Becca Little was an angry woman. She had, at one point, many good and valid reasons to be angry and was happy to share all of said reasons with you, personally. And this had suited her well all through her young life.

But Evert Kallstrom was a terrifying man. And, like a force of nature, it seemed that Becca had no say in the matter whether he entered her life. And, just like that, he had smothered Becca’s anger.

It had all started when she went to meet Reginald at the Prancing Pig. He had been promising for a week that he would get a team of F-rankers together to go hunt for F-ranked beasts. Master Wong would not approve but damn him if he expected her to earn marks through some mundane job. She was a spiritualist, damn it, and she was going to kill some beasts.

Of course, G-ranked beasts earned next to nothing even if you took them single-handedly. And while a F-ranked beast split among a party wasn’t great, take out four or five in a day, and you might just walk home with a hundred marks in your pocket. Of course, that only happened if your “fearless leader” actually got together a party to go hunting.

Which was why Rebecca was sitting at a table at the Prancing Pig with two of his “brothers,” sipping water, and listening—or not—to him inanely try to explain why they hadn’t been able to go hunting this morning, and wouldn’t be able to for the next week. And, apparently, the beauty benefits of drinking ale all day. And why it would be mutually beneficial if certain parties in interest were told that Becca and Reginald were an item.

“Reggie,” Becca said softly, which was never a good sign for anyone who actually knew Becca, “I know your mother. She’s a sweet lady, and always gave us baked goods whenever we passed by. And she was a fantastic spiritualist. She was E-ranked before you were born, and the list of beasts she killed single-handedly would put some D-rankers to shame.” She sipped at her water again, before slamming her mug on the table, standing up, and raising her voice.

“Which is why, I think you ought to know something. That you are a coward who is unwilling to get out there to do what needs to be done! And thatten’ ya mother would be ashamed of you,” her accent was slipping through her anger. “If you’ve got the business, then I wanna hear it. I didn’t come here for a… social venture,” she finished, growling the last two words.

“Hey babe,” Reggie replied, “I just wanted to buy you some drinks and get to know you better. We can’t go into this without knowing who we’re dealing with, if you know what I mean.”

“If you get handsy with me,” though frankly Becca would take any reason, “I won’t be to blame if I break your face.”

“Oh, you mean like this,” Reggie said, and then tripped her and tried to pull her into his lap. Oh, I am so going to break his nose if I land in his lap.

Though the next thing Becca knew, someone was politely rebalancing her with a hand on her right elbow, and gripping Reggie’s forearm hard enough to leave a mark. “If the lady asks to be left alone, you should leave her alone,” Mystery Man said. Mystery Man was—for lack of a better description—wearing the most outrageous outfit Becca had ever seen in the City. The brown duster was pretty standard, but he was wearing white vambraces over the duster’s sleeves. Underneath, he had a white vest over a blue uniform, and he was wearing this ridiculously large hat with this ring of white fur around it.

Reggie, for all the worthless sack of shit he was, had at least enough sense to stand up and look Mystery Man in the face for his intervention. Becca watched Mystery Man look down on Reggie’s banal attempt at—no, wait, Reggie was actually taller than Mystery Man. How does he do that?

Suddenly remembering her pride, Becca butted back in on the dick-waving contest, “Hey! I can handle myself, thank you very much.”

Mystery Man looked at her like a life-long friend—wait, what?—and said “And you very well could handle all three of them,” he said, indicating the table, “and with just a scrape or two. But what about that fourth guy when he hits you from behind,” he said, pointing back towards the door.

There was, indeed a man leaning against the wall there sipping a pint looking at the group intently. And he did seem to look like one of Reggie’s “brothers.” Becca glanced back at Mystery Man, before looking at the doorman again to see if she was missing anything, and Uh shit. That could have gone poorly. Oh, wait, proper language.

“Yes, that might have been a bit of trouble,” and then, suddenly remembering whose fault this all was, she whirled back on Reginald, “So, fuck you Reggie,” ha ha, he hates that. Grabbing Mystery Man by the elbow, “Come on weirdo,” she dragged him back to the bar because she needed a fucking beer and fuck Reginald.

