Battleforged
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Chapter 27 - The Perils of Training
🕑 Added 2022-05-09 06:14:15 +0000 UTC“You sure about this, Eric?" Asked Drake, rubbing his eyes and cracking a yawn, holding a pair of unsharpened bardiche. The shorter, heavier ones that were more like a cross between battle axe and nagamaki than anything else, most of their curved blades backed by a wooden haft that technically made them bardiche polearms as far as the System was concerned, and not the cleaving war-swords Eric already thought of them as. "You were plumb tuckered out in the spare bedroom, just fifteen minutes ago. And the fact that you were actually hitting the weights last night?" He gave an approving shake of his head. "You're a madman. It hasn't even been twelve hours. You sure your muscles aren't sore?"
Eric grinned. “I’m feeling right as rain, my friend!” And he was. 20 Vitality and a lot of experience meant he could do a dozen sets of three reps at max weight, and be 95% recovered just seconds later. And he could do that for every machine in the exceptionally laid out gym in the basement of this wonder of a mansion, nothing like the clapboard construction of most of the town.
Even so, to lock in his growth and fully recharge his mind, he still needed 4 hours of rest. Though he wondered if this too might be lowered as his stats continued to improve. At least it was rest he now found he could alternate with a bit of meditation. And he had, in fact, been resting from his second workout happening in the dead of night, which had earned a glare from a bleary-eyed Morlekai before his stare turned to a hard grin. "At least someone around here takes training seriously," he had said, before stumbling back to bed.
As had Eric shortly thereafter, now with every intention of hitting the weights yet again, once he had absorbed everything he could about what he now officially termed his battle blade in the next few hours before crashing into slumber and doing it all again… four hours later.
Because with strength gains now something he could actually see in his interface, the 4% increase he had already earned in strength, in just 8 hours, filled him with a fire to do all he could, and learn all he could, in this brief halcyon window where both blacksmith and leatherworker were using class perks to design them sweet sets of armor before they dared their first dungeon. Which was pretty damn important, Eric thought, perilous as he feared their venture would be.
Drake grinned. “You’re like a freshman determined to prove himself and go pro. Few ever do, but the smart ones take that fire and use it to blaze themselves a trail for the fucking stars.” He gave a satisfied nod, twirling his sleek, deadly-looking toy, before pointing at its twin in Eric’s hands.
“Now remember, we’re not sparring with these. Because even fully armored, even with these training suckers being perfectly blunt, we do not fuck around with heavy, two-handed polearms." Drake flashed a conciliatory smile. “We have properly shaped wooden staves with nice thick, hard rubber blades for that. Sure as fuck, that won't do much to teach you about feeling out your opponent in the bind, because razor-sharp blades really do bite into one another, but these aren't fencing swords, and we'll get enough sparring with the practice ones. Understand?"
Eric nodded. “You’re going to go over the basic katas, or forms, that John Smith developed for his favorite toys, since that dude was actually all about the Renaissance Fair and HEMA. As if I couldn’t figure that much out, just by looking at him.”
Drake grinned. "No fucking surprise that he was into all that historical reenactment shit. Why the hell else would he hobby as a classically trained blacksmith? And thank god he did, or we'd all be well and truly fucked."
Eric nodded in wholehearted agreement.
“Alright, now. First are the basic swings. I’ll do it slowly. Tell me if something doesn’t make sense.”
And in very short order, Eric was following Drake's series of cuts, first a slow draw cut from left hip to right shoulder, then twirling it to repeat the maneuver from right to left, then a pair of sweeping slashes carving out an invisible 'X' in the air. The slow, fluid movements soon turned into a lazy series of moulinets, deceptive in their simplicity.
A frustrated Eric earned any number of smiles from Alice, now quietly observing them outside the house with a cigarette in her hand and a beaming smile on a face that would have made any movie she graced millions on her looks alone. “Good morning, Boy Scout. Try not to cut your head off,” she said with a wink after he just barely avoided fumbling the blade.
She chuckled throatily before blowing him a kiss and heading back inside.
"Girl's a tease, I know." Drake smiled good-naturedly. "But don't let it get to you. Swinging this badboy is nothing like a saber. Hell, I snuck a peek at Morlekai trying it out a time or two, before he went back to saber, which is far more his thing. Let’s just say he only bothers with the glaive bardiche that’s basically a spear, these days. Now he won’t even touch this weed-whacker…” The larger man’s words died off as he furrowed his brow, taking a closer look at Eric’s form before slowly nodding his head.
