Despite most bigger workshops now being located in the new industrial area, a big chunk of small family run businesses could be found close to the edge of the slums.
These unaffiliated businesses had started out close to the old industrial district for convenience's sake. The well-developed roads and close proximity to bigger workshops there allowed them to buy excess materials cheaply, and transport their goods more easily at the same time.
They survived the post war purge relatively unharmed, as a majority of their wares were sold in the surrounding villages or Soren itself. Most did not have any ties to Enesco at all, or knew how to hide them well enough.
Unusual conditions after the war had allowed some of these smaller workshops to drastically increase in size, because they could acquire many of the abandoned buildings for basically nothing. Literally, as often times just nailing their name on a building was all it took during those turbulent times.
This had created a small but flourishing belt of family run smithies, carpenters, leather workers, tailors and many more specialized businesses.
Land unoccupied by craftsmen was slowly being converted into homes for the lower class, especially immigrants from surrounding villages, who wanted to start a new life in the city.
For while those living in Soren dreamed of the capital’s splendor, or that of really any bigger city in the inner provinces, all other citizens of Seasons considered it the target of their dreams.
The area’s cheap prices also made it favorite for government institutions.
One of those being the Crescent Moon Orphanage. Though that one in particular involved the Lunar Church as well, being something of joint project.
Ultimately, a confusing area layout ended up separating the slums from the city proper through an area of organized chaos. Most newcomers would despair trying to find their way through this mess.
The regular population however grew quite fond the highly practical buffer zone between them and the slums. After all, blocking an eyesore using a slightly better looking one could definitely be considered a win, albeit a small one.
Currently, Roland and Arthur were leisurely making their way over to a carpenter not even two streets away from the orphanage.
Unlike the previous times they walked side by side, Arthur forgoing his usual position when it was only the two of them. The older boy didn’t see much reason to showcase their hierarchy without any else around.
Roland himself did not care one bit about it in the first place, but knew a clearly visible structure of command was vitally important to elevate their image from some random kids, to that of a serious group of random kids.
On the way Arthur joked about how they could’ve gotten the wood first before heading to the bridge, had they known how things would turn out from the start. Roland tactfully ignored his friend’s misguided attempt at humor.
“How is your leg?” Arthur inquired, the recent demonstration still on his mind. He briefly glanced at Roland’s feet, not noticing any limp, but that meant little when it came to his Leader.
“It’s fine. Slight ache that'll be gone by tomorrow.” Roland replied.
A year ago, that kind of kick would have ended with a broken bone.
“Not something you could have pulled off before,” Arthur commented, reaffirming Roland’s thoughts.
“We both improved a lot over the past year,” Roland stated matter-of-factly.
A conflicted expression appeared on Arthur’s face, for some reason unhappy by his inclusion.
“Sure,” deciding not to get into it now, Arthur agreed offhandedly.
The crisp clank of metal on metal ringing through the air signaled their imminent arrival. In front of them a small smithy was already getting busy, its surrounding workshops also starting their work, though not quite as loudly.
Roland made sure to give quick, friendly greetings to everyone they passed, leading to some curt nods from those that didn’t know him. The ones who did however displayed very different reactions.
“If it isn’t the little Crescent Moon Helpers. Good day, boys!” A muscled smith greeted them happily with a bellow when they passed, sweat dripping down from his enormous arms. “If you need something from my humble shop. Just say the word.”
The surrounding craftsmen, upon realizing who these two mismatched boys were, completely flipped their previous attitudes. Eyes sparkling like newly minted coins, everyone smelled opportunity. Happy greetings and a plethora of compliments rained down on the duo as powerful voices tried to drown out the competition.
Roland continued politely greeting everyone, occasionally thanking them for their kind words. He was already used to similar situations, seeing that despite being most popular with the towns older crowd, the craftsmen came a close second.
Not counting any starry-eyed children from the orphanage, who too could have competed for the spot, if their favor would have brought any tangible merits instead of being the nuisance it was most of the time.
“It’s insane how they all sync up once it comes to profit,” Arthur muttered under his breath, being just as experienced as his leader, but feeling a lot more shame than the latter when actual adults started behaving this way towards them.
“Everybody likes making money, nothing wrong with that,” Roland remarked quietly, making sure only Arthur heard. “We should be happy getting their help is so easy now.”
Back when we started out we had to ask around for hours before somebody’s apprentice reluctantly helped us out, if even that.
