Past the beaten earth courtyard, behind the main hall, Master Ranil revealed Piercing Jade Valley's City Guard's athletic set-up. A rounded rectangle took centre stage, complete with running tracks formed of bicolored moss. Its middle comprised various barres, wooden pillars, and platforms at different elevations. On the farthest reach, a foreboding muddy pool with thick bamboo stalks of varying heights stood. Few guards were going through their paces in this area. Significantly less than in the main courtyard.
Myrkas' hidden hope of passing unnoticed, of melding between the training men was finally crushed and buried six feet under. There was no way Master Ranil could lose his disciple among so few people. Myrkas would stand out like a single red poppy on a green hill. Unless one was colourblind.
The Master and disciples trio—bunny included—stopped in front of the longest straight stretch of running ground. Stripped yellow and white wooden stakes were planted beside the track at even intervals. This particular setup rekindled memories from both past lives in the boy. Memories of unending back and forth, the boredom of the task only beaten by the physical strain it induced. For an instant, Myrkas almost wished "running suicides" meant running into a literal wall again and again instead of... that.
Without the need for any further explanation, Myrkas ran. He ran to the first stake, then back to the start line. Then to the second stake and back again. The boy wasn't sure if the exercise had been named for the self-harming desires induced by the boredom or the physical strain inherent to it. At least he had Snow to keep him company. Her white fluff running in the corner of his eye helped keep his spirits above ground.
Good old endurance training. No one escaped it, not even in a magical universe. If only this world gave stat points to distribute instead of needing to train. It would have been so much easier, so much more fun for Myrkas. Better get those thoughts out of his puny head. He had to concentrate on his task. Remove everything else from his mind. This was the perfect opportunity to practice body meditation.
And so the tween did just that. His mind empty, he focused on running, taking notice of each step, each muscle, each breath he needed. Run, reach the stake, bend to touch the line, run back, bend, run again. His spine was straight, slightly bent forward, in line with his entire body. His feet hit the ground one after the other, striking with his mid-foot. He kept notice of his knees, raising them higher when his stride was faltering. His arms swayed in rhythm, in complementary balance.
Throughout, Myrkas was aware of his Qi. The permanent cycling thread of silvery-white energy fed his muscles. The contractile fibres took very little though. An insignificant amount, way less than his body had been able to soak in during his "bloodbath." It was not necessarily a bad thing. With his current exertion, Myrkas was unable to replenish his core as fast. He could only gather a trickle of Qi while running. The boy could not focus on his running form and his mantra at the same time. Too much blood was going to fuel his motions, without enough left to power the higher functions of his brain. Thinking was hard, his will focused solely on going further.
That was his first issue to fix. Myrkas had to be able to fully meditate while exercising. Otherwise, his progress with Qi accumulation would stall. His new schedule left little time for regular meditation. Martial training with Ranil, alchemy lessons and practice with his uncle, and general education filled most of his awake time. The boy was already having a hard time moderating his frustration at the slow process of climbing the steps of cultivation. He could not accept that. He had dreams to concretize.
Inhale, exhale. Harder, better, faster, stronger. Stupid bending down to touch a stupid line. Damn, need to get back on track. Harder, better, faster, stronger. Breathe in, breathe out.
It was surprisingly difficult to keep on running. Myrkas needed a lot more willpower to keep moving while meditating compared to when he played the game at the Summer Solstice Festival. It seemed aimlessly running back and forth required more of his will and intent than throwing balls to win a prize. Understandable, in fact, when he...
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"Ouch! What was that?"
Something had hit his shoulder, with enough force to leave a bruise. The boy had stopped, too startled to continue.
"My dear disciple, did you really think all you had to do was run? What type of lousy Master do you take me for? Of course there's more. If not, you just escape in your head, completely unaware of what's around you. Deadly. That's how you get killed in the real world. Gotta watch your own back.