"Shit, I think you're actually getting the hang of the basic kata, kid."
Eric smiled, appreciating the kind words, but he wasn’t sure that he agreed. Not yet. Not when he was just barely imitating Drake’s movements. Yet right now, they were empty. Unbalanced. Powerless. He needed to feel all his muscles flowing with his weapon at just the right moments, in just the right pattern, such that he was truly in tune with his war blade. So that the massive curved bar of wood and steel in his hands cleaved through the air with a killing intent none would take lightly, and he too could hear the whistle of its swing as he whipped it about for a Zwerch cut before weaving to the side and then exploding forward off his backfoot for a killing thrust executed with such power that the blunt curved blade nearly knocked over his weighted pell before he leaped back and began pummeling his poor, battered pell with what would have been a deadly barrage cross-cutting moulinets.
Then repeating the maneuver, over and over again, while ignoring the increasingly incomprehensible looks Drake, and soon everyone else at the house, was giving him. Until at long last, after what felt like hours of being lost in a zone only 20 Vitality allowed him to keep up, it all finally began to click.
Experience with multiple cleaving instruments detected. Heightened Finesse check made. Maximum potency to skill rank conversion in effect! You’ve clearly practiced with far more than sabers and bayonets with your mothers’ sworn henchmen, and it shows!
Congratulations! Bardiche (war blade variant) has been fully incorporated at Rank 5 proficiency!
Eric took a deep breath as his panting immediately faded, that glorious burn fading away in seconds, smiling at his wide-eyed, and in one case, furiously scowling future partners in crime.
"Fucking sweet. Thanks, Drake. Now, if you all would excuse me? I gotta hit the weights and crash. My brain is fried." He immediately summoned forth a stick of crispy fried rat stick of pure deliciousness before looking Morlekai's way. "Everything okay?"
“No way he’s looking all zoned out like Jack Jaggerson before the main fucking fight. This kid’s a clown!” Louie said.
Alice chuckled softly.
Morlekai just smiled. “You locked in the skill, didn’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
Eric grinned. “Damn right I did.”
“What rank?”
“Rank 5.”
“No fucking way!” Louie snapped, his half-mocking grin of moments before replaced by genuine ire. “I had to bust my ass for weeks to finally hit Rank 5, and no mortal guard’s even come close to matching us, since we helped set up this little slice of fucking heaven!”
“That's right, you did," Morlekai noted. "And we both know mortal measuring sticks no longer apply to us. Not completely. More to the point, when was the last time you actually spent 3 hours going over basic techniques or practicing your cuts?"
“I’ve been clearing the tunnels with you and my girl every day that she isn’t running the freedom trail,” he said defensively.
“And doing a damn fine job of backing us up,” Morlekai acknowledged. “Now you’re level seven. Strong as an ox with 19 Strength. But decapitating a few hunting cats and centipedes isn’t the same thing as daily training, and you know it.”
Eric smiled and left them to it, but decided to forgo the weights, just this once, instead heading toward the lake and squatting near one of the gardens to take in the smells of a soothing bed of roses and wisteria, after smiling at a rather cute-looking girl presently singing to crops that actually seemed to be growing toward her graceful form.
He kept his benign smile firmly in place even after her surprised flinch before giving him a cautious nod in return, Eric quickly doing his best to push away all recollections of prettily made-up girls at countless premier-sponsored parties so eager to get to know him, less than a year ago. Pushing aside as well the still blisteringly vivid memory of orcish firepits, emptying his mind as best he could while settling into a cross-legged pose beside the flower bed. Only then did he begin to meditate on what truly mattered.
Absolute mastery of all the skills that would make him a warrior to be feared on the battlefield Earth had become.
It was a promise he made, right then and there, to himself.
And it was a promise he intended to keep.
What that meant today was taking the time to meditate after his breakthrough to Rank 5 in a brand new skill. Never mind the absurd leap it was, all that mattered right then was doing his best to recall exactly how it felt, each moment he had truly felt in tune with that war blade, like he was one with the weapon in his hand.
