The boy's shoulders fell. His masterful argument had been thoroughly denied. Only one thing left to do then.
So Myrkas ran. He ran and got pelted all morning. The hit came from everywhere, the not-peanuts merciless upon their landing on the boy's flesh. It hurt, obviously. The city guards did not seem to lack mean-spirited members. They counted points out loud, relaying them to one lower officer on the side in charge of marking the scores. Most had started to aim for Myrkas' ankles, a hard target with high rewards. It made him fall a lot more than once. Enough to get knees as bruised and scraped as a kid learning to rollerblade without knee guards.
The boy's run was only interrupted for mandatory cool-down periods and callisthenics. A quick sip of diluted citrus juice from his literal gourd, ten minutes of slow walking around, and hundreds of push-ups, crunches, pull-ups, planks, lunges, frog-leaps, and what not did not constitute an adequate break in Myrkas' book. Especially when he remained at risk of projectile showers the entire time. He barely managed to avoid a few handfuls of the shell-encased fruits. Worst, his breaks ended with him needing to painstakingly gather the fallen orange balls and bring them back to a communal basket for his bullies' benefit. He had to personally replenish their ammunition!
Torture. Bona fide torture Master Ranil dared to call training. Even Snow was getting tired. She bravely accompanied her junior brother in his trial. Hitting her actually granted a lot more points in the game their Master had devised. Which happened a grand total of four times throughout the whole morning.
The sun was nearing its apex when Myrkas crumbled. His knees buckled under his weight, his thighs shaking with exhaustion. By some miracle, the boy had not yet vomited. He lay there on the ground, heaving, unable to move any of his limbs. A finger twitch was the most motion he could muster.
Snow came to lay beside his head. Her tiny chest huffing and puffing in tandem with her human friend. Her usually white fur was a little matted and dirty, a predictable result following the frequent water misting Myrkas had given her to keep her cool. Rabbits were not made for endurance training. Their inability to sweat a major disadvantage.
Likewise, the boy's clothes had turned a deeper brown colour from dirt and moss stains. His robe had long been discarded by the wayside. His underclothes stuck to his skin, soaked with sweat. It itched, but Myrkas had no strength left to do anything about it. A few reddish spots marred the cloth. The blood had come from the shallow cuts on Myrkas' skin where he had been hit repeatedly. The rest of him was turning all shades of blue from the hits he had endured.
Suna Ranil looked upon his downed disciples from his standing position. The man looked displeased, to say the least. He used his feet to turn Myrkas around, taking note of his sorry state. He showed much more care with the rodent, gently turning her over and petting her damp fur. Still, Master Ranil's frown deepened following his cursory examination.
"Your body's a mess Myrkas. Weak, underdeveloped, barely anybody cultivation integrated. What did Kalor feed you? Or not feed you most likely. Clearly, he considered you the lesser of his sons. Didn't wanna waste any resources on you. I wonder what your brother was like to so impress your short-sighted father. Oh well, it's almost better for me. That means no faulty foundation to destroy and build back up. A blessing in disguise, probably."
Seemingly satisfied by his assessment, Master Ranil grabbed his human disciple by the collar, lifting him like a kitten. Of course, Snow was meanwhile comfortably seated in the crook of the large man's bent elbow, letting herself be lazily carried around. Myrkas was too battered to think about protesting his transport. His exhaustion combined with his bruised body put a weight on his very existence. He felt like a dishrag passed through the wringer one too many times.
The boy was carried so to a modest-looking side building. Despite its utilitarian architecture, the cube-shaped edifice made for an interesting sight. Its simple white-washed stone walls were topped by an odd tiered roof. The half-pyramid, half-low dome of the roof clashed with the otherwise unadorned elements found in the city guard training site. Myrkas wondered what could be so different about this building to warrant such a sidestep with the prevailing aesthetic of drab, beige-brown bricks and straight lines found all around him.
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A question quickly answered it turned out. The trio first entered an antechamber lined with wooden cubicles and furnished with simple benches. Some compartments held personal effects while others displayed clean linens and spare uniform pants, shirts, and robes. All clean but apparently well-used.
It was a changing room. A good old changing room. Not really a locker room as there were no locks in sight. Myrkas guessed he had gotten filthier than he had thought if his Master would take the time to make him change mid-day. It seemed a bit pointless if the boy was scheduled to exert himself some more after a light lunch. Unless Myrkas had misunderstood and was only supposed to train for half a day. But that would make too much sense. Why would his Master let him leave after a mere half-day of torture? Suna Ranil wasn't so lenient. It was better for Myrkas to quash those hopes before they bloomed.
Master Ranil dropped the boy on a nearby bench. Myrkas hissed upon landing. His whole body was sore. And he did not have the energy to stretch to try to alleviate some of the yet-building soreness. All Myrkas wanted was to crumble right here, to rest and recuperate inside, away from the harsh summer sun. The boy could not even imagine how he was going to "train" some more that day. He could not move. Would he have to dodge not-peanuts while lying on the floor? Was he expected to just "not die" for the afternoon? A mystery destined to be answered way too soon to the youth's tastes.
"Here, drink this," said Master Ranil as he handed the boy a small bamboo gourd. "That's Clear Refreshing Water, a low potency alchemical concoction to help you recover some. And yes, it's from your uncle. Don't get too used to it though, this is the nice type. We don't give it out too often. The regular one tastes like barely diluted horse piss, you'll see. Expect to drink barrels of that one through your training. And yes, it's also made by your uncle. He could get it to taste better but then he charges too much for it. So aim any complaints you have at him, not me."
Too tired to answer, Myrkas mustered his last reserves of willpower to accept the container and its magical water. He drank it all, not wasting one drop. By now, the boy knew the value of such Qi-containing items. While not that rare, they were relatively expensive, especially reputable ones. It was a wonder his Uncle did not charge a more monstrous mark-up. The older man must have had his reasons though.
The concoction tasted a little sweet. It was very refreshing, with a mild aftertaste of cucumber and grapefruit. Reinvigorating. Myrkas noticed the refreshing liquid descend to his stomach. There, the energy it had hidden was released and quickly spread through the boy's battered system. His soreness lessened instantly, his body cooled and healed a little from the inside out. While Myrkas' appearance had not changed, the boy felt infinitely better. So much so that he dared try to stand on his own.
He stood gingerly at first. He felt like a newborn lamb, with his legs shaking unsteadily. However, just like the baby herbivore, he quickly recovered and solidified his mastery of equilibrium and the standing position. His body still protested the motions. Myrkas was better, true, but his morning had still taken its toll. His muscles required more rest before their next adventures.
"Good, you can move. We might make something out of you after all kid. There's some hope. Now stop dallying and get naked, we don't have all day," said his Master.
"Hum, can I take a change of clothes first? I'm not sure anything will fit me here," replied the boy.
Myrkas remained a bit shy about nudity in general. He much preferred to keep the lower parts of himself under cover. He specifically did not want to be fully naked for any prolonged period amongst grown men. He had not had a growth spurt yet and felt a bit self-conscious about his overall "smallness."
"What for? Just get naked kid, there's no point to cover up."
The boy froze. Changing his clothes made sense. Myrkas could understand the desire to have a presentable disciple at his place of work. Master Ranil had a reputation to maintain, even if it wasn't the best. Hence, a temporary state of exposure was acceptable if inevitable.
But "staying naked" made no such sense. What kind of activity did his Master have in reserve that required gallivanting in his birthday suit? A hint of fear shot through Myrkas at the thought. What the hell was this building truly for?