“The mountain range to the north used to be home to a great number of magical beasts, like the Black-Fanged Jaguar and the Silver Moon Wolves, many of which had awakened their bloodline powers," Rihal explained as he sat atop a peculiar contraption Jerome was pulling with all his strength.
They were in an underground training hall inside Kilian’s Palace. It was a spacious place with a few weapons hanging on racks by the south wall. The soil on the ground had hardened from lack of use. Jerome had had to clean the whole place from top to bottom to prepare it for his use.
“Aye,” he grunted in response to Rihal.
Every step he took was met with resistance as the crab-shaped contraption was designed to pull in the opposite direction. The machine was twice as tall as he was and weighed more than a ton.
“Hmm. These days though, awakened magical beasts are hard to find but it don’t mean they don’t exist,” Rihal continued.
“Aye,” Jerome said, taking another step and pulling the contraption with strong leather straps he wore at his shoulders.
“Is that all you’re gonna say?... ‘Aye’?” Rihal complained playfully.
He had to say, Jerome was tougher than he looked outwardly, and very determined. Some kids would have stopped to rest, but it was like he wanted to prove something to himself. Rihal found that kind of determination inspiring. But he still needed to get the kid to his breaking point.
“Perhaps we should trade places. That’s good enough for a discussion, right?” Jerome snapped. He just wanted to train in peace, not be hounded with questions by his mentor.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, emotions, Jerome. A rational mind means a rational man, which is the foundation of success as a sacred artist,” Rihal responded, almost playfully.
“I get your point,” Jerome responded back.
“Ah,” Rihal sighed. “You’re at your limit I get it, but you’re gonna be at the bottom of the rung where you’re going.”
“I thought assassins are supposed to be quiet and mysterious and... reserved?” Jerome said, taking another arduous step forward as his muscles strained with the effort.
“Did you just call me loud and excessive?” Rihal asked, his voice so cold you’d think it could freeze the sun.
“I did not,” Jerome defended. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“But you implied it,” Rihal said.
“Rihal, can we just...stop,” Jerome said. This back and forth with Rihal would be counterproductive to his goals and he knew that Rihal knew this.
“No stopping. What’s the distance from one tower to another in the mountains?” Rihal demanded.
Heavens, now he’s offended. “I meant the talking,” Jerome muttered.
“Answer the question,” Rihal said. He wasn’t offended by what Jerome said, far from it. His goal was to put his disciple under pressure — both physically and mentally — to see how long before he breaks or gives up. Or perhaps he’d rise above both tests and move past them without being held back by emotion and fatigue.
“About 100 miles,” Jerome responded.
“And how many towers are there?”
The ground literally cracked as Jerome took another step. “70 towers.”
“What magical beasts should you be wary of,” Rihal asked again.
“The ones whose bloodline powers have awakened,” Jerome replied.
“Name the potential ones.”
“Black-Fanged Jaguar, Silver Moon Wolves, Ice-Saber Cat, Sunfire Wolf…”
“Is that all?” Rihal questioned, his voice dripping with venom.
“Hrmph,” Jerome grunted as he took another step, but the contraption didn’t so much as creak or groan. It was as stable as a mountain. Jerome ignored Rihal’s tone; he was here to train and get stronger, not get into arguments. “Fire-striped Tiger, Storm-Winged...Eagle,” he said.
“Good,” Rihal said nodding his head, “Though, you’re gonna see the Storm-Winged Eagle coming from a mile away, so, it doesn’t count if you can avoid it.”
Hateful! Jerome thought. He could imagine the grin on Rihal’s face as he watched his only disciple toil in misery, and Rihal still subtracted one of the magical beasts from his list, probably just for the fun of it.
“The deeper you go into the mountains, the more powerful the magic beasts you come across,” Rihal continued, “It is said that certain treasures could be found deep in the mountains.”
“Treasures, what kinda treasures?” Jerome asked, his interest piqued.
“Ah! Got your attention now, didn't I?” Rihal exclaimed, “You’re gonna have to find out for yourself. The Royal family has been collaborating with the Great clans and houses for millennia, sending their disciples and descendants to explore the area.”
Rihal stood and pushed off the contraption, adding more weight to it. Jerome glared at him as he landed in front of him.
“I’d say there’s barely anything left these days,” Rihal said, acting unconcerned about his disciple.
Jerome took another step before Rihal brought the day’s training to a stop. He relaxed his body, and the contraption pulled him forcefully backward, slamming him into its metal parts.