Conveniently, Mystery Man had a nigh-untouched ale, and some snacks, and since he was only slightly less at fault than Reginald, Becca felt perfectly justified drinking his beer and eating his food.

Mystery Man was surprisingly quiet at this point considering he literally leaped into what was only a few seconds away from being a bar brawl. What bravado he had was gone at this point. But getting a good look at him, Becca had a hard time gauging his age. On the one hand, he seemed strong and confident enough for him to be in his early 20s. On the other, he was so smooth-faced and, so far, surprisingly awkward, which suggested a younger age. On the other hand, his eyes… actually Becca wasn’t really sure what was in his eyes.

That said, if jumping into a potential fight like that didn’t count as a point towards him being an idiot, the fact that he was staring at her would also count. That said, she astutely avoided noticing the fact that he was staring at her, and waited for him to stop and apologize. She checked every few seconds just in case, but he clearly was an idiot. Maybe this should count for two points. Or maybe just an extra point for failing to know how to start a conversation with a lady, and since he more or less rescued me—probably less—double points for the easy play. Damned, Becca hated starting social things. Time to dig into Dad’s playbook.

“So, you got a name here,” she asked Mystery Man as nonchalantly as possible.

“Evert. Evert Kallstrom,” Great! Good strong name. Not a pansy. “And you are?”

Oh god, creepy face. “None of your damn business.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“Ugh!” Becca grunted. Men! No Becca, remember what Ma said. Men are just dumb, whether or not you’re actually pretty. “Rebecca Little. Re-beck-ah. Don’t forget the Re or I will beat you harder than Reggie.” Oh fuck, was that an entendre? Did Mystery Man think Reggie was a spurned lover? I mean, spurned yes, but never a lover, and he definitely deserved that.

“You didn’t beat him at all.” Yes! Not an entendre. Wait, but did he insult me? Bastard.

“Figyah of speech,” she replied ‘daintily.’ “I am way out of his league.”

“I didn’t take you for the dating type,” Mystery Man replied.

What the fuck! Who the hell says that to any woman! I think I was up to seven points for Mystery Man being an idiot and this—

“Anyhow,” he continued, interupting her internal monologue, “I take it you focus on hand-to-hand, rather than any specific weapons.”

Ah right, spiritualist talk. This is safe, a safe space. Though… an odd shift in topic. “Yeees… what’s it to you?”

“I tend to prefer sword and staff myself,” Wait did he say and?, “but I’ve been looking for a partner for unarmed sparring.”

Hmm, I’m like 90% sure that this is not a poor attempt at asking me for a date. If it is, I will have to give him kudos for masking it really well, though also add another two points to the idiot tally for thinking that masking a date ask is a good idea. Wait, and he did say sword and staff. Rebuttal:

“You are an idiot. I thought it was just the clothing—I have no idea what you’re wearing—but you are definitely an idiot. Are you a farmer?”

“No, spiritualist,” he replied. Definitely an idiot. “Wait, why exactly am I an idiot.” Bingo!

“Ugh. Because it’s sword or staff, not sword and staff.”

“Ah, yes. That. Still, you interested?”

Well, at least I got a free meal and a beer out of this. Might as see where this goes.

“Well, conveniently, tomorrow suddenly freed up for me. And after today, I’m really going to need to punch something,” probably you. “So, sure, I can spar with you.”

“Great. I’ll meet you at the West Gate at morning bell then.” And with that, he left payment behind for the barkeep, and rushed out the door.

“Huh,” Becca mumbled to herself. “I think I like him.”

***

Maybe he likes men? Becca Little thought to herself as she walked outside the City towards the glade Evert used for training. This was the sixth of a series of improbable hypotheses she had come up with today to try and pin down Evert Kallstrom.

She was, quite frankly, half-inclined to start calling him Mystery Man again.

He was just so awkward whenever they talked or rested, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. She had already scratched out general teen awkwardness; he seemed too old, and in any event, it was the wrong flavor. And she had scratched out romantic awkwardness; she’d been around enough guys who didn’t know how to express romance, but this wasn’t it either.

