Day 56, 9:30 AM

“Some men give up their designs when they have almost reached the goal, while others, on the contrary, obtain a victory by exerting, at the last moment, more vigorous efforts than ever before”

― Herodotus

The way soldiers look at me has changed compared to yesterday. Their salutes are sharper, their gazes filled with admiration. I guess jujutsu-ing a human into a beach ball impressed or intimidated them.

Unfortunately, I can’t share their enthusiasm. I know I really shouldn’t, but every minute or two I glance behind my shoulder, just in case an assassin is creeping up on me in the middle of a crowded training yard.

Pure nonsense, I know, but I can’t help it.

My shoulder tingles.

“Focus!” Phill, the trainer Jeorge recommended me to, stabs me in the shoulder with the padded butt of his staff. His attack is sharp, but I move with the blow, and it’s barely a pat.

“You have excellent reflexes,” the veteran wearing a neatly trimmed white beard says, then swings the other end of the staff at my legs. “Now, focus!”

I block the attack, trying not to abuse my strength against a man in his early sixties.

“Don’t hesitate,” he bellows. “I already told you that you are enforcing a habit when practicing. Every swing has to be serious!”

“But I’m afraid I’ll just overwhelm you,” I say, and the old goat’s face turns red.

He starts swinging his padded staff, and Sense of Danger starts flaring like crazy. I move to block the first strike, but it doesn’t connect. Phill’s staff twists out of the way, finds an opening and instead of hitting my ribs slaps my hip, then my lower leg, then shoulder.

Blows keep landing like a maelstrom, and I barely block two, despite using all my strength and speed after the first two blows. A minute later the punishment stops.

Phill glares at me.

“I apologize, Sir,” I say. “I was wrong, I will put my back into it.”

His gaze remains steely, and he harrumphs, toning his attacks down by a gear or seven. My staff blocks his most of the time, but no matter how hard or fast I swing at him, he either moves out of the way, or deflects the attack with minimal effort.

I wonder why Sense of Danger sometimes triggers during practice and sometimes not? Does it ignore the attack I’m already blocking?

My chin flares with phantom sting, and the butt of the staff, that was down a moment ago, whizzes towards my head. I tilt to the side and the strike misses me by an inch.

“Good,” Phill says, “I thought your mind was straying.”

I smile confidently, and try to memorize his movements, what he’s doing and why.

I can contemplate my own skills when I have nothing better to do.

An hour later, Phill is having trouble breathing.

“You have great instincts, but your form is sloppy beyond words,” he says. “Drop down and start doing pushups.”

He watches me do one hundred in less than a minute.

“Stop,” he says, his arms folded.

I do as he said and he sits on my shoulders. “Continue.”

I don’t really care and start pumping.

“You’re as strong as an ox. That is good and bad. You think strength can solve all problems. You have great instincts and control over your body. That is good and bad. You think you are learning quickly, when all you are learning is how to improvise and mimic what you see, instead of understanding why you should do it and do it on your own.”

He pauses. “Stop.”

I stop.

He gets off. “You’re moving too fast, I’m getting nauseous.”

“You,” he points at a group of recruits. “Go bring me ten sacks of sand.”

They look at him, confused.

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“Go get it,” Jeorge shouts, and the soldiers start running. Meanwhile, Phill is looking around.

“You go push that,” he tells me, pointing into the corner of the yard.

“There’s nothing there?” I say after getting up and confirming the corner is in fact empty.

“Push the wall,” he says, “it’s the only thing I’m certain you can’t move in this yard, and nobody wants you pushing heavy objects at high speed. You might hurt someone.”

Well, he was the best coach in the duchy. Supposedly.

I start pushing the wall, but he’s not happy.

“Put your back into it. Try to topple it!”

I push harder, trying to knock down countless metric tons of my own fortification. Suddenly, I feel a phantom pain in my side. I jump to avoid the assassin, and Phill’s padded staff whistles past me.

He stares at me for a moment, then starts shouting. “Why’d you do that? Did I tell you to stop?”

“Why do you want to hit me?”

“To toughen your muscles, now keep doing what I say, and stop questioning me!”

I resume my futile attempt to force myself through my own wall, and Phill bangs me in random places. After a while, I realize he’s aiming for major muscles and muscle groups, avoiding bone, but I really don’t think muscles grow stronger or tougher by getting hit.

