“Is this it for you?” Rihal asked and Jerome looked up to glare at him. “Tsk, tsk. I had high hopes for you Jerome but it seems,” he held up the letter from Ms. Tara, “you’re not interested in hearing from ‘Ms. Tara’.”

Jerome’s bulging muscles were screaming at him to give up under the strain of the crab’s weight. He ignored the ache in his body and took another step. The hardened dirt floor gave under his foot, scattering dust everywhere.

“Playing the bad guy doesn’t suit you, Rihal!” he said, his voice strained as much as his muscles were. One of Rihal’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Jerome chuckled. Two can play this game.

“It’s been ten days, Jerome. That’s twice as much the time it took me and many others to completely move the crab to the line,” Rihal taunted.

Ouch. So they were comparing dicks now. But Jerome wasn’t one to back down. “Low blow, Rihal. I bet you were at least fifteen when you attempted to move this monster.”

He turned back to glare at the line on the ground behind him. He had moved past it himself, he only had to get the crab there. It was just a foot away, maybe not even as much as that! If he could just… Ah, crap!

He took another step but the crab pulled him back a few inches, “Are you kidding me?!”

Rihal chuckled. “And what if I was? Are you going to complain about how unfair it is for you?”

Jerome dug his feet in the ground, his posture one to maintain his balance. He looked up at Rihal to convey his determination without words. He wanted this cock-headed master of his to see that he was neither going to be cowed nor provoked by some anger-driven motivation. He wasn’t a child.

Heh. But I am, ain’t I? he thought. He went back to pulling the crab before saying, “This carrot and stick method you’re employing is as old as time, Rihal. It would not…” he prepared himself for another step, this time making sure to stay low so the crab doesn’t pull him backward, “work on me,” he finished.

With another step, he dragged the crab’s foremost leg across the line. Jerome quickly got rid of the leather handles he was wearing like a backpack. He slumped down on the ground, heaving to catch his breath.

Rihal walked up to him, letter in hand, and extended as if to give it to him. Jerome stretched his hand to take it but his master pocketed the piece of paper.

“Damn you, Rihal!”

“Along with you,” his master quipped. “You’ll receive your letter after tomorrow’s training. Go wash up.”

Jerome wanted to get up and wrestle the letter from him but Rihal was just too fast. He shot out of the underground training hall and was gone before Jerome could reach him. His fading laughter was all Jerome heard as he looked toward the exit.

He promised payback someday. No one had ever embarrassed him like this. Expecting a prize after Pilgrims’ Keep was due to his ignorance but using this to taunt him? Someday, he’ll get his chance to pay back this childlike master of his!

~~~

Pulling the crab was one of the most difficult things Jerome had had to do — as well as training with Rihal. But it was one thing to train with Rihal and another thing to fight him. The most difficult thing in his opinion was fighting 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 him 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 playfully.

“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 said with a loud sigh, “In the meantime...do you know how the term Pilgrims’ Keep came to be?”

Jerome nodded his head and winced in pain. But Rihal went ahead to explain things he had already read about in the library.

“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. After ‘The Culling’, Vorthe went ahead to build the keeps around the mountain. They serve as watchtowers to help keep the kingdom informed about the ‘beast tide’.”

“Question,” Jerome said. “Why is Vorthe called a kingdom? From what I’ve—” he coughed uncontrollably, “from what I’ve read so far, it sounds like it should be an empire.”

Rihal’s blindfolded face showed so many emotions at that moment — in a short amount of time, Jerome didn’t know what to make of it all. But it was clear that there was a troubling history there. That much he deduced.

Rihal cleared his throat and ignored his question. “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.” He sat 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.”

Jerome had read a lot about this to know the people who participated in Pilgrims’ Keep were either crazy or had a death wish. Why would someone participate in something that would cause them harm and even death? Were they not afraid of dying?

“According to the records — records you would not find in a library,” Rihal looked pointedly at him. Jerome knew what ‘a look to zip his lips’ meant — a vow of silence between men.

“A few hundred Blanks take the ‘pilgrimage’ every year and about five people go missing during Pilgrims’ Keep. About ten die that we know of, and their deaths aren’t mild in the least. They die some of the most gruesome deaths with body parts missing, having been chewed off by powerful magical beasts. Some are just gulped down like water and no one hears from them anymore. Some of the Blanks return jaded — a shell of their previous self and unable to function in society for a while.

“But you must understand that many of these Blanks go for the pilgrimage with this unspoken urge to prove themselves, to show that they are impervious to the dangers Pilgrims’ Keep presents. For Pilgrims’ Keep, Jerome… is a ceremonial ritual to reach your majority as a sacred artist.”

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Jerome scowled at him and snorted. “I’ve already reached that conclusion, ‘dear master’.”

“Oh, really?… I never knew.” Rihal looked at him with mock surprise.

“Why wait for me to reach that conclusion by making a blunder?”

“In life, you learn by failing,” Rihal quipped. “Anyway, Blanks are young and motivated, exuberant, and in their prime. They want to prove themselves as men. Just like you and your friends wanted to prove yourselves, men, by taking me down when you were in the slum — not that it did much for you.” Rihal chuckled. “Good times, yes?”

Jerome glared at him.

“Hey, now. I’m still your master, you know?”

Jerome looked away. Even he had been that way when he heard of Pilgrims’ Keep. To be sincere, he still was. He was just more aware of what it meant to be young and exuberant. And perhaps it was wrong to assume that everyone else was thinking like a child with tunnel vision, seeing only the end goal in front of them.

It would be wrong to think they weren’t afraid of death as they prepared for Pilgrims’ Keep. There surely would be those who would be blinded by the prospects of treasures and proving themselves, but it was best not to assume everyone was like that.