If she had to put her finger on it, it was the awkwardness of dealing with a forgetful family member or friend. She remembered, when she was a child her, Memaw coming to live with them for a year before she died. Memaw was positively ancient as far as little Becca cared, and was suffering from forgetfulness. At first, it had been a burnt meal or laundry left in the rain, but soon Memaw was forgetting who Becca was and even who Ma was. In those last few months, Becca would come home to find Memaw knitting at the kitchen table, prattling on about someone’s marriage or kids from decades past, and asking the nice “young” lady—Ma—to pass her another toffee. Ma would just listen and nod appreciatively, with an inane comment or follow up question periodically. But, Becca could see in her eyes the bleak resignation of being treated like a stranger by her own mother and the awkwardness that she couldn’t start a conversation with Memaw as her daughter.

Why Evert would feel like that was beyond her. But, after a few days, it seemed to pass, or he got better at hiding it, and things were feeling chummy. Still weird though.

And let’s not even get started on his sparring. For a spiritualist who clearly was weapon-focused—she still wasn’t clear whether it was the staff or sword—he was way too good at unarmed sparring. Sure, he looked a few years older than her, but his movements were all wrong. Which was, to say, that they were far too perfect. It was like that one time Master Wong had given a demonstration spar with his former pupil who had become a captain in the Royal Guard. Actually, forgot the simile: Evert’s style was so like Master Wong’s it was unnerving.

Ugh, she mentally chided herself, got to deal with Master Wong. Money was getting tight again, her roommates were not terribly helpful, and she wanted to secure backup housing in case she couldn’t make the rent payment. While the timing of these sparring sessions with Evert was not great, they were frankly the highlight of every day for her, and so far they hadn’t actually interfered with Becca’s job—or lack thereof. She didn’t deign to give Reggie the time of day after that last incident, all the existing F-ranker parties she knew were full up or a brawler wasn’t a good fit for them, and putting together a full hunting party from scratch was surprisingly difficult.

Still, she thought, things have been going well with him.

***

In one moment, Becca was furious at herself that she had lost her temper again and sent a ki-infused kick at Evert’s temple.

In the next, Becca’s foot felt like it had connected with a boulder.

The unlikelihood of what happened caused Becca’s mind and body to freeze up. Becca’s form had been excellent, and so Becca was able to maintain perfect balance even on one leg. And so, while the actors froze, her foot remained connected with Evert’s skull.

When a glimpse of consciousness finally grabbed Becca’s attention, it turned her focus from her foot to Evert’s eyes and the mystery of what happened. Did I not channel any ki—

The largest spiritual pressure that Becca had ever felt knocked her backwards onto the ground. His ki enveloped him like a raging bonfire, and roared upwards in shades of blue and white. His ki howled in her ears, and a gale began to blow dirt around. He was standing now—whendidthathappen, her mind stuttered—and looking down at her as this raging inferno surrounded him.

And then, it cut off. In the ensuing silence, all Becca could hear was the hum of her blodd in her ears.

Evert looked up, then walked past her and away. His movement reminded her body that it too could move, and she rolled over on her hands and knees to throw up lunch. She could hear his feet shuffling through the grass, further and further away. Digging up what willpower she could, she looked up and tried to yell, “Who the hells are you?,” though it came out as more of a whimper. She wasn’t even sure he heard her, except that he stopped for a moment, then continued to walk away.

He was out of sight before another thought could even come to her, and she rolled over onto her side and curled up in a ball.

What was that?! That was incredible. I mean, she had felt spiritual pressure from the other F and G-ranked students, but those you had to be looking for in order to feel them. Master Wong was technically F-ranked now, but he still allegedly had a high E-ranked spirit, and he had demonstrated his spiritual pressure to them once, and it both made itself known and, made you want to sit down. She didn’t know what the spiritual pressure coming off of a D or C-ranked spiritualist was like. I mean, she thought she had felt it once like, from down the street, but she wasn’t in close proximity like that to Evert’s. Still, Evert’s spiritual pressure was easily ten times Master Wong’s. Has it a hundred times? Or more?! Who the hell is he??

Becca wasn’t sure how long she laid there, but when she got up, she had a new, but dry, stain on her pants. She crawled over to the stream, rinsed her mouth out, and slowly clambered to her feet and looked around.