Not an easy feat, as out of the hundreds of draw cuts and sweeping slashes he had delivered, there were precious few times when he had sensed his war bardiche arcing through the air with that perfect mix of momentum, power, and control that was a warrior’s ideal, his whole body in tune with his weapon.
He didn't even know how much time had passed when he finally opened his eyes, sat back up, and stretched muscles he suspected never needed to be stretched again, but that he always would, before heading back to the mansion.
He turned around to nod his thanks to whoever was tending the garden, but the lakeside was empty of everyone except him.
Which worked out perfectly, he supposed, pulling out his training pel once more and securing the entirety of his cured rat pelt collection on his battered looking pell before pulling out one of his pair of exquisitely sharpened masterwork cleaving bardiches that really did radiate a sense of solidity and sharpness even more potent than what Eric had sensed from Sam the guard’s bardiche.
He gave a satisfied smile at how easily the edge bit into his thumbnail before taking a deep breath, focusing, and practicing the same series of attacks just as he had when he was at the cusp of an epiphany.
Only now he was embracing both draw cuts, arcing slashes, and powerful lunges with a sharpened blade against an actual target.
Much to his chagrin, he found that most of his supposed revelations had been crap, the blade hitting at awkward angles, once twisting completely out of his grip such that he just knew Louie would have laughed his head off, had he seen such an abysmal performance.
Clearly a few intense training sessions were nowhere near enough, no matter how intently he had focused, or how many hours he had gone over the movements, in both body and mind.
Over 75% of his cuts had been absolutely abysmal.
But the remaining quarter? Those slashes, most especially his sweeping draw cuts, were already slicing deeper and more savagely into his hide-covered pelt than his saber ever had.
Still, he knew he had a hell of a long ways to go, and Drake hadn’t even finished teaching him the basics, let alone practice randori or any sort of sparring. Which was why he was more than a little surprised when the latest interface notification popped up in his mind’s eye.
Congratulations! Bardiche (war blade variant) Has reached Rank 6!
This time, before giving in to ever-growing fatigue, he managed to hit the basement weights before finally calling it a night, and he absolutely couldn't wait to continue his lessons with the good-natured and only mildly roguish Drake in the morning.
So of course it was a smirking Louie, with Alice stretching catlike beside him, rapier in hand, who hammered on his door the next day.
"I need 30 more minutes for maximum benefit. Let me get back to sleep, fuckers!" Eric groaned, which was of course just the worst thing to say when Louie chuckled, throwing a full set of the steel-covered PVC Storm Trooper armor at his head.
“Fuck! That’s 50 pounds of steel you’re dumping on my ass!”
“So suit up, pretty boy,” Louie said far too cheerfully. “My girl here will check your straps, and if you get fresh with her, you’ll damn well pay for it later.”
Eric proceeded to do so, cracking a yawn as he secured the chin strap, surprised to find it actually comfortable to wear, at least with the padding.
“This actually fits," he said, getting off the queen-sized four poster bed that was as comfortable as 500-thread count cotton sheets and a foam covered mattress would allow, a sharp contrast to the hardwood planks covered with a Y-Mart throw rug and the school desk besides the coke bottle window overlooking the lake and the gym style locker that served as his closet, salvaged from somewhere, now tucked into the far corner of the room.
Post-apocalyptic splendor at its best, he thought with a bemused smile.
“Damn, this armor doesn’t feel half bad.”
“Of course not,” Alice said, her husky voice sending unwanted tingles down his spine as she tightened a backstrap and nibbled his ear. “My man had a build very close to yours, not that long ago. Johnny-boy’s been keeping a careful measurement of how each 2 point increase in strength correlates to increased muscle mass. For you boys, anyway.”
Eric smirked. “No lifting for you?”
Alice had the grace to blush. “Yeah, I’ve kind of been slacking in that regard. Probably would help if I got back off these,” she said, shaking her head as she took a long drag from her cigarette.
Eric smirked. “Probably. But seriously, I thought all our interface enhanced bodies fully regenerated after 20 hours minus your Vitality, and you used to be an athlete, so… don’t your lungs clean out every day?”