"Hence how I came up with the very sophisticated present exercise. Basically, any time you are not sparring or practicing stances, you will be subjected to harmless projectiles. As I, the Great Master Suna Ranil, already considered the limited time I will be able to fully dedicate to your education, anyone will be able and encouraged to throw these at you. I heard they even made a game of it, with points depending on where they hit you, and bonuses if they can make you trip. Don't you appreciate your seniors’ enthusiasm for your martial education Myrkas? A true blessing indeed."
Blood tried to leave the boy's face on those words. Unfortunately, Myrkas was too warmed up from his exercising for any kind of regular cold chills to take hold of him. He had half expected this. Anyone could tell their trainees to run suicides. Only an especially sadistic Master made a game of throwing things at said trainees.
Myrkas eyes landed on the so-called projectile. A peanut. They were throwing peanuts at him. For some reason, it made everything worse. As if getting hit by peanuts of all things was beyond insulting. The ultimate loss of face.
Although, to be perfectly honest, his comrades-in-training's ammunition weren't exactly peanuts. They only looked like it. Their vaguely tear-dropped, softish shell held a single nut instead of two. And the shell itself was a deep burnt-orange colour instead of light brown. Not that it made much difference. Getting hit by an almost-peanut versus an actual peanut hurt just the same. It was humiliating and discouraging.
"But, Master Ranil," the boy started." I thought the most important was to focus on body meditation. How am I supposed to do so if I have to watch out and dodge at any moment? Also, I don't have eyes behind my head. How am I to see anything thrown from my back? It's impossible."
Suna Ranil affected an air of mild disappointment upon hearing the complaints from his sole human disciple.
"Ah Myrkas, I thought better of you. You need to expend your senses. Enemies will not wait for you to be ready before they strike. You should always be aware of your surroundings, at the very least on a subconscious level, or you will die, plain and simple. Look at your senior sister here."
The man pointed at Snow, her long ears perking up at the attention. Myrkas instantly wondered what he could learn from watching his pretty bunny.
"See how she runs effortlessly. See how she sprints from stake to start and again, turning around in one smooth jump. She even stays in a straight line, against her natural instincts to better demonstrate her technique to her junior brother—that's you Myrkas, in case you haven't acknowledged it yet. The more talented pupil gets seniority. Blame tradition.
"Now, watch how she dodges and parries."
Ranil then proceeded to throw dozens of orange not-peanuts at the defenceless fluffy rodent. Myrkas almost screamed in protest. To the boy's benefit, he quickly learned how futile his worries were. Snow was flawlessly avoiding every single projectile. She made it look easy. At some point she started to zigzag on the course, seemingly to make Ranil's task of targeting her more difficult. Myrkas could almost swear she was throwing sassy winks towards his—correction, their—Martial Master.
"Granted," Suna Ranil said. "Smaller prey animals have an innate advantage. They are instinctually aware of their environment. They don't bother waiting for the threat to show. They bolt at any hint of danger. Their literal survival depends on it. Not like us humans who need to identify the threat first, To 'see it coming.' A waste of time I call it. It can get tricky if you get tricked by feints too much later on but that's for later. You are way too bad at sensing and reacting to threats as it is. We will deal with feints only when you can sense them first."
Myrkas bit his lips. He would not let them wobble. His shoulder hurt. The rest of his body too, in anticipation. He allowed himself to pettily glare at Snow. She looked way too smug after her feat. She was even eating the projectiles that had missed her, the cheeky bunny.
The boy tried one last time to barter for a more reasonable training regimen. In as professional a way as he could think of.
"Master Ranil, while I understand your point, my concern is that getting hit repeatedly while training will provoke otherwise preventable injuries, and overall negatively impair my learning curve. It would be more productive, I am sure, to further compartmentalize my training and reserve dodging and parrying to their own time, separate from endurance training."
Myrkas was pretty impressed by his eloquence there. His arguments were beyond reasonable. Fit for any high-ranking middle manager.
"Nice try kid. If you don't want to get home all bruised up, I have only one advice: get good," replied his Master.