He just left? Why would he do that after such a demonstration of power? Is this a test? His stuff is still here. Should I take it with me? Or will he come back? No, I shouldn’t move his stuff that may upset him. Maybe I’ll just tidy it up a bit. There, he’ll like that. Oh, spiritualist masters are like that. They have nice stuff and that vibe and they like it when you clean up but they can get touchy if you start rooting around like that. Maybe he’s like a hermit that’s been hiding in the wilderness? But he’s only in like his 20s. Maybe he’s like a super-prodigy. And here I was just “sparring” with him. No, that can’t be right. I was beating him right silly the first day, and he damn near tied me up in like what five or six days? Becca breathed in sharply. He was testing me! He wanted to see how good I was! And then this, this must be another test. Did I pass? Was I supposed to be able withstand his pressure? Oh my god, I kicked him in the head, I need to go apologize!

And with that, Becca began to run back towards to City. When she got to the grasslands, she scanned about, but she didn’t see him anywhere. They had been having lunch before, but by now evening bell must have already past. And dusk bell wasn’t that far behind. She started racing at full tilt towards the City, hoping that Evert was just over the next hill, or behind a copse of trees. But she didn’t find him. She spoke with the guards, and they identified Evert by his weird shirt and vest, but didn’t know his name or where he lived. They kept pestering her if she wanted to file a criminal report or a walk home, but she blew them off and just started running again, before she realized she was running to Master Wong’s dojo.

***

“Look,” Jonas said, “I’m telling you that there is no way that Master Wong lets Becca stay beyond the end of the month. She been here, what, like three times in the last month? And she’s only paid half of this month’s dues. She. Is. Out.”

“Any guy sure. And probably half the girls,” Oskar replied, “But he’s always had a soft spot for her, and he’ll let this slide, and before you know it, she’ll have come up with the money and started attending again.”

“So, what, you’re pulling the pervert card again? You can’t win every argument that way.”

“Master Wong is hardly a pervert. Look at it this way—”

At that point, the third person present in the front room of Master Wong’s dojo tuned out their argument. Jonas and Oskar were willing to argue about anything, and right now they were arguing about their (on-again-off-again) friend Rebecca Little. Archie—the oldest and only female present—was not pleased at where the conversation was heading.

The three of them were seated on the floor around a low table drinking tea. Dusk bell had just rung, when the front door to the dojo slammed open, and Becca came running in yelling for Master Wong.

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Becca was a mess. There was a conspicuous layer of dirt on her skin and clothes. A few pieces of grass were sticking out her hair. She had a suspicious strain at her crotch, and grass stains on her knees. And she looked like she had just run six or seven kilometers, as she stood there breathing heavily.

But perhaps most worrisome of all were her eyes, which contained a mixture of both manic glee and panic.

Archie noticed Becca’s sordid state long before the two boys at the table did. As to the potential implications, those two likely would never figure it out, but Archie’s first instinct was to calm Becca down before she did anything rash.

“Hello Rebecca. Master Wong went to see Master Throm this afternoon,” Archie replied. “He should be back within ten minutes. Why don’t you sit down and have some tea,” she offered sweetly.

“Ten minutes, huh? Okay, I can wait,” Becca replied, taking a seat and the cup Archie offered her. Becca’s hand shook, and she had to hold the cup with both hands to keep it steady.

“So Becca,” Oskar started, “you want to tell us why you look like such a mess? Playing around with a boy in the grass?” Jonas laughed and the two high fived each other. Archie groaned internally at these two mentioning sex when there very well may have been a traumatic incident.

Becca though simply scoffed. “Master Kallstrom is not a boy, and he’s twice the man of the two of you combined,” she said, slurping her tea indelicately, then gasped and slammed her mug down, “Do you think he’s expecting that from me? Ohhh, I really screwed today up didn’t I?” she ended with a whine.

All three of them were baffled. The boys were idiots, that much could be accepted. And Archie had, she thought, a read on the room, but was quickly reevaluating herself. Such confusion was short lived though, as the front door of the dojo opened, and Master Wong came in earlier than expected.

“Master Wong!” Becca yelled, scrambling awkwardly to her feet. She ran to stand in front of him, bowed, and without rising, “Do you know Master Kallstrom?”