“True, bless the City Lord for his foresight,” Arthur agreed.
Now for the actual reason which had managed to turn all these craftsmen into eager volunteers. A little over three years ago, Roland’s group had been busy taking care of a sickly old man named Carl, who lived all on his own in a big derelict house his family had owned for generations.
The absence of any remaining immediate relatives to help out, combined with his advanced age and a lack of funds, left the house in a state of total disrepair.
Roland and his companions luckily found Carl when he was close to death, lying unconscious on the floor of his home with a high fever. And after nursing the old man back to health, they recommended selling the house and moving somewhere better suited for someone of his age. Carl however vehemently refused. He had been born in that House and would die in it.
Not seeing any way to convince the stubborn old man, Roland decided to have his group fix the house’s most egregious problems. And having greatly underestimated the amount work some difficult repairs required, they were soon overwhelmed.
Roland obviously did not entertain the thought of failure, which led to them all running around town, basically begging people, especially craftsmen, to help with the repairs. A few grueling, rejection filled days later the house was in top shape thanks to the help of some not particularly enthusiastic helpers, them being the few ones that caved under the children’s pleading.
If the incident had ended there it would have been considered a disaster for Roland, as he expended a lot of goodwill and annoyed countless people, with nothing to show for it except the grumpy thanks of an old man, who objectively speaking did not have all that much time left on this world.
Fortunately, two weeks later, through a stroke of fortune, the City Lord heard about their story. Moved by the supportive spirit of his citizens he decided to reward Roland’s group and all those who assisted them.
The few craftsmen that had given their time and materials to help out went wide eyed from the generous rewards. Forgotten was any previous reluctance, they simply did what every upstanding citizen would have done in their place, helping those in need was, after all, something they always prioritized.
Wanting to further encourage similar behavior, the City Lord promised that anyone contributing materials or time to the Crescent Moon Helpers’ little activities would be rewarded accordingly, so long as they benefited Soren and its citizens.
What all of this led to were citizens, happy to hear uplifting stories about their community, craftsmen, tripping over themselves trying to ‘help’, and a few disgruntled government officials, annoyed about their budget being used on unnecessary projects but too scared to disagree with the City Lord.
Roland and Arthur, having braved the helpful storm of support, arrived at a rather modest workshop. The finely carved wooden signboard above the entrance identified it as ‘Royal Furniture’. Whether their wares were truly sold to kings and nobles remained up for debate.
The Owner, a tall man with little hair on his head and sporting an impressive mustache, had heard the previous commotion and came outside.
“Well, well, boys, how can I help you today,” he greeted them enthusiastically once they stopped beside his workshop.
Roland opened his mouth for a greeting but stopped himself abruptly, completely blanking on the name of the man before him.
John? Jack? Or Sean? Eh, just go with the save choice.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Good to see you Uncle, we need wooden planks and some tools if you could spare them,” Roland saved himself, greeting the owner, appearing completely unfazed by his almost blunder on the outside.
The carpenter’s smile grew even wider while some surrounding craftsmen mumbled to themselves about how lucky he was.
About half an hour later Roland and Arthur left the carpenter’s shop, fully loaded with enough planks to build a completely new bridge, figuratively speaking. Uncle carpenter had, after they refused a cart, made sure to give them as much as they could physically carry. Better to be safe than sorry and all that.
Carrying a staggering amount of wood, Arthur managed to blend into their surroundings, looking like one of the many hard at work apprentices running through the area. Though one could argue whether that should be considered a good thing or not, seeing most of them were several years older than him.
Roland, despite only carrying about half as much as his big companion, still looked like a child being forced into manual labor. Having exerted quite bit of strength with his earlier kick, he already started breathing laboriously, cheeks flushing red.
“Arthur,” Roland called out of nowhere, voice breaking under the heavy load. Normally their current situation would not be one for conversation, but he deemed the matter important enough to not delay it.
“What?” Arthur replied surprised.
“Do you know that uncle’s name?” Roland asked, voice too strained to hear any embarrassment, possibly not being there in the first place.
It took all of Arthur’s willpower to not laugh at his friend’s question. Though the massive planks on his shoulders also helped suppress his reaction greatly.
“Pretty sure it’s John,” Arthur answered. “Was wondering why you looked slightly off there. Guess even a master talker like you can make a blunder.”
