Rihal swept the floor where Jerome was standing moments ago with a sweeping kick. He swiftly rose on one hand to continue with another kick. Then he followed with a smack with his bo staff. His disciple took it all in stride, not even grunting from the pain when his kick landed on his crossed forearms.

Jerome was learning and adapting fast. At this rate, he would be ready for Pilgrims’ Keep. He was no longer rushing to control the flow of battle. He now understood the difference between their strengths and was flowing with the battle…like a river flows with its currents.

Rihal performed some quick thrusts with his staff and Jerome was just a tad bit slow. Out of the fifteen attacks, he was only able to properly block six of them. The pain didn’t take away from his concentration. He didn’t stop the flow of his rhythm as he danced around the training ground. He wasn’t looking for a chance to rest or to be let off easily.

This was progress.

Rihal was proud of him. He had come a long way. And in time he could hold his own against those who would seek to use him to undermine the Royal Family during Pilgrims’ Keep. Rihal decided to see how far Jerome could read into the fight. He quickened his next set of attacks forcing Jerome to increase his speed to keep up with the barrage of attacks. The boy’s limbs were shaking already, yet he didn’t notice this as he was deep in concentration.

Rihal forced him back, making sure to keep his attacks close. Jerome had gotten pretty good at using his spear as a shield, rotating it to knock off as many attacks as his weak limbs could allow. He had to make sure the little devil didn’t start depending on the technique too much.

He feigned a strike to Jerome’s midsection. Jerome saw this and moved to spin his spear. Rihal’s bo staff changed direction, stopping the spear mid-swing and swinging it out of Jerome’s hands.

“Now you’ve lost your weapon!” His staff came down with a downward spin in Jerome’s direction.

Jerome impressed him once again. Instead of retreating, he stepped into his space, contending with Rihal for the staff in his hand. Rihal was forced to kick away the staff which was a little too long for a close-up battle. That was impressive thinking on his disciple’s part. But it wasn’t enough.

The little devil knew he couldn’t win, so he went on the defense — at least that was what Rihal thought. Until his disciple attacked and defended himself with his elbows and knees in a strange combination of attacks he had never seen before.

~~~

Rihal’s momentum was difficult to break. Well, downright impossible, really. So Jerome decided not to even try. He had taken up something Rihal had taught him some days ago: rehearsing the fight in his mind before and after every fight.

Jerome had been taking time to rehearse possible fights from many possible angles — all of which led to his defeats. He even dreamed up different scenarios. All with a Rihal whose momentum was impossible to break. The best way to fight Rihal was to flow with the fight. He would be the wind…or the river to the mountain.

That was until Rihal knocked his spear out of his hand. His first instinct was to flip out of the way as Rihal’s staff spun toward him. Jerome fought the urge to flee. And inserted himself slightly in the path of the staff. He leaned away and elbowed the staff but Rihal was too fast. The staff came to an abrupt stop, missing his elbow by a few inches. He had to think fast. Rihal was very good at spinning his staff and attacking with it at the same time — all with one hand!

A punch landed on his nose, pushing his head to the side. Jerome tasted blood. Vertigo threatened to take him but he pushed through it. He licked his lips, brought up his arm, elbows out, and hit Rihal’s fist while hitting the staff in Rihal’s other hand out of the way. Rihal had to throw the staff away. It wasn’t useful in a close-up fight.

Rihal rained down on him with punches but to Jerome’s credit, he was ready for them. Up close, Rihal was even faster than before. But with his elbows and knees working in tandem, he was able to pull off some very novice Muay Thai moves. Something he never had the opportunity to do in his previous life…or during previous fights with Rihal for that matter.

Jerome saw the change in Rihal. The man was surprised for a split second. Just a split-second loss in concentration. But it was enough for him to execute the Muay Thai Flying Knee Strike. He took a step with his left leg toward Rihal and sprung into the air, raising his right leg, knee forward for the strike. He also raised his left hand to protect his battered face from more blows and pushed his hips out.

But Jerome saw his master’s face before he covered his. Rihal was slack-jawed in shock, his brows raised behind his blindfold. That must have been ‘shock’ he saw on his master’s face, right? It could not have been anything but a shock!

Rihal came to himself at the last moment, shoving Jerome’s knee that was headed for his sternum. Jerome brought his elbow down on Rihal’s head. He was already smiling gleefully.

Now I got him. Oh, I got him!

Rihal tilted his head to the side and caught him by the elbow, holding him up as one would hold up a chicken that was up for sale. Jerome tried to punch him in the face with his other hand but his master straightened his arm, holding him at bay.

“What kind of form is that?”

Jerome deflated.

Well, at least he tried. He took his master by surprise. How many disciples could hold their heads up high and claim they surprised their master in a fight?!

~~~

“I call it Muay Thai — ‘The Art of Eight Limbs’,” Jerome said as he sat down on the hardened dirt floor trying to catch his breath.