Master Wong was taken aback by this on several levels, though kept his face blank. He quickly took in the state of Rebecca’s clothing, and then glanced at his other three pupils with a raised eyebrow. Oskar and Jones unsurprisingly shrugged ignorance, while Archie made several complicated hand gestures which collectively implied madness, violence, and possibly a lewd act.

Master Wong grabbed Rebecca’s chin and tilted her head up until he could look into her eyes, staring for several moments, before tilting her head to the left to continue his inspection. Seemingly satisfied, Master Wong released his grip and with a softened face and a broad smile, “Why yes, my child, I would be happy to discuss this Master with you. Why don’t you sit back down for tea, and I will join you shortly.”

“Okay!” Becca cheered and ran back to the table to set where she had been before.

Master Wong called Oskar over to him, whispered something to him, and then Oskar left the room in a hurry. Master Wong had just sat down in Oskar’s former place when Oskar ran back into the room with a small teapot, which he left with Master Wong, and then ran out the front door.

“Here child,” Master Wong said to Rebecca pouring her a cup from the new teapot, “this tea will make you feel better.”

“Thank you Master Wong!” Becca replied uncharacteristically cheerful, “Can we talk about Master Kallstrom now?”

“Master Kallstrom, Master Kallstrom,” Master Wong said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “The name does not seem familiar to me… What is his first name?”

At this point, Jonas had just become set dressing. Archie on the other hand was highly suspicious of Master Wong’s actions since entering, but was still trying to suss out his intentions, and so continued to gently sip her tea.

“Evert! Evert Kallstrom.”

“And why did you title him master? Does he run a dojo?”

The monologue that followed was, in a word, incoherent to Archie’s ears. And, she suspected, to Master Wong’s too. At best, Archie thought Becca was saying that this Evert Kallstrom had showed her something very large and that it was the reason for her being dirty. This regretfully could have easily been a double entendre, but neither Rebecca nor Master Wong reacted to it, and Archie pinched Jonas before he made any such suggestion or, truthfully, from saying anything at all.

By the end of what could be charitably considered a response to Master Wong’s question, Rebecca had finished her entire mug and had continued to ramble on, though her speech was becoming noticeably slower and sedate. At one point, Becca just stared into her empty mug for thirty seconds, before languidly raising her face to look at them, stating she was tired, and then resting her head on the table and falling asleep asleep.

Master Wong sipped at his own tea for another minute, before prodding Rebecca in the side, then the face and, seemingly satisfied, leaned Rebecca back until she was sleeping on her back. Turning to look at the face of the only intelligent pupil present, “Anticipating your questions, I had Oskar prepare a power sedative before running off to Rebecca’s apartment to gather her roommates. I agree with your assessment that something traumatic happened to Rebecca, though it was primarily mental and not physical, notwithstanding her appearance to the contrary. That said, we can’t do anything unless she’s coherent, and trying to have her sleep it off seems the most prudent course of action. Your thoughts Archer?”

Wincing slightly at the name, but otherwise rolling through everything Master Wong had laid you, “Agreed, until we have more information. Although I am surprised you have such a powerful sedative on hand Master.”

Jonas snickered, but quickly silenced himself under a pair of glares.

“Still,” Archie continued, “I’m concerned about this Master Kallstrom she kept rambling on about.”

“For better or worse, I know of no dojo master by that name. Nor any spiritualist for that matter.”

“Are you certain it was a spiritualist, master?”

“Nearly so. Becca may be only middling F-ranked, but she is a brawler, and I can’t imagine a civilian inflicting this, whatever it is, on her.”

“True…” Archie replied, but before she could elaborate, the door to the dojo opened, and Oskar entered together with two older teens.

“Aline, Kristie, thank you for accepting my summons.” Master Wong welcomed, then raising an eyebrow, “Where is Clementine?”

“She said,” Oskar began, “that she’s still cross at you for calling her a nightwalker, and quote I’m damned not going out at night just to curry favor with that old man end-quote.”

“Uggh,” Master Wong groaned. “If she had a lick of drive to be a spiritualist, I wouldn’t resort to such vulgar tactics.”

“Still,” Jonas piped in, “she hasn’t explained where all those marks come from when she does go out into the City.” Faced with four scathing glares, Jonas quickly stated, “I’ll just be letting myself out now,” and then ran through the back door.