“Nonsense,” Roland replied, taking a deep breath and steadying his weight. “Me and Uncle are such close friends we have left the need for names behind long ago. I simply wanted to know it in case someone asks us later from whom we got the wood.”
“Could have sworn today was the first time we met him personally, though I recall him sending some materials and an apprentice one time,” Arthur said, still not having broken a sweat yet.
“Don’t you remember the day we broke the bridge railing? Uncle selflessly offered to give us the material to fix it. His generosity is forever going to live on in my heart,” Roland muttered feverishly, breath starting to resemble an off-kilter flute.
Being aware of Roland’s extreme stubbornness in regards to giving up, which was furthermore supported by his almost bottomless willpower, Arthur left it at that with a helpless smirk. They would not be stopping until the end. And he needed to ration his strength.
About halfway back to the bridge Roland’s condition started to worsen. His arms trembled like leaves in the wind and sweat poured down from his forehead unceasingly. Arthur tried to focus on the road, ignoring his heaving friend.
Not quite shame but something close to it appeared inside of him, for the same reasons that made him uncomfortable accepting Roland’s shared praise earlier.
He knew why his friend was struggling so much more than him. Pure physical strength played a part, but Roland furthermore made it harder on himself by trying to train during the trek.
If one paid closer attention to his breathing there seemed to be a strange rhythm in it. Several almost frantic short breaths were followed by a very deep one into an almost explosive exhale.
Besides being a surefire way to turn any physical activity into a hellish affair, this was also the most basic body cultivation technique known to man, the ‘Inner Breath Sutra’.
The promise of greatness youngsters everywhere learned with sparkling eyes, before crying out in dismay when nothing happened. The technique that nobles use to punish unruly children, and whose worth had been fiercely debated for centuries.
Because despite being categorized as physical cultivation, it did not actually strengthen one’s constitution beyond what normal training would achieve.
Whereas Knight techniques absorbed Laws from the outside world to transform you into something greater than human, the Inner Breath Sutra trained the user’s inner control by allowing them to perceive more of their own body’s workings.
In order to use the technique the practitioner needed to be in a highly active state, only achievable by intense physical activity. Afterwards a simple breathing regime would create stinging chest pains, shortness of breath and general numbness in one’s limbs. It was easy to see why most practitioners were less than fond of this technique.
The reason to go through all that trouble was that it would heighten one’s perception and allow even an untrained mortal to notice the processes happening inside their very own body.
From the lungs which greedily absorbed air, before infusing it into one’s blood, to the heart that pumped said blood through your arteries and veins. The muscles which moved a complex skeletal frame and countless organs which worked in accord with each other, performing a myriad of tasks at the same time. Constantly until your life reached its end.
A complex structure that could be considered one of nature’s greatest miracles. But if you told this little miracle to punch strongly or jump high, it would without a doubt not react whatsoever. Hopefully.
The body had its own nonverbal form of communication, and the Inner Breath Sutra allowed one to observe and learn this wordless language. It was less about actually controlling the body, and more along the lines of politely asking it to do something through visualization.
Picturing blood flowing through your veins quicker, or muscles stretching a bit more than they normally would. Disregarding some not so vital parts to give more energy to others. Even ignoring feelings like pain or other stimuli was theoretically possibly, if you understood what caused them on the inside.
So, from first observing the body’s workings with one’s mind, to altering its very behavior, the Inner Breath Sutra slowly increased the practitioner’s inner control. Ultimately, allowing neat tricks like Roland’s previous railing vanquishing kick.
In theory this should also make it easier later on to learn advanced Knight techniques, which often required precise control to practice. The only problem being that cultivating any Law into your body would automatically strengthen one’s inner control anyway. Much more efficiently to boot.
This was not even mentioning that even the most basic of Knight technique’s strength surpassed what one could achieve by pushing the mortal body to its limits.
If one could choose between the Inner Breath Sutra and literally any beginner Knight technique, there would be absolutely no contest on what to pick. Which was why most noble children never learned it in the first place.
The technique did have some merits however. Being exceedingly simple to use, it allowed everyone, even random street thugs and poor peasants to embark on the path of Cultivation. Or at least take a quick peek before cursing their lack of talent. It furthermore required no other materials or training equipment besides one’s body, something greatly valued by those who possessed little coin.
Due to these factors the Inner Breath Sutra had long become the starting technique for almost everyone in the lower and middle classes of society, at the same time also serving as a free testing tool for Knight Academies and noble families to find talents.
