Jerome found himself speechless as he stood before an immense, monstrous creation put together from metal, earth, and wood. Its form resembled that of a colossal crab, evoking a sense of awe and terror and it was more than twice his height.

The creature loomed on eight sturdy legs that were even longer than he was tall and had a lot of girth like an ancient tree. Three of him could fit side by side inside each of its legs if it was a container. Its body was another fearsome part of it. It looked like a tank. Jerome expected the muzzle of a gun to be pointed in his face from the crab’s turret. It exuded an aura of menace as if poised to rampage its way through the entire land of Farryn.

Jerome looked at Rihal to see if he was kidding, then back at the contraption, and then back at Rihal again. Seriously? Could he really pull this off? He just might end up shitting his pants if he tried.

“And I’m supposed to pull this, Rihal?”

Rihal raised an eyebrow at him. Jerome was sure this was payback from embarrassing him the night before. Was Rihal expecting him to apologize? Not a chance. He was going to show this master of his who he was. He was never one to back down from a challenge. This was supposed to be punishment but he’d take it as a challenge.

Jerome let out a huge breath, releasing the tension in his body with it. He examined the straps he was supposed to wear at the shoulder to use in pulling the crab. After a few tests to see if it wouldn’t snap, he nodded, satisfied.

“Very well,” he said, taking off his robe to get ready for training.

~~~

“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,” Jerome explained as he pulled with all his strength. His damned master just sat atop the crab-shaped contraption as if he had not a care in the world.

Every step he took was met with resistance as the crab-shaped contraption was designed to pull in the opposite direction. The machine weighed more than a ton. Jerome was almost regretting his decision to take the challenge head-on now. Almost.

“Hmm. These days though, awakened magical beasts are hard to find but it don’t mean they don’t exist,” Rihal responded.

“Aye,” Jerome said, taking another step and pulling the contraption with strong leather straps he wore at his shoulders.

“And many of them are weak, weak enough that even you could kill them.”

“Aye,” he repeated, letting the insult slide.

“Is that all you’re gonna say?... ‘Aye’?” Rihal complained playfully.

“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 masters 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 was 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 with a sigh. This back and forth with Rihal would be counterproductive to his goals and he knew that Rihal knew this. Was getting back at him so important? Talk about petty!

“No stopping. What’s the distance from one tower to another in the mountains?” Rihal demanded.

By the Light, now he’s offended. “I meant the talking,” Jerome muttered.

“Answer the question,” Rihal snapped at him. It took all his discipline to not snap back. Jerome bottled his anger and frustration and answered just as coldly.

“About 100 miles,” he said, preparing to take another step. The leather straps were biting into his skin uncomfortably but he was not about to complain about that.

“And how many towers are there?”

The ground literally cracked as he took another step. “70 towers.”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Jerome felt the muscles in his legs burn. A good burn. One that distracted him from his crazy master.

“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. Jerome could see he wouldn’t be let off so easily this time around

“Hrmph,” he 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.”

Now, that’s low…and hateful! Jerome screamed in his head. He could imagine the shit-eating 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 kind of treasures?” Jerome asked, his interest piqued. If there were treasures to be found, this would all be worth it.

“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. Jerome wondered how a human who weighed so little compared to the huge contraption he was pulling could add more weight to it, to the point it was significant enough to impair him.

“I’d say there’s barely anything left these days.” Rihal didn’t bother looking his way, 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 walked off as he announced.

“Are there other things I should know about Pilgrims’ Keep?” Jerome called out.

“Other things like what? I have told you about all you need to know.”

“All I ‘need’ to know? That just sounds like there’s more I don’t know about,” Jerome said, relaxing for the first time since he started that morning. “For instance, what is at the end of it all? Is there a prize or something?”

Rihal chuckled, then chuckled some more. Then he just began to laugh uncontrollably.

“And what do you find so funny?” Jerome folded his hands defensively.

He wondered what he said that this ‘cow-headed’ master of his was laughing at. Was there some sort of tradition attached to Pilgrims’ Keep as well? Jerome paused to think for a bit. Who was he kidding? This was something that had been going on for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Jerome remembered the ‘agoge’ in ancient Sparta and it dawned on him for the first time since he had heard about this adventure.

Pilgrims’ Keep was a rite of passage into adulthood. Just as Mehn Agrh’ur was a rite of passage into the world of the sacred arts. Shit.

Shit! he thought, scrunching his nose as he chastised himself silently. Who would pay me to become an adult?

The ‘agoge’ — a crucial part of Spartan society that shaped young boys into fierce warriors. Young boys as young as seven years of age left the warmth of their mothers and the safety of their homes to join the Spartan military. They were trained and beaten into warriors for years, usually until the age of twenty, before they became full-fledged Spartan warriors. Compared to this, Pilgrims’ Keep should be child’s play. How could he have forgotten about that?

Rihal slowly came down from his laughing fit. “By the Light, Jerome,” he began to say but Jerome raised his hand to interrupt him.

“Don’t say it, Rihal. Just…don’t,” he said with a tight voice.

The slow smile that split Rihal’s face was all he needed to know that his dickhead of a master knew the truth had dawned on him. Rihal walked to the exit with a skip in his steps, took his stick resting on the wall, and deepened the already obvious mark on the ground. He looked back and began laughing uproariously again before he climbed the stairs leading upwards out of the underground training hall.

“Urgh,” Jerome grumbled in embarrassment, covering his face with his arms. There was no way he just committed self-sabotage. Leave it to me to shoot myself in the leg, he thought with a sigh. He felt like the ground should open up to swallow him whole and hide him from the rest of the world. Rihal would never let this drop.

Jerome mentally measured the distance between him and the line on the ground. It was at least 30 paces away. Close, but enormously difficult to reach with the ‘crab’.

~~~

House Baelor House of the Running Bull.

They were the descendants of giants who lived in the far reaches of the redwood forest, West of Vorthe. The forest is a part of their heritage and the Baelors have taken care of it for generations. The forest is not without its own mysteries. For many explore its depth and very few come back.

Before the establishment of Vorthe as a Sovereign polity, The Baelors had fought many invaders from across their border to keep their lands and their forests intact. The Farvaq, the Shaxi, and many more from foreign kingdoms. All came to take their lands and lay waste to their forests. They bore down on Baelor with a plethora of sacred beasts, wielding foreign artifacts, the likes never seen in Vorthe.

Through the help of the Sovereign, they were able to secure their position in the West of Vorthe…

Ah, crap. Jerome closed the book he was reading with annoyance. Whoever the author is or was. Their bias toward Vorthe could not be clearer. He couldn’t read a few paragraphs about the Great Clans without mention of the Sovereign.

Jerome stood up on weak legs, ready to leave the library. Rihal had worked him to the bone today. It was straight to bed, and he wasn’t looking forward to sleep. His body would protest the hardness of his bed but there was nothing he could do about it.