Sighing, Master Wong turned back to the two young women who had just entered. “Nonetheless, thank you for coming,” and then explained what he suspected had happened, the sedative, and his request that take Rebecca back to the apartment to sleep it off, and to send someone for him as soon as she woke in the morning. “Archer, I’d asked that you join me in the morning. I think your presence will help, whatever we learn from Rebecca in the morning. In any event, I may need to visit Master Throm tomorrow over this matter”

“Again Master? How is he related to this?”

Sighing again, Master Wong replied, “Rebecca has always had problems with her temper. I’ve tried over the years to channel her anger productively, but all of my methods have failed, and it’s starting to have bleed over effects. Master Throm is well-regarded in being able to discipline troublesome students like that.”

“But doesn’t Master Throm’s dojo cost much more? And why would you go through such efforts to effect such a transfer?”

“Indeed, his dues are twice that as mine. And I understand that Rebecca’s finances are poor, but I had already decided to sponsor her for the first three months in the hopes that Rebecca will understand in that time the value Master Throm provides despite the expense. With luck, that will be the last payment to the debt I owe Rebecca’s late father.” He paused for several moments before continuing, “Come now. It’s getting late and carrying Rebecca back will not be easy. Let’s get going.”

***

The next morning, Becca woke fully clothed in her bed a half bell after dawn bell. She felt like someone had drugged her ale, then remembering yesterday, and the state she was in, bolted out of bed and ran into the kitchen. “What happened?” she demanded from the only person in the room, slamming her hands on table.

“Oh, sleeping beauty woke the fuck up,” Clementine replied between bites of cereal. “You apparently went crazy yesterday and Master Wong knocked you the fuck out. Made Alina and Kristie help carry your sorry ass back here. Anyways, we’re supposed to send for him when you wake up, but fuck if I’m doing that.”

“Fuck!” Becca replied, then ran to the door, threw it open, looked at the sun, “FUCK!”, ran back to her room, put on her boots, then ran out through common room and out the front door at a full sprint.

“Well, fuck,” Clementine said between bites of cereal, “this ought to be fun.”

***

Becca had never before seen Evert train.

Truly, she had only known him for, what eight or nine days, and they only sparred unarmed, so that wasn’t terribly surprising.

But, in truth, she had never before seen anyone train like Evert did.

After waking up, she ran as fast as she could the two kilometers through the City, then the four kilometers to Evert’s glade. Master Wong had drugged her and thought she had been assaulted; he wasn’t going to help her find Evert anywhere, and now all she could hope was that he might come back to the glade for his stuff.

And as she covered the last bit of forest to the glade, she could feel it in her spirit that he was there. Entering the glade, she saw him on the far side going through a training routine. She discarded the option of approaching him mid-routine, especially since she still didn’t know how he would react to yesterday’s… whatever that was. And so, she kneeled down under the oak near his belongings—he had taken the sword apparently—and simply observed.

It was awe-inspiring. He clearly had completely mastered the Second Stage of Spiritualism, as the exercises he was doing were impossible with pure physical strength. But the spiritualists she knew used only a tiny amount of ki to boost their bodies. Evert was expending a tremendous amounts of ki with every movement. At that rate, he should have run out in less than a minute, but he just, kept, going, for a tenth of a bell and she had no idea how much longer before her arrival he had been training. But whatever the specifics of the exercise were, he must have needed that power because every time he landed on his feet the ground thudded, and every movement of his arms the air whistled.

Then he pulled out his sword. It was clearly a two handed sword, but he wielded it with only his right hand. He went through several form sets with the absolute ease of a master, but every swing of the sword audibly sang as it sliced through the air.

This lasted only a short while, until she felt his spiritual pressure explode. It wasn’t as strong as yesterday, and fortunately, she was much further away this time, but the killing intent was cold and cruel, and send shivers down her spine. And then, Evert attacked the forest.