“Well, call me a goat,” Phill says, “You know where I’m going to hit Every Bloody Time. You keep pushing that wall.”

“Jeorge! Bring me a blindfold!”

Two minutes later I’m getting beaten while pushing immovable rock with a blindfold on.

Ten minutes later my regimen is done, and it’s time for pushups again.

“You said your name is Aang, right?” Phill asks. “You ain’t really human, are you? You know you have eight hundred pounds worth of sand stacked on your back and you’re not breaking a sweat. I’m not sure what exactly I’m supposed to do to increase your strength further. What were you doing before snatching our duchess and raising an army?”

“Heavy lifting,” I say, with slight difficulty

I don’t think I’m lying. Lea called me Aang the porter, the first time she saw me. I think?

The old man laughs. “You don’t have to say anything. Anyway, I’m glad Jeorge called me over. You earned your chance by saving her from such a cruel fate, and he vouched for you. I think you might become the best knight I ever trained, assuming I somehow make you do what I tell you.”

He goes silent, and I keep going up and down. Finally, my arms grow wobbly after about a thousand pushups, and I stop.

“Who told you to stop? Keep going,” he shouts. “We’ve finally hit the sweet spot.”

“The sacks will crush me,” I gasp.

“Nonsense. You’re a big man. This bit of weight can’t do anything to you. Now, stop whining and keep your back straight!”

“Why am I even doing strength training?” I growl between shaky pushups.

“It builds character as well as muscle. Now, stop talking. We have to squeeze every last ounce of strength out of you.”

I count one thousand seventy-three and collapse, then the whole training ground explodes into cheers.

“Oorah! General Aang is mighty! Oorah!”

I try to say something from under all the sacks, but I’m having trouble breathing. Luckily, boys nearby run over and pull the sacks off.

“Now we spar again,” Phill says with a smile. He’s got perfect teeth despite his age.

He hands me the staff, but it feels like I’m holding wet soap with hams instead of arms.

“I can’t feel my arms right,” I say, and his grin widens.

“That’s when the real training starts.”

Thirty minutes later, the old sadist follows me into the hall.

“My Noble Lady,” he bows to Manny, “I don’t know if you remember me, but you have found a fine bear for me to train.”

Manny smiles and places her quill into the inkwell. “Master Philligon, I naturally remember you. You tutored my little brother from time to time, and it warms my heart you are helping my husband.”

The old lady screeches on her parchment once more, and starts mumbling while scraping off the mess.

Phill is silent for a moment.

“Was there no better choice in our kingdom, Noble Lady?” he asks, his question so blunt I feel like he smacked me in the head with his staff.

“Not in the whole world,” Manny says with such certainty and force that her words drive Phill a step back, and I feel like shedding a tear.

“Aang is the finest man I have ever seen, or even heard sung in any song. Last night, an assassin came for us. He not only defended me, but smashed the man into a ball.”

Phill nods and rubs his beard. “Yes, his instincts are terrifying. Even blind he can tell the difference between a faint and a real strike, and I’ve seen him beat up young Peter in full view of the public, so I already know what he’s capable of. By the way, since I mentioned them, what do you plan to do with those men, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“For now, I will keep them in the dungeon. Even though they are criminals, I won’t shackle them and send them to work in the mills, if that’s what you are asking.”

“They are mercenaries, doing good work. They were honorable and honest, as much as one could expect from their trade. They abused citizens only when Gohen ordered them to do so. It’s a shame to keep such useful men chained up.”

Manny folds her arms and frowns, not in anger, but confusion.

“Are you making a plea on their behalf?”

“You could call it that. I’m trying to help all parties get what they want with the least amount of effort. They want freedom and money, you want soldiers to fight the king and the coalition of opportunistic nobles, who will surely march on our city before the summer ends. And I, I want peace and quiet. I want my city to prosper, and I want the people I know to be happy.”

He pauses. “My reputation did much to lessen the punishments and royal fines last time. But it wasn’t just that. Everyone knew your father was framed, and they didn’t want to have the taxpayers suffer too much. This time, we are outraged, we are rebelling, and we really wish to overthrow the monarch. My reputation and my students can defend against convenient, false charges, but not against real treason.”

“They betrayed us first!” Manny slams her hand against the table, but the table is too big and sturdy and the inkwells don’t even shake.

“I know,” Phill says, his voice soothing. “But that does not change the fact that your lordship will need soldiers.”