“Should have warned you about that,” Rihal said, “We resume tomorrow at dawn,” he announced as he walked off.
Rihal stopped in front of the exit, took his stick resting on the wall, and deepened the already obvious mark on the ground.
“Urgh,” Jerome grumbled as he saw this, and Rihal laughed as he walked away.
The line on the ground signified his stopping point. Jerome mentally measured it and grumbled again. It was at least 30 paces away.
~~~
It took Jerome ten days to completely pull the contraption to the line on the floor. It was one of the most difficult things he’d had to do. The most difficult thing in his opinion, however, would be training with Rihal.
Bam!
Pain shot up Jerome’s gut as he was hurled into the air. Not waiting for him to regain his wits, Rihal appeared mid-air above Jerome and bludgeoned him with the butt of his staff.
Boom!
Jerome hit the ground creating a small crater around him.
“What was your mistake?” Rihal asked, going down on one knee.
“Urgh, rgh, uhrg,”
“Those aren’t words,” Rihal chuckled.
“I...urhg...I...closed...m...eye..s,” Jerome tried to say, his voice a little less intelligible.
“Wrong, you hesitated. And when you hesitate my dear disciple, you die.”
I don't feel like your dear disciple right about now, Jerome thought to himself. He felt like this master of his was having fun at his expense.
“I’ll give you 100 breaths to heal,” Rihal sighed loudly, “In the meantime...do you know how the term Pilgrims’ Keep came to be?”
Jerome shook his head and winced in pain.
“The term Pilgrims’ Keep was coined from the long trek from one end of the mountains to another, and the towers were there to help receive these pilgrims and shelter them after the long trek. Nowadays, the mountain range is relatively safe, with only a few powerful magical beasts left, which means that even Blanks can participate in Pilgrims’ Keep.” Rihal said, sitting down beside Jerome as he healed.
“Despite this,” Rihal continued “Pilgrims’ Keep is still perilous, and many lose their lives every time it’s held. However, since ancient times, opportunities have always come with risks. Sacred artists are willing to take these dangers head-on in pursuit of greater power; refusing to pass up a chance to become stronger in a world full of uncertainty.”
Rihal observed Jerome seeing that he had healed well enough. He decided to continue the training. Must make sure he doesn’t heal completely, he thought. Healing while fighting was part of training too. The kid would have to learn to adapt.
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“OK, times up,” they both got up from the floor — Rihal with the agility of a panther and Jerome? His bones popped and cracked as he struggled to stand up.
Evidently, he hadn't healed completely but Rihal didn't give two farts about that.
“How the hell do you even see through that? I used to think you were blind, you know?” Jerome asked with a gesture at the thick black band over Rihal’s eyes.
Rihal chuckled but said nothing. At least you’re not complaining, he thought. He was impressed. He had expected Jerome to complain that he wasn’t given enough time to heal.
Rihal attacked. Jerome raised his staff to block the staff coming at him with the force of a tow truck just before it struck.
Bam!
Heavy! Jerome thought. He went down on one knee and rolled away. Rihal was on him the next moment, striking upwards in a low arc.
Jerome abandoned defense. He evaded and struck Rihal in the chin — or he tried.
Rihal spun his staff so fast he couldn't follow it with his eyes. Jerome’s staff was knocked off his hands and Rihal smacked him in the right shoulder.
His arm went numb. “Time! Time!” He screamed, “urhg!” Rihal whacked him in the stomach.
“Magical beasts won't give you time,” Rihal stated, “They wanna eat you, not spar.”
“Urhg...ooff...ooff,” Jerome hacked continuously, “Can you at least be gentle?”
“Magic beasts–”
“...won't be gentle...got it,” Jerome said.
“What was your mistake?” Rihal asked.
“I dropped my weapon?”
“Wrong, you gave up — too easily I might add.”
“What was I to do?” Jerome asked, frustrated. He couldn’t as well have continued without a weapon.
“Well, that’s the difference between you and the rest of the Blanks you come across, Jerome. You think like a fighter in a controlled setting for one-on-one fights,” Rihal pointed out, “They’ll be thinking like survivors.”
Jerome’s gaze lingered on Rihal and Rihal felt the change in him at that moment. The kid stood up and picked up his staff on the ready.
Now you’re ready, kid, Rihal thought.
Jerome attacked.
~~~
“A few of the Blanks participating in Pilgrims’ Keep will come from Great families of the Vorthe,” Rihal said as Jerome donned his new leather armor.
