while cleansing additional impurities from our bodies.”
Sam nodded. “Not to mention keeping us fit and able to defend ourselves, because what kind of cultivator can’t fight?”
Eric laughed. “Exactly. So get your sparring sticks, and let me see if your saber work’s improved since the last time we practiced.”
And much to Eric’s satisfaction, Sam had indeed improved, his slender form moving with unexpected grace as his parries flowed smoothly into cross-cuts and well-practiced lunges.
It was clear that Sam had been practicing, now holding the hilt of his practice blade with a familiarity that only came after hours of drills and repetition. And even if he still lacked the ability to feel Eric’s blade in the bind, that would be gained with practice with a willing opponent, not through the daily training drills Sam had taken to like a fish to water, eager to learn all he could.
Eric was also pleased to see that Sam’s handling of the spear had improved just as much, readily taking to striking the bundled leather balls of beast-hide that Eric would gently toss his way, only occasionally having to correct balance and posture, assuring that his young friend was striking his targets with both accuracy and power, as well as quickly recovering, his feet carefully placed so as to be able to quickly step forward with a lunge, or dart back from an aggressive opponent’s blows.
Eric gave a satisfied nod after they practiced slowly winding and binding the staves of their training spears together, happy that the fallen mercenaries who had gotten Sam to safety had at least left sufficient weapons and armor behind for Eric to teach his young friend lessons that might save his life one day, as well as giving Eric a pleasant distraction, often feeling more like a big brother than a mentor, happy to teach an enthusiastic Sam all he could.
Much to his credit, Sam’s enthusiastic grin hardly waned at all as one hour turned to two, the young man now covered in sweat and panting after each exchange, even as their rest breaks increased.
“Jeezus, Eric! No matter what I do, your spear’s always just where it needs to be to force mine off-line. You’re always darting back an inch past where my blade would hit, and you don’t have a single drop of sweat on you. Just how strong are you?”
Eric grinned at the panting youth who looked ready to keel over in exhaustion, while keeping an eagle eye, as always, for any loose rocks or dirt that could be a tripping hazard, having insisted that Sam change into one of the shirts of mail and padded gear worn by one of his unfortunate bodyguards as a condition for practicing with combat-ready weapons.
“Let me put it this way. My stats are high enough that I don’t mind training with live steel, so long as you’re armored. Because real fencing involves sharp blades, and unlike HEMA sparring gear, sword edges bite into opposing blades and shields. They don’t slide off. And if you’re really good, you can learn the knack of twisting your blade so you can slip past your foe’s sword, or keep the edge on your opponent’s blade and force him to back off and disengage before he can riposte.”
Sam frowned thoughtfully at the saber in his hands, light enough that it could be used almost like a spadroon, with only a slight curve, excellent for quick ripostes and thrusts. “You’re right. When we’re winding and binding our blades… there really is a bite. It’s not like slipping a wooden stick past your friend’s. Our blades really do, well, bite into one another.”
Eric grinned, holding up one of the fallen guard’s bucklers. “And you’ve noted how the point of your saber does stick to even the steel boss of my buckler. It doesn’t slide off like a blunt stick will. In short, you’re learning what it means to really fence, which might give you the edge you need to survive, if you’re actually stupid enough to let yourself get talked into a duel favoring blades, when you’re so clearly trained as an arcane specialist.”
Sam grinned. “Good point. And that sounds exactly like something grandfather would say, having grown up in an era of dueling. The only way a rival’s words have power over you is if you let them. You can laugh off his insults and ignore his challenges if you have the right grace and air, especially if you can convince the crowd to view your would-be opponent as a fool. But even if his wit is sharper, and the crowd is mocking your refusal, that’s all the more reason to leave with grace. Because no matter how much a sharp insult stings, it’s nothing compared to a sword-point to the heart.”
Eric nodded. “In this day and age, best to walk about the city with a second, a friend you trust to have your back, and if trouble comes, retreat gracefully, ready for anything. But yes. Don’t let yourself be goaded into a duel you don’t already know you can win. And if you do get into a fight...” Eric’s gaze hardened. “You don’t hold back. You fight to kill, no matter how much you pity them. Because sure as shit, they’ll be fighting to kill you, and the compassion that might serve your future loved one’s well, as a father and a provider, will only lead you to an early grave, if you waste it on a hotblooded stranger eager for your death.”
Sam winced as he stepped back and saluted Eric with his blade, their sparring match at an end. “Shit, you’re right, Eric. This is real life, not a movie. Here, heroism can get you killed. If you’re not a ruthless savage fighting to kill, you have no business fighting at all.”
Eric smiled. “That’s one thing I like about you, Sam. You get it. All this sparring practice we’re doing is great for health, opening class opportunities and leveling up skills. But when push comes to shove, the wise man does everything he can to avoid getting into fights. But if he does...he fights with everything he has, and he fights to kill. And whatever regrets he might have the next day, at least he’s alive to have them.”
Sam nodded. “Good point. Is that why you’re only focused on teaching me saber and spear?”
Eric blinked, not sure he understood the question. “As opposed to...”
“Martial arts!” Said a suddenly enthusiastic Sam. “Like a proper cultivator!”
Eric smirked. “Saber and spear are most definitely martial arts, Sam.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like kung fu, is it? No spinning heal kicks, shin strikes, or knee bombs.”
Eric laughed. “There’s a very good reason why I’m not teaching you any of that, Sam.”
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t know any of that.”
His young friend gazed at him for long moments. “Seriously? Badass as you are, you don’t even know how to box?”
Eric shook his head. “Nope. Not if I’m completely unarmed. Now, if you asked if I was trained in fighting dirty with a saber, incorporating foots stomps, wrist locks, and elbow strikes before flipping my opponent on their ass when our blades were locked in the bind, then yes. My old mentor made damn sure I knew how to survive any fight with a blade in my hand. But as far as actual bare-knuckles fighting, or any formal training in kung fu, or boxing? Turns out that my learning practical self defense wasn’t so important to my fanatic trainers trying so damn hard to make me look good for one stupid movie.”
Eric flashed a bitter smile. “As if fighting, not acting, was what I needed to master. Never mind that in real life, well, I didn’t even carry a pocket knife when going out on the town with my mother and sister. So… yeah, I don’t even how to properly guard myself against a street tough or another boxer. I only ever practiced one realistic punch for one movie scene. And whenever I asked my mentor about really learning unarmed fighting, he kept saying there was no need for me to learn anything that didn’t include an actual weapon in my hand.”
Sam’s look was oddly pitying. “Seriously? So if you were just a kid walking to school and a couple of upperclassmen assholes decided you looked like easy meat, because in real life kids don’t go to class with a sword at their hips… you wouldn’t have the first clue as to what to do that didn’t involve cutting their throats with live steel.”
Eric winced. “Yeah, that does sound kind of messed up, doesn’t it?”
The boy shook his head. “I think your old mentors did you a disservice, Eric. I mean, even I learned how to box in high school. Kept at it seriously even during summer break, with dreams of becoming the next Ali.” He chuckled bitterly. “Then the world ended right after my Sophomore year, and thank god my grandfather is such a badass, or my entire clan would probably be begging for scraps like so many others, assuming we made it at all.”
Eric gazed at his young friend for long moments. “Teach me?”
Sam blinked. “Seriously?”
Eric nodded. “One hundred percent.”
Sam gazed at his friend thoughtfully for long moments, a brilliant smile blooming across his features as he nodded. “Damn right I will. It would help if we had a punching bag, but I can still teach you the basics and...” His eyes widened when Eric summoned a massive slab of hide-covered boar meat upon a frame of bone that appeared against the wall, just a few feet away.