~~~

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 little devil would have to learn to adapt. He was already coming around nicely for a Blank as young as he was. Granted, Rihal had never seen a Blank as young as Jerome.

He was still getting used to seeing a twelve-year-old Blank. Most Blanks he’d seen were teenagers and his mind had gotten used to equating teenagers at the ages of fifteen to eighteen as Blanks. Even though a few Blanks were thirteen in their first year — those that were nobles or royalty, that is.

Rich parents wouldn’t let their children out of the safety of their homes though, since they were still too young to distinguish danger from safety. Blanks didn’t have evolved senses like Sprouts so they could literally walk into danger without knowing it. He was worried for Jerome because of this. Pilgrims’ Keep could reach levels of danger that even some Sprouts couldn’t handle.

But he was sure the little devil could best ninety folds of the Blanks that would come for the pilgrimage. It was the remaining tenfold he was worried about. But there was still a little more time and Jerome was enthusiastic.

“Okay, times up,” he said and 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.

Rihal could ‘see’ the strain on Jerome’s muscles as he wobbled to his feet. He knew it’d hurt really bad to be in the little devil’s position right now but he didn’t care. He kept his poker face, refusing to console his disciple.

This was what it meant to rise to the challenge and Jerome needed all the push he could get. He was still far behind what the top Blanks in Pilgrims’ Keep would be capable of doing. He had to push him some more…

No. Jerome has to change his way of thinking, Rihal thought. He is thinking too much about pain and not about surviving.

Rihal thought back to their previous fight, replaying it in his mind’s eye. The way he tenses when he was sure my staff would hit him was because he knew it was going to hurt. The pain is all that occupies his mind right now.

I have to find a way to make him realize that the life of a sacred artist is a life of pain — that it is second nature to us. And that he has to push through it until it becomes second nature to him.

Because pain was a part of life. Jerome just hadn’t dealt with enough of it to shrug it off like it was nothing. Rihal made up his mind not to let up the pressure he’d been putting on him since they began. The little devil needed to learn pain. And grow from there.

“How the hell do you even see through that?” Jerome asked as he gestured at the dark blindfold over his eyes. “I used to think you were blind, you know?”

Rihal looked down at him and 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. Or to bitch about being hit like a log. On second thought, he should give the little devil some credit. For someone who hadn’t fought with sacred artists before, he was taking his training really well.

Rihal attacked. Jerome raised his spear to block the staff coming at him with the force of a Mountain Bear’s paw just before it struck.

Bam!

His disciple went down on one knee and rolled out of the way to get rid of the weight. Rihal was on him the next moment with an upward strike. The boy abandoned defense. He evaded and struck, aiming for Riha’s chin with the butt of his spear.

Rihal smiled smugly. The little devil didn’t know how slowly he was moving to his perception. He hadn’t fought a Blank in ages and he felt like he could run up to the kitchens to grab a bite and be back to still meet Jerome, swinging his spear to hit him in the chin. That was how slow Jerome was to him — as if he could literally slow down time.

Rihal spun his staff and knocked the spear out of his disciple’s hands. The spinning staff continued on its trajectory and smacked Jerome on his right shoulder.

~~~

Heavy! Jerome thought as Rihal attacked him unexpectedly. His reaction speed was improving by the hour and he could feel it himself. A few hours ago, he wouldn’t have been able to react on time — not that he was capable of telling what time it was since there was no clock, but he felt he was right with such predictions.

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. The son of a bitch 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 in an instant. “Time! Time!” He screamed, “urhg!” Rihal whacked him in the stomach. Again.

“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?”

“Magical beasts—”

“...won’t be gentle...got it,” Jerome said as he crawled away in pain. This man would kill him if given the chance.

“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. That would be like facing death with a pair of kitten paws. Someone as fast and as strong as Rihal could cause him permanent damage.

“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 as it dawned on him for the second time in a tenday just how dangerous a time he was living in. Even knowing he wasn’t on Earth, he was still thinking like a sheltered human from an advanced civilization. One where there was as little danger as possible and there were cops to stand between civilians and any little scuffle as a buffer.

Right. He realized he had treated life in the slum as a game. The euphoria he felt at being able to physically do the things he wasn’t able to do before his reincarnation had blinded him to the dangers around him. Even though he knew those dangers and was well aware of them, he treated them as though he was seeing them through the lens of a screen — like in a game.

Jerome stood up and picked up his spear with renewed determination. His eyes shone with a new light in them. He gripped the spear like it was a lifeline, tightening his grip on it until his palm hurt and his knuckles turned white.

This was a wake-up call. And he had been shocked aware into the realization that this was not Earth, nor was it a game. He could truly get hurt. Fortunately, this realization came during training and not in battle. He didn’t know if he’d be able to deal with such a dangerous awakening at a time like that.

But with this realization came an insurmountable wall in front of him. Now, he ‘had’ to become powerful. There was no other choice! He had to! Not just for the sake of being so. Not because he used to be weak and wanted to feel strong. But because power was everything in this world.

He thought he understood power before but back then, he was looking at the world through a lens. Now he could imagine the horrors one would have to go through if one had no power. Now he was ‘accepting’ of the horrors one would have to go through — especially at the hands of others — if one had no power!

~~~

Rihal felt the change in his disciple at that moment. His eyes were different as he stood up. The little devil picked up his spear on the ready. His stance was that of a true disciple now. His aura, that of a warrior.

Now you’re ready, Jerome, Rihal thought with a slight smile.

Jerome attacked.