In ten minutes, Evert unleashed more ki than she had seen in my entire life. And not just a single hard affinity. Water and air, thermal and electric. There were air blades and ice spears; chain lightning and steam disks; an electric water whip and a frozen tornado. If she was familiar with spiritual techniques of those affinities, she might have been able to name them. But most shocking of all was that Evert wasn’t actually using any spiritual techniques. Oh yes, he moved around and swung his sword, but they were not the movements of a spiritual technique, which would have required at least three, and usually at least five movements just for a single attack. Instead, his ki simply attuned and obeyed, turning him into a force of sheer destruction.

When he stopped and started walking towards Becca, the glade had been extended another 10%. He sheathed his sword, but she knew that he didn’t need a sword if he was displeased with me.

Well, Becca gulped, I did want to find him.

***

“Follow me,” he said, and she did.

They headed north passing through the destruction of the newly extended glade. From the oak tree, his attack on the forest—would that be considered lumberjacking?—had been awe-inspiring. Seeing the damage up close was terrifying. She was pretty sure that even without ki Evert could swing his sword through a tree in a single blow.

Reaching the end of the destruction, they passed into the peace of the forest and headed north-northwest for two kilometers. He hasn’t said much, she thought as she followed behind at a respectfully distance. When they exited the forest at the base of the mountains, she saw Evert walking straight towards a crack in the cliffs through which a stream flowed out. He entered it, hugging the narrow path along one wall, as the creek covered most of the floor of the gorge. She followed, and was cast into deep shadow from the morning sun. He was already pulling ahead, and she rushed to catch up.

She had just reached Evert when he leaped over a moderate gap in the path. Whirling her arms, Becca came to a stop before she fell, then gathered her balance and followed, leaping over the crack. He’s pulling ahead again. There were more cracks to leap over, but now that she knew they were coming, she managed to keep pace, though some of them were almost two meters across. She was starting to wonder if this was another test when Evert came to a halt. Poking her head around the edge of his duster, she saw that there was no path ahead of them. “Well, shit,” she blurted out, before biting her tongue for breaking the silence.

Evert glanced back at her, but it was not unfriendly, before looking back at the water. “I don’t usually have guests, so I’ll have to improvise.”

Evert raised one hand, and Becca could feel him pull on more gray ki than she had collectively used in her entire life. It reached into the creek and then lifted it from the bottom of the gorge. As the water neared the height of the path, the ki within attuned and the water froze, adhering to the walls before reaching across to connect in the middle. When he finally lowed his arm, the entire width of the gorge was now a path of ice, the upper part roughed for traction.

“You… froze a river?” she stammered.

“It was a creek. And no, the creek is still flowing underneath; a dam would cause trouble,” he said scratching his chin, though not looking at her. “Shall we?” he asked, and then started walking across the ice path.

She hesitantly put one foot on the ice, then a second, when she realized the traction was good and there seemed to be no risk of collapsing. Great job Becca. Just doubt the greatest man you’ve ever met for a second why don’t you? She scraped away the snow with my heel, and tried to peer through the clear ice, but could see little.

“How thick is it?” she asked calling ahead to his retreating back.

“About thirty centimeters,” his voice echoed back. “I needed the thickness least my weight collapse it.”

Okay. Maybe just a little doubt is good.

Rushing again to catch up with Evert—that had to stop—she passed over thirty meters of ice way until they found the rock trail again, and thereafter, the path was mostly clear. Nonetheless, she continued to carefully watch her steps until Evert suddenly stepped right and she looked up and gasped.

It was a huge valley hemmed in by mountains. Creeks crisscrossed the valley; there was a small forest to one side, and a few copses of trees. The short grass stretched across the remainder, but she could see a trail forming from the end of the gorge, across the stream, and up the valley to a cleared space on the left, and off in the distance in a clear space, there were some boulders surrounded by dead grass.

She had little time to gawk as Evert called her to follow, and they began working their way along the path through the grass.

***

What Becca had thought were boulders surrounded by dead grass turned out to be otherwise. Oh yes, there were boulders, but a look at the valley wall showed they had been recently created by someone attacking a cliff. Or, knowing Evert, just training. And what she had thought was dead grass was actually packed, cleared dirt—the grass had been killed and burned off.

Evert sat on a small boulder, and invited her to sit across from him on another. After she did so, Evert proceeded to stare at her for several minutes. Eventually, Becca tried to stare back, but something resembling respect averted her eyes. She tried looking at his clothing and—for all that it was interesting—that wasn’t jive. So she started looking at the rocks and that was… as enlightening as it sounded.