“Muay… Thai?” Rihal asked with a tilt of his head. “Which one of the words is art and which one is eight and also… ‘limbs’? Really, Jerome?”

Jerome waved him off. “Those words do not directly mean ‘The Art of Eight limbs’. I use it to express the fact that Muay Thai makes use of eight points of contact. Punches, elbows, knees, and kicks — all with two sets of limbs.”

“So you just coined the word all by yourself,” Rihal said, his voice filled with sarcasm.

Jerome shrugged as if it was no big deal. He couldn’t as well say, ‘Hey, it’s from my former life’. That was not a path he wanted to go down with Rihal. And he felt he still needed to keep his former life a secret. How would others react to information like that? For a civilization as traditional yet surprisingly technological as Vorthe, he was pretty sure they would turn him into research. If they were religious they might burn him at the stake. Maybe.

“Go bathe,” Rihal said. “And when was the last time you had a meal?”

Jerome looked up at his master, startled. He hadn’t felt hungry in a while. Actually, he hadn’t eaten after his meal with Kilian the day he was brought to the palace, which was eleven days ago.

Rihal gave him a knowing smile. “As Blank, you don’t need to eat as frequently as you did as a mere mortal…or a Drudge. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to eat. Your body is still young. Make sure you don’t starve it of much-needed sustenance. Something you can do is have a timeframe for fasting — perhaps a tenday.”

“But isn’t it incredible?” Jerome said, voice dripping with wonder, “To not need sustenance for that long?”

Rihal chuckled. “You sound like you want to see how long you can go. It’s been what? A tenday and one? That’s pushing the extremes for most Blank,” he said with a pointed look at Jerome.

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“Feels like ages ago.” Jerome picked himself off the floor and dusted the sand off his behind. He really wasn’t feeling hungry but he would do as Rihal said. But he was in no hurry to use the public bathing hall, though. The smell was ‘urgh’. It wasn’t as bad as the slums, but it was nasty.

“Can I use the washroom inside the palace? You know, the one I used when you brought me here?”

Rihal was already walking toward the stairs leading out of the underground training hall but he stopped and gave Jerome a look. “No. That’s for the maids. The only reason you used it the first time was because you were stinking. It’s like that for most new disciples.”

“The public washrooms are disgusting—”

“That from someone who’s lived in the slum his whole life. You sure get comfortable fast, Jerome.”

“In the slum, we never had to bath in algae-infested waters,” Jerome muttered. The bathing pools in the public baths were already turning green. The walls of the pools were coated with slimy green algae, it was disgusting to look at.

“Algae?” Rihal asked. “What’s that?”

“Huh. Never knew you could hear all the way from there. Algae is…” Rihal should have been too far away to hear him. Now, how the hell does he explain this? Or how the hell does he tell Rihal he just came up with the name ‘algae’?

“Algae is the green slimy plant growing out of the walls and grounds of the bathrooms. They’re irritating to look at and they could be harmful.”

Rihal snorted. “You and your names. Those ‘plants’ aren’t harmful to you. Ask the maids to give you something to clean up the bathing hall. For some reason, you male disciples tend to be a dirty bunch.” Rihal scrunched his face in irritation. “A good thing their baths are outside the palace instead of inside.”

Jerome fell back into the sand, tired as hell. “Why must I be the one to clean up the bathroom?”

Rihal chuckled. “Be thankful they haven’t come to harass you into cleaning it.”

“They wouldn’t dare!”

“And what did I tell you about your discipleship, Jerome,” Rihal said, giving him a pointed look.

Jerome looked away, frowning. “Respect, order, and discipline.”

Rihal nodded curtly. “Get to it then,” he said before walking up the stairs and out of the underground training hall.

For a palace as big and beautiful as this, Lord Kilian really didn’t take good care of its residents, Jerome thought with a frown. But just like Rihal said, it was a good thing the bathing hall was outside the palace, if not it’d make the whole place stink. Jerome called up the little strength he could and stood up. It was better to do the chore now than wait for someone to force him to do it.

He dragged himself to the maids’ quarters on the same floor as his bedchamber. After requesting and receiving the cleaning tools, he dragged himself to the public bathing hall.

“Tsk. Finally decided to be useful, I see,” someone said as he walked into the bathing hall with cleaning tools he got from the maids.

Jerome looked up to see the library attendant from before. He bowed. “Greetings, senior. I only heard today that I have to do the cleaning.”

The man sneered at him. “So you need to be told before you do a chore, eh? How dumb can you be? Tsk. Why am I even wasting my time talking to a slum rat.”

That last part got Jerome’s blood boiling. He hated that label. Why must they all despise those from the slums like they were less than human? It was infuriating. Jerome bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something he would regret.

He wanted to walk away but society had standards. The senior must be the first to walk away from any discussion. Either that or he dismissed the junior. It was a sign of disrespect to walk away from one’s seniors.