“Do you know how hard it is to work out after you’ve had your first smoke and you’re already three sheets to the wind?” She snapped, before shaking her head. “Sorry, Eric. I just… after what happened, after seeing what those orcs did first-hand, hearing that little girl’s screams…”
She choked back a sob and looked away, visibly trembling once more. “I just can’t fucking start the day without a little bit of help, Eric. And I just can't bear to go to sleep if Louie isn't holding me so tight I can barely breathe. It's the only time I even feel safe! And thank fucking god Morlekai's got half a ton of weed and more booze than you can shake a fucking stick at."
She flashed a sad little smile that pulled at Eric’s heart. “Do you know what the best thing about being an adventurer is, Eric?”
Eric grinned. “Being able to blast the fuck out of things with magic?”
Her eyes positively twinkled. "You know what? That's true. But a close second is that I can abuse my body like the self-destructive little bitch that I am, and just like you said, I'll heal up after a good ten hours of blissful unconsciousness. No early crow's-feet or wrinkles, because my brother's got enough crows for all of us, ha ha. And no premature graying, aging, or a liver that a doctor would shudder at. I get a free fucking reset every day for everything, except the screams that won't stop echoing in my head."
She plopped on his bed and sighed, tears running from the most gloriously pretty eyes Eric had ever seen, despite her rueful chuckle and the brave smile that begged for a hug.
“And I know damn well that what I’m doing is fucked up. The me of two years ago would have sent my ass right back to rehab. But last I checked, my old therapist’s building is a smoking wreck, and Dr. Liz was screaming in a hell pit.” She shuddered, eyes wide with remembered horror that Eric understood all too well. “But at least I’m still here, Eric. At least I’m putting one fucking foot in front of the other. So what’s a little smoke between friends, right?”
And just like that, the vulnerable girl who so looked to be in desperate need of comfort was replaced by the countenance of a hardcore adventurer. “But don’t you dare get it twisted, Eric. When we’re out in the corridors, when push comes to shove, I’m always stone cold sober. And when we go hunting, I push my Mana Pool to the absolute fucking limit. It might not be a fucking bicep curl, but I sure as shit work that mental muscle out.”
Eric bowed his head. “I hear you, Alice. And I’ll be glad to have you at my back when we go out together.”
She smirked and nodded as sparks crackled at the tip of her oak wand. “Damn right you will. Now come on! My man’s in an instructing mood, and I’m eager to see wonder-boy get put in his place.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Eric said, earning a smirk in turn.
And before he knew it, he was standing at the opposite side of a twenty-foot diameter sparring circle, wielding a rubber-headed bardiche in hand that mirrored the weight and balance of the original glaive-like version surprisingly well. He gazed pointedly at his would-be instructor, Louie's smile being just a bit too wide for Eric's comfort.
“I owe you big time for saving my life, kid. So I’m going to teach you the best way I know how.”
“By beating the crap out of me till I finally get whatever you're going to teach me, right?" Eric quipped, already knowing where this was going, at least earning a dark chuckle.
“Exactly! First things first. Basic thrusting attacks and counters.”
Louie then went through a lightning-fast series of lunges and stances involving high, mid, and low guards that Eric, with a smile, mirrored perfectly, since the man was effectively showing him basic and mid-tier spear techniques.
Louie nodded. “Good. You know some of the basics. Now, for the fun part.” He then mimed countering by slide stepping and shifting his hips, hands sliding into a wide grip on a shaft now held almost like a quarterstaff, clearly miming using the central part of the shaft to force an opponent’s thrust off line, before pivoting his hips and swinging his weapon like a scythe in what would have been a devastating slash with the edged part of the polearm.
Eric gave a slow, thoughtful nod, doing his best to get the feel of it. Not winding and binding his thrusting spear around another before forcing it aside and thrusting in turn, like his mentor had taught, but sliding his hands wide apart for maximum leverage as he forced his foe’s weapon head to the side before windmilling his weapon around for what would have been a devastating chop.
He frowned as the bardiche head smacked into the ground, not yet having a technique for a quick recovery where the weapon's inertia would effortlessly flow from one movement to the next, but Louie just grinned.
“Excellent! Looks like you know what you’re doing already, Eric. You’re clearly a fucking natural! Now let’s go at it, yeah?”
Heart hammering with a certain amount of exhilaration, Eric couldn’t help but grin and nod, eager to see how well his spear skills would manage against an opponent who clearly wouldn’t hold back.
You have successfully avoided Debilitating Slash!