By making the technique accessible to the general populace, they could look for children who excelled at using it, which showed that these kids possibly possessed the talent to become Knights.
Ideally the Sutra should be used whenever engaging in any physical activity, be it training, labor or similar things. In practice most beginners could only use it during stationary and monotonous training, because even something simple like running in a straight line can be impossible under the physical pain and mental pressure the technique causes.
After all, breathing weirdly was only the start. Actually observing one’s inside with the mind ended up being extremely hard for untrained mortals. Headaches were the least of the problems that arose, as even those with a high pain tolerance and a sharp mind could have trouble using the technique due to how much multitasking was required.
Arthur was one of those cases. Despite his strong built and high stamina, he could not use the technique as freely as Roland. The stoic boy made more than up for it by training himself harder whenever possible, in hopes he could catch up in inner control upon getting his hands on real Knight techniques at the capital’s Academy. But it had always been a sore point for him, especially considering the year and a half he had on his leader.
Roland himself had originally not been successful upon coming into first contact with the technique at the tender age of eight. Like most children without any prospects for their future, the idea of becoming a knight had a lot of appeal. This grueling technique however quickly stopped him in his tracks, leaving any dreams of Knighthood and adventure contained to his imagination.
Shortly after saving Grandma Dorothy however Roland started dedicating himself wholeheartedly to training. His blurry childhood dreams and struggles were replaced with a determination unshakable by anything the world tried to throw at him.
His dedication paid off when previously hidden talent showed itself, and he soon became the child most proficient at using the Inner Breath Sutra in the whole Crescent Moon Orphanage, being able to use it even when hauling wood through winding streets.
Of course highborn children had no need to start with such an obsolete technique in the first place, and being good at it also did not correlate to one’s actual strength.
So, while without a doubt talented, Roland wasn’t even in the top quarter of children in Soren when it came to his fighting prowess. He was also far from the strongest in their little group, banter notwithstanding, as his advanced inner control would still only allow him match one of his large companion’s punches, before the latter knocked him flat on the ground.
Nevertheless, Arthur had always respected his boss’s willpower the most. In his mind nobody else could compare to the tenacity Roland displayed, whether it be during regular training or when the going got tough during one of their missions. He was the kind of person that would always continue onward, no matter how battered and broken he became.
Soon their taxing journey came to a close. Destination in sight, a stubby figure appeared to be patrolling the bridge earnestly. Not letting any entrance out of his sight for more than a second, Thomas sadly ended up suffering from some major whiplash. A small price to pay in the line of duty.
His frantic movements did however allow him to spot his friends the second they came into view. Sacred duty forgotten instantly, he quickly sprinted up to the pair, trying to help with their load. A short nod of Roland's indicated he did not need bother; they could unsurprisingly manage the last few steps on their own.
Not being able to help, and now instead blocking his friends’ path, Thomas frantically tried to make space. Running back to his previous position, he almost managed to fling himself of the bridge in the process, much to the approaching duo’s chagrin.
Once they arrived at the broken railing Roland and Arthur unceremoniously threw their planks to the side. Heaving, face crimson and sweating like a pig, Roland looked truly pitiful. His faint grin of satisfaction however told another story.
Their harsh trek gave him the chance to observe how his body reacted after the previous energy expenditure, allowing him to see which parts were burdened more than others, and adjust his control for the future.
Several similar sessions during their activities, and personal training over the years, had given Roland an impressive amount of inner control. Now the only thing missing were some actual Knight techniques to make use of his skills. Until he got his hands on those, he’d have to content himself with these minor improvements and normal training.
Thomas, having calmed down somewhat after his near catastrophe, now admired the giant heap of wood. Eager to get started he asked, “How are we gonna use this?”
“Like a bunch of people with no imagination,” Roland wheezed out, hands on his side and head raised towards the merciless heavens. They needed to make sure nobody would consider the railing even remotely stable once they were done with it.
Hearing their leader’s strained words, Arthur took it as his cue and procured a small box out of a newly acquired bag, dangling from his belt. Its inside held a plethora of big nails, looking way too fancy to be used on an old bridge’s railing, but who were they to disagree with the illustrious master carpenter. Two more digs revealed a couple of worn hammers.
“Oho,” Thomas exclaimed, excitement building again. “I wanna hammer them in!”
And so he did.