“How strong are you?” he asked, snapping her out of my stupor. Sensing her hesitation, “I mean physically. Without using the Second Stage.”

“I can’t really use the Second Stage,” she lamely replied.

“Well, true. You’ve only just begun, and I imagine your attempts frequently end in failure. But, occasionally, you succeed, like when you kicked me in the head. I’d say you burnt almost ten kilograms of ki just to empower that one blow, which is good for a finishing move.”

“I, I…” she started, “am so sorry about that and—”

“It was entirely my fault. I should have remembered you would have reacted poorly to deception, and you take great pride in the fighting style Master Wong taught you. Offering to spar in an attempt to befriend you was a terrible idea, and,” standing up, putting his hat to his chest, and offering a small bow, “I apologize for that.”

There was way too much for her to unpack in that statement, and so she just blushed deeply and decided to ignore it. “Aaahhh… so I could probably do two hundred pushups in a row, without rest?”

“With how much weight,” he asked, sitting back down.

“Weight? Like on my back?,” she asked and he nodded. “Zero?”

“Hmm. Could you pick up that boulder you’re sitting on?”

She pointed stupidly down.

“Yes, that one.”

She shook my head.

“Well, I already saw you jump…” he trailed off, then stood up again and removed his pack and weapons from his back, then his duster. He removed his hat briefly to remove the headband underneath it, then replaced the hat upon his head. He then loosened the leather strings on the four bands on his arms, and removed those. He hiked up the front of his shirt and vest, and started unfastening the two weights there. Damn he has great abs. Ack! Stop looking at your Master like that. Thankfully, the shirt went back down. Then the boots came off. Oh fuck he took his pants off. Look away, look away…Okay, pants back on!

“Please tell me that was the last weight,” she asked sardonically.

“Where would I have any others?” he asked, squinting at her curiously.

“Anyways, while I enjoyed the show,” hamming it up to hide her discomfort, “mind telling me why you got half undressed in a valley with a young impressionable female?”

“Impressionable, ha!,” he replied, tightening his belt, “The only thing you’d impression is a guy’s face with your first.”

“Hey!” she cried, “that’s my joke.”

“Hold out your hand,” Evert said picking up the headband piece.

She held out her right palm, and Evert placed the wristband there. It weighed about two kilograms. She glanced at it, then him, then it again, then stared him in the face. “Wow,” sarcasm dripping, “so heavy.”

Evert touched two fingers lightly to the headband and she felt ki channel. Within seconds, the band doubled in weight, then again, and again. “Okay,” she grunted. “Point made and sarcasm regretted.” The weight disappeared just as fast as it appeared, and she could feel gray ki discharging into the environment harmlessly. “How the fuck did you do that?”

“The iron within the leather is enscribed with runes. When you add ki, they both get heavier and resist movement. Essentially, they’re compact, highly variable weights with a high upper threshold.”

Becca gawked, so he reiterated: “Add a kilo of ki, get a kilo of weight. Your ki replenishes, so as long as you the weights keep in contact with you the whole time, you can maintain the weights without wasting a lot of ki.”

“Wait, so when you took them off just now…”

“The runes had to discharge the ki. That can be… tricky,” he decided, “considering the weights don’t really consume the ki and hold so much, so I usually manually funnel it.”

“And you just lost all that ki?”

“Yes?”

She reached out and lightly shoved his shoulder. Then a heavier shove. He didn’t budge a millimeter. “Why can’t I move you now if all that weight is gone.”

“Ah, ki weight.”

“Wait, so how much weight were you carrying around when we were sparring?!?”

“Ah, well, I obviously don’t have a scale at hand. Or, large enough. But, umm, you did kick me in the head, so you can take a good guess?”

She blushed at that, and then turned back to the training. “So, I’m guessing I put these on dump my 20 kilos of ki in, and then let my ki recover?”

“Ah, you see now, that’s the beauty of it. It has to maintain contact with you, but it doesn’t have to be your ki. Let’s start with a hundred kilos, and then see where we are after a bell.”

Oh fuck.