Stunning thrust has blown through your guard!
Left kidney bruised!
Your bardiche has been twisted free of your grip.
Right knee has been critically struck!
You have recovered.
“Time we called it quits, kid?” A smirking Louie offered, after Eric spent five minutes holding back a scream before, miraculously, ligaments mended and his kneecap slid back into place.
“Lou, what the fuck? You trying to cripple him?” Alice glared, taking an angry puff of her cigarette.
Louie waved her concerns away. “I didn’t hit him that fucking hard, did I kid?” he said, now peering hard at Eric.
Eric forced a smile and slowly got back to his feet. “Nah, I’m good, man. Come on. One more round. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Maybe.”
And after a few minutes intense sparring, where Eric embraced his own growing spear mastery to keep his opponent on the defensive, a surprised hook and wrench of his weapon with his opponent’s axe head was all it took to draw their contest to its inevitable conclusion.
Your bardiche has been forced off-line.
You have been struck in the neck!
You have saved versus critical injury.
You are stunned!
"Louie! What the fuck! If you kill that poor kid, you hot-headed fuck, I'll fucking… you better not have!" Alice screamed, and Louie yelled something back, and before a dazed Eric knew it, his helmet was being taken off, his chest plate straps all but torn off, Drake roaring in Louie’s face, his normally easy-going features twisted in a mask of cold fury.
“What the fuck, Louie! He saves your fucking neck, and you repay him by breaking his? Just because Alice had the hots for him for two fucking seconds? You owe him, you shithead! You fucking know that! What the hell are you doing striking his neck like that? You have a 19 fucking Strength!”
“I know that, asshole!” Louie snapped back. “You think it was intentional? Fuck, man, I wanted to show the kid up, yeah, but I was teaching him! Not letting him wack a pad of rat pelts and think he was actually learning something. With me putting him on the ground, he was finally beginning to block and counter the way he fucking should, far faster than you picked it up! Then he slips into a fucking predictable spear fighter’s pattern, and one little rap and… fuck it, it was instinct, man, what the hell!”
“You’re such a stupid shit!” Drake snarled. “You’re fucking lucky his hearts still beating, Asshole! But if I have to give this poor stupid fucked up kid CPR for twelve fucking hours til his body resets and his neck...”
His words abruptly cut off and he lurched back with a hiss. “What the fuck?”
Because Eric was already wheezing for breath before stumbling back to his feet, coughing and spitting up a glob of something he didn’t want to think about, shaking his head, feeling only dizzy for a second and totally not expecting a sobbing Alice to knock him back over, smelling way too much of cognac, tobacco, and a frightened girl’s anxiety. “Oh fuck, Eric. I thought you were dead. Shit!” She laughed through her tears. “That would have been just too messed up! I nearly killed my man, he nearly killed you, after you saved both our lives...”
And just like that, a sudden tension filled the air. Eric squinted as the last of his splitting headache left him. “What did you say, Alice?” Morlekai asked, startling the shit out of Eric when he appeared like a specter out of nowhere.
"Eric, fuck, thank god you're okay!" said a relieved Drake, his brows then furrowing. “But your neck was fucking...” he shook his head. “You’re okay now, right?”
Eric quickly nodded, thankful once more for his twenty Vitality. Pretty sure he hadn’t actually broken his neck, but pointedly not looking at the combat logs.
“So, we ready for another round?” he said to a stunned Louie, who shook his head in bemused disbelief.
“Shit, are you serious?” the bruiser asked.
But Eric’s eyes were drawn to Morlekai’s implacable gaze.
“My sister said you saved her life. Is this true?”
Eric forced himself to shrug, suppressing a shiver. “I just happened to be in a position to give your sister a friendly nudge when a lizard was getting a bit too… frisky. And she more than paid me back by showing me the ropes in this town and helping me make your acquaintance. As far as I’m concerned, we’re square,” he carefully said.
But Morlekai just shook his head. "No, we're not." He then turned around and headed back inside.
“Well fuck,” Drake said with a sigh. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
Eric’s gut twinged. “Okay, what’s up with this foreboding atmosphere?”
Alice shook her head and sighed. “Sorry, Alex. It’s just that, well...” She swallowed, starting over. “He doesn’t like owing anyone anything. Ever. And a blood debt is something he takes very, very seriously.”