Forty days had passed since Jerome came to Kilian’s Palace. Today, he was preparing to head to the mountains with Rihal to participate in Pilgrims’ Keep.
“Many of these Blanks would be stronger and faster than you,” Rihal continued, “They’ve been Blanks for longer than you’ve been. Your training won’t make much of a difference if you were to go up against those who’d been Blanks for at least seven years. They’ve had time to hone themselves. You’ve not.
“Don’t embarrass me,” Rihal stated flatly. He was Jerome’s master and it would make him look bad if Jerome caved to someone just because they were stronger.
Jerome scoffed at that.
“And don’t even think about running away if you sense any of them, because if you can sense them, they can sense you. Even if they’re hostile to others, they’d thread carefully with you,” Rihal said.
“You think so little of me, Rihal,” Jerome said, scrutinizing his master’s armor.
“Well, I trained you,” Rihal shot back.
Rihal wore tight black leather armor, exposing his thick muscular arms that were covered in tattoos. His cloak was held in one hand — a more decent cloak — and his stick in the other.
“The Royal family’s crest can protect you, but only from some Blanks,” Rihal continued, folding his arms across his chest as he rested by the door, “Others would still try to pick a fight with you. You’ve got to be smarter than them. Pilgrims’ Keep doesn’t just test your strength and will, it also tests your adaptability and wisdom.”
~~~
Jerome admired his new leather armor. It was a robe/armor, stitched with hard-boiled leather to protect him. It was a fitting robe/armor. The leather cuirass on the outside was inlaid with soft foam-like textile padding.
Jerome wondered how they made foam in this world but didn’t think much of it. The robe carried the Vorthe family’s crest on the breastplate — a golden sun with a single eye at its center. He also strapped on a specially crafted spear that can contract to his back.
After their preparations, Rihal and Jerome departed before first light. They had a long way ahead of them. They walked through many grand palaces, gardens, and ancient trees with fruits that gave off a powerful aroma. Jerome could see the heritage of the Royal family and he knew without a doubt that this was just the tip of the iceberg.
“These herb gardens contain powerful herbs used in alchemy to refine pills that help martial artists in a number of things like overcoming bottlenecks, healing, and supplementing essence. Of course, the herb gardens are protected by powerful scripts so stealing herbs is impossible, same for the fruit trees,” Rihal explained.
“What are the fruits in the trees called?” Jerome asked.
“No idea. Not an alchemist.” Rihal responded.
Jerome looked at him, askance. Then he just chuckled and shook his head. The man wore his usual apathetic look acting like he didn’t care about a thing in the world. You ain’t fooling me though, he thought.
“One thing I can tell you though is that it’s better to advance without pills and also heal without them,” Rihal continued, “Pills carry a lot of impurities in them. They’ll help you in the short term, but they’ll cause damage to your foundation in the long term.”
Jerome nodded before saying, “But if an alchemist can refine pills with little to no impurities, what then?”
“Never been done before.” Rihal said. It would be one of the biggest achievements of humanity if alchemists could refine medicinal pills without impurities. Rihal would never put his body at risk of accumulating impurities even if they create one such pill, though. Sacred artists heal just fine on their own.
At this time, they had gone farther north, past the Palaces, and all around them were trees and bushes but no clear path. Rihal’s stick vanished from his hand, and he took off the band covering his eyes, which also vanished.
Jerome was shocked, “How’d you do that?” he asked.
“Spatial ring,” Rihal said, holding up his left hand to show a black ring on his index finger. “Try to keep up,” He said. But Jerome was looking into his eyes.
Rihal’s eyes had an intense, unnatural green color that contained an unusual pattern. They resembled emerald gems etched with a mysterious rune, emitting an eerie aura that left Jerome feeling as though he was being observed from every direction.
Rihal shot upwards jumping from tree to tree in a flash. Jerome quickly came back to his senses and shot after him. He didn’t bother asking. He knew Rihal wouldn’t give two farts about what he thought. But he was confused, nonetheless. This was the same guy who brought him to the orphanage twelve years ago.
What’s going on? Jerome thought. Bringing me to the orphanage, coming from time to time to tell stories and beat us up. That couldn’t have been a coincidence, right? Jerome was flabbergasted. There’s definitely something fishy going on.
Someone who clearly had astounding abilities like Rihal shouldn’t be playing nanny. He made up his mind to keep his eyes and ears peeled.
“Nice eyes,” Jerome said after putting his thoughts together.
Rihal scoffed, “There’s nothing nice about them.”
Since he didn’t say more and Jerome didn't bother asking.