It seemed the library attendant was bent on seeing him be disrespectful. He used his skinny body that held little to no muscle to block the entrance of the bathing hall, standing there in nothing but his undergarment, glaring at Jerome. His provocation didn’t work and it seemed he was thinking of something else to try.

Jerome had to talk. He couldn’t keep quiet as this occurrence was completely strange to him. He had his assumptions but he had to know what really made this man mad at him.

“But what exactly did I do to earn your animosity, senior?” he asked. “I don’t think I have ever disrespected you at all so why are you always hostile toward me.”

“This is exactly why!” the senior screamed, pointing accusingly at him. “You think you are better than everyone else, strutting around all high and mighty! Why?! Is it because you became Blank straight from Mehn Agrh’ur?!

“I would find out whatever scam you pulled to make it possible, whatever veil you put over Lord Rihal’s eyes, and I’ll bring it to light. I have met others like you and all of you are the same! You are always up to no good!”

Jerome just stood there nonplussed. For some reason, it felt like this person was looking for someone to vent his anger on. And Jerome happened to be the perfect scapegoat. He wished he hadn’t opened his mouth to talk now. If someone came here and misunderstood what was going on…

“Soon, rat. I will reveal your true colors to the royals. And then you will be out on the streets again!” the attendant said, but his eyes went wide like saucers almost immediately. The man sputtered to a stop as if he were a fowl that was doused by cold water.

Someone placed their hand on Jerome’s shoulder and he turned around to see Rihal glaring at the library attendant.

He turned back to give the library attendant a smirk. Well, you should have continued, he thought.

“Disciple Jerome, you may go on with your duty,” Rihal said, all formal and cold, still glaring at the attendant. “Disciple…” he tilted his head at the attendant. “State your name, disciple.”

“I-I am…I am nu-number…numbered fifteen, my Lord. Library attendant fifteen, my Lord,” the initiate attendant stuttered in fear with his head down.

“Disciple fifteen, you will report yourself to the overseer for proper disciplinary action,” Rihal said and the attendant scuttled away.

“Are you okay, Jerome?” Rihal asked from the doorway after the library attendant had left.

“Heh. That was…unexpected,” he answered. “I still don’t know why he was harassing me like that, though.”

“Some people are just…different,” Rihal answered. “You’d think becoming a sacred artist would make them more confident in themselves. But no. They take pleasure in putting other people down.” Rihal gave him a side glance. “You should know, Jerome. You’ve lived with one such person all your life.”

Jerome’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Moss,” he said. “Which reminds me, Rihal. I need to talk to you about protection for the orphanage.”

“Hmm? What for?” Rihal asked, puzzled.

“Ms. Tara started making soap and selling it in the market. I don’t want her to become the target of some jealous soap maker.”

Rihal searched his face for a while. “And where did Tara learn to make soap?” Jerome looked away guiltily but Rihal just chuckled. “I’d see what I can do.”

“No, Rihal. Please keep an eye on them so they don’t get picked on.” Jerome had never personally requested anything from Rihal. And even now he wasn’t requesting for himself.

Rihal nodded solemnly.

“I’ll keep an eye on them for you,” he promised. “But you better grow strong, Jerome. Strong enough to protect yourself and those you care about. Even from creeps like fifteen and Moss.” he thumbed the air in the direction fifteen went. “Their mannerism is actually considered a sickness to us born of the blood of Vorthe. Though, we have their kind among us.”

“Really?” Jerome muttered and then looked at Rihal. “What do you mean their mannerism is a sickness?” That in itself sounded a little too prideful.

“Pettiness, Jerome. It’s a sickness. And there are many more like them in the world. Vorthe wields the force of light and with it, we can illuminate the dark corners of our hearts, the secret obsessions and dark urges — even the ones we don’t know we have or want to admit to ourselves.

“We can ‘objectively see’ ourselves for what we are and adjust to become better versions of ourselves. Besides having the Sovereign, that’s how we’ve been able to reign over this kingdom for so long, Jerome. It is what sets us apart from others.”

“The force of light can do that?” Jerome asked in a daze.

“Yes, Jerome.” Rihal smiled at him. “It’s like having a special mirror you can look into to see yourself for what you truly are. With no deception or hidden secrets. And it can be very unpleasant.”

“I bet,” Jerome said. He didn’t know if he would want to see himself through such means. But what was this about the force of light? “I bet there are other things the force of light can help one do, right?”

Rihal chuckled. “When you become Sprout, you’ll learn about everything the different elements and forces can help one achieve.”

“Oh. okay.” He had hoped he could learn it now. But he guessed being Sprout was tied to learning it.

“Just don’t let power get to your head,” Rihal continued. “I say that because fifteen was right about one thing.”

“Huh?” Jerome tilted his head at Rihal. What did that mean?

“You do walk around like you own the world,” Rihal said. His voice was light now and filled with laughter.

“Heh,” Jerome replied with a mischievous grin and a twinkle in his eyes. “Maybe I was a king in my previous life.”