Eric blinked. “So he’s angry that I saved your life?”
She shook her head. “No, Eric. It’s just that now he feels a debt, and he will do whatever it takes to pay it.”
"Bet he's going to be more prickly than ever," Drake snarked. "And not even using old Timbo as monster chum is going to soothe his mood now."
Alice clenched her jaw. “What the fuck. He was mine to handle, Drake.”
Louie shook his head. “No, babe. You’re his sister, and you’re my future wife. No man gets to point a crossbow at you and smile the way we both know he did. Not without paying the price. Because I think you were right. I think he was fantasizing about having his way with you before cutting your throat. And had he not been just a bit afraid he couldn’t take you and boy scout here at the same time...” He slowly shook his head, even as Alice flushed and smiled.
“You… you really want to marry me? Even fucked up as I am?”
Louie chuckled softly, wrapping her up in his arms. “You know I do, babe. Fucked up as this world is, we’ll just have to take it one day at a time.”
Eric blinked, then shook his head. “Wow. You guys really like to go full Soprano, don’t you?”
Drake blinked, then burst out laughing. “Fuck yeah, I guess we do! Old Louigi Soprano and his gang. Series kept me fucking sane when I was doing just a little bit of time, not that long ago.”
“Before my brother got you out,” Alice said from Louie’s protective embrace.
Drake grinned. “Damn right. No one’s better at that than Morlekai. That’s for damned sure.”
Eric sighed and cracked his neck, before rekitting in his own armor without any broken straps, summoning an actual sharp spear bardiche and his rawhide covered pel, and going over the basic strikes Loiuse had shown him.
Because even if his sense of counters and timing left a lot to be desired, at least he could get a handle on the basic swings.
"Eric, what the fuck are you doing? Asked Alice, gazing at him in disbelief when Eric did his best to mirror earlier stances, strikes, and counters, frowning in irritation whenever his weapon failed to move as he had expected, or chopped into the pel other than the way he wanted.
He paused, gazing at the trio looking back to him. “What does it look like?”
Alice’s gaze was deadpan. “It looks like my lover broke your neck, and two minutes later, with the weight of my brother’s doom upon you, you decided to start training again?”
Eric nodded. “Exactly. And since Louie clearly has better things to do right now than train my annoying ass, I’ll do my best to actually be a worthy opponent, the next time we spar.”
He then began practicing everything Louie had shown him earlier from the top once more.
The pair of bruisers shared a look. “Seriously?”
Drake shrugged. "Seems like it." He flashed an approving smile. "I definitely like this kid. We're sparring tomorrow, Eric. And you and me will be using the manly bardiche. We'll leave the too long and skinny to Louie.” He then chuckled and made his way past the lake and through the field used for grazing, gardening, and farming, that separated their little manor from the rest of the town.
Eric grinned. “I think I like that cat. So, where’s he going?”
“Not that it’s any business of yours,” Louie snorted. “But it seems a certain group of former sorority girls he singlehandedly pulled from a collapsing house have all declared him their patron saint, and they prove it as often as he’ll let them. And the way he shares his take with them, keeping them all fed and happy, two of them have already declared him their husband, and he just smiles."
Eric blinked. “No shit.”
Alice grinned. "Next time, you should go with him. Drake's not the jealous type, and Lisa already made it clear she thinks your scars are kinda badass.”
This earned an uncomfortable wince. “Yeah… I think I’ll pass for now.”
“Suit yourself," Louie said, before looking intently Eric's way. "You sure you're okay, kid? Not gonna fucking collapse the minute we go back inside, and next thing you know, Morlekai's furious when we're burying your corpse?"
Eric laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen.”
Alice smirked. “Good. Then if you’ll excuse us...”
But Eric was already striking his pel once more, visualizing so clearly the twist and strike that could so easily have killed him. Visualizing it until memory became mastery as his arms flowed through the motions and Eric was able to emulate every one of Louie’s sweeping strikes and twisting counters, until he finally got the message he had been anxiously awaiting for hours.
Experience with multiple cleaving instruments detected. Journeyman spear status fully incorporated. Heightened Finesse check made. Maximum potency to skill rank conversion in effect!
Congratulations! You have successfully quantized Bardiche (Glaive Variant) at Rank 5!