After traveling through the forest for a time’s time, the duo stumbled upon a small clearing, deciding to take a break before resuming their journey. As the sun began to rise from the east, its orange rays illuminated the sky, turning the clouds into a shade of purple.
“Let’s rest here for a while,” Rihal said.
Turning towards Jerome, Rihal couldn’t help but be impressed by the kid’s stamina. Despite the long journey, he was still full of energy, a positive sign for what lay ahead. Nevertheless, Rihal knew that he needed to conserve his energy as much as possible, as there would likely be no time for rest once they reached their destination.
Jerome found a spot near the edge of the clearing and sat down, cross-legged as he prepared to cycle. He slowed his breath and cleared his mind but remained vigilant of his surroundings. The spear, tucked away in the special holder at his back, was at the ready in case of any unexpected threats.
Rihal sat on a rock, silently observing Jerome cycle. As he watched, memories of Kaia—Jerome’s mother—flooded back, reminding him of the uncanny resemblance between the mother and son. From the way Jerome tied his hair to the little gestures he made, it was as if Kaia was right in front of him.
As a member of the Royal family, Rihal knew that falling in love with a commoner was strictly prohibited. Matters of the heart were alien to him, but he couldn’t resist Kaia’s charm and they fell deeply in love. However, their love was doomed from the start. Them being young and naive.
Rihal’s heart ached as he remembered his dead lover who was taken away from him because of their forbidden love. He worried for Jerome. Jerome never truly knew the love his mother had for him. He worried about what he was destined to become. He worried he’d never be able to help the kid. He hoped Jerome would be different from the others that came before him. He was tasked by the Royal family to train Jerome, but the kid had grown on him.
Rihal sighed. Hope was no foundation for the future one wanted. He already had Kilian researching ways to help Jerome keep his sanity but it had never been done before. Maybe they’d be the first to figure it out. Just maybe.
“Are you okay, Rihal?” Jerome asked, looking at him with concern. He had sensed Rihal’s gaze on him and his worry about him. Or was it about something else? He had felt it was directed at him though, or for him.
Rihal quickly schooled his features and reigned in his emotions. “I’m fine,” he said. “We should continue our journey since we’ve rested well enough.”
Rihal pushed the disturbing thoughts away to the deepest recesses of his mind. He took a deep breath and got up from the boulder signaling their departure. Jerome rose to his feet as well. The two continued their journey in silence for the next few hours until they arrived at another clearing with a tower at its center.
The massive tower loomed over the forest, appearing out of place amidst the surrounding foliage. As they approached the entrance, a young man in his mid-twenties emerged to greet them. The young man bowed lightly at Rihal as they drew nearer.
“Welcome, Lord Rihal,” he greeted.
Like Jerome, he donned dark robes, stitched with hard-boiled leather as armor which also displayed the crest of the Royal family. After briefly observing Jerome, he averted his gaze, indicating a lack of esteem for him.
Jerome gave a slight bow to the young man and Rihal nodded in acknowledgment and was led inside with Jerome following behind. The interior of the tower was rather spacious and spartan, with rough walls and floor. The ground floor which they stepped into was filled with Blanks of different ages.
As they walked in, all eyes turned to the newcomers, especially the Blanks who eyed Jerome, sizing him up as though they were looking for weaknesses to exploit.
Jerome’s eyes scanned the crowd of Blanks in the room, checking to see if there were familiar faces but found none. That’s disappointing, he thought to himself. But he understood that his friends were not Blanks so they couldn’t be here.
“Are we late or something?” He quietly asked Rihal but received only silence. Jerome fought the urge to look at the man. One shouldn’t show uncertainty in times like these, so he just stood side by side with Rihal with a stern look on his face.
Rihal left his side and ascended a flight of stairs adjacent to the entrance. Jerome also walked up to the wall by his left to rest against it, closing his eyes and folding his arms as his vambraces clinked as they hit each other against his chest. Not long after he felt eyes on him, and someone walked up to him.
Jerome opened his eyes to scrutinize the stranger. He was a head taller than Jerome, good-looking with red-brown hair styled in a half-cut. The lower portion of his hair, from his temples down, was shaved low, and the rest of his hair was fashioned into a top knot. On his breastplate was the carving of something shaped like a person transforming into dust—his family crest, and it was intricately designed. He looked to be sixteen and arrogant. A bully.
Upon careful observation of the teenager’s family crest, one family popped up in Jerome’s head.
Alvric, House of the Wind Spirit.