Feet fell rapidly on the dirt path. Anton ran at a quick pace, Timothy trailing along behind, panting. “Why are we... running... up the hill again?”

“Did you not hear what I discovered yesterday? I thought it was quite obvious.”

Timothy took deep breaths to get enough to speak. “You said… that you are… Catarinas… great… great… grandpa… right?” He shook his head, “I still don’t get… why that means… I have to run up a hill.”

Anton clicked his tongue. “Typical. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

It didn’t take long for them to reach the top of the highest hill in the area. Even a non-cultivator could have done so fairly quickly, and both of them had tempered muscles and meridians. Anton had the organs in his torso tempered, so he was less out of breath at the end than he would have been. There were more improvements to be made after the tempering, though that was the biggest moment of progress. It wasn’t that Anton wasn’t breathing hard at the end, but he handled it better than Timothy.

“Now… sword out.” Anton pointed, though there wasn’t anything in that particular direction. “One hundred swings!” At the same time, he pulled out his bow and began firing Spirit Arrows. He let them unravel not far away so that he wouldn’t accidentally hit something in the trees. There was nothing complicated to what he did, just repetitive shooting at a regular pace.

For his part, Timothy had exhausted his questions. He just accepted that Anton thought this training method would pay off for some reason. He just shook his head and kept swinging. Technically sometimes he stabbed, but he was pretty sure that counted. His arm was tired by the end, because Anton’s pace didn’t give him a moment to recover.

“Good. Now, swap arms.”

“I’m right handed though.”

“I am aware,” Anton said. “And maybe you’ll never injure your right arm. But that doesn’t mean you should leave your left untrained.” Anton also switched his stance with the bow. It would require very specific injuries for him to not be able to fire the bow with his right hand pulling the string but still able to grip the shaft, but he began to fire arrows regardless.

When Timothy had finished each swing with his weapon and shield swapped, he found his balance was quite different on that side. It probably wouldn’t matter since the situation shouldn’t arise, but it was weird to be so… asymmetrical. He thought he might have a moment to rest after completing the exercises, but instead Anton thrust them both back down the hill… where they repeated the attacks another hundred times per arm.

Anton wiped his brow. “I think it is time for a short break.” He took a deep breath, “Feel the energy flow through your meridians into your body, how it replenishes you.” Timothy was briefly worried that would be the whole break, but the two of them remained standing and pulling in the natural energy. They stood a reasonable distance apart so as not to interfere with each other too much.

Once he was actually feeling recovered, Timothy had the bravery to ask another question. “So, why isn’t Catarina doing this with us?”

“You think this training would be good for her?” Anton shook his head. “It might be, though she has her own methods that work. Perhaps we should have her join us for the next round.”

Timothy groaned.

-----

Though he should probably be sleeping, Anton couldn’t help but write his thoughts on his training. It wasn’t some profound technique or expert advice. It was just his only way to make sure what he learned lasted beyond himself. But while he wasn’t sure how long he would live or how long after that his words might last, he supposed he might as well aim high. This was his path to the peak of Ninety-Nine Stars.

Anton was startled by a knock on his door. He should have been able to sense Catarina coming, but he was preoccupied with his thoughts. “Yes? Come in.”

She stepped inside and inclined her head. “Grandpa Anton.” She’d gotten him with that one earlier. Something about the younger of cultivators strived for formality, calling him Senior Anton and the like, despite the fact that he wasn’t particularly higher in cultivation than any of them. For the sake of brevity, Catarina left off two greats but he couldn’t refuse her addressing him in that way. Catarina was usually serious, but her face was exceptionally so. “Can I ask you some questions… about you?”

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He had some idea where that was going, but he couldn’t reasonably refuse. Saying it wasn’t her business might have been partially true before, but now… could he actually be family with these people if he didn’t let them try to act like family? “Go ahead.”

She sat down on the bed, looking towards where he sat at the little desk. “Why are you a cultivator? What’s going on with the rest of… our family?”

She cut right to it… but Anton thought that was probably for the best, instead of both of them evading the subject for a while. “As you might have guessed, those are practically the same answer.” It took Anton a while to continue, but Catarina waited patiently. “I was born and raised in the village of Dungannon. I have so many stories about everyone there. Perhaps someday I can write it down, if I have the chance. Though it will be of little interest to most.” Anton shook his head. “There I met Janina. We had children, those children had more of their own…” Anton smiled in remembrance. “Some didn’t choose to stay, but with those who did we continued to grow the farm. My parents passed away, many decades ago. It hurt for a time, but that faded like all others. You know it is coming, eventually. The same happened with Janina. I was supposed to be next.”

Catarina waited patiently, but knew he needed some prompting as he was lost in memory. “What happened?”

“Bandits. A group of cultivators from Ofrurg. Wild and destructive.” Anton grit his teeth as he spoke, “Elder Vincent tried to track them down, but he could never head them off. He couldn’t track them to their camps, and they grew increasingly bold. In the deep of winter I was out on a hunt. I barely managed to find a deer, and the return trip was so slow… and I only came back to death and destruction. Unnecessary slaughter.”

Catarina’s face fell. “So everyone is dead?”

Anton shook his head. “Not everyone. At least, they weren’t killed there. Ofrurg has a legalized slave trade… and they don’t much care about where they come from, as long as it doesn’t disrupt anyone important there.” Anton took a deep breath, “Elder Vincent is the type who would chase them across borders if not for the consequences of doing so. They realized we found their camp. He said they scattered. He killed some of them but… couldn’t get them all. Some might never be found, though the leader is a Spirit Building cultivator. Not quite as many of those to look for. And there was also a formation master, hiding them.”

“The Order can’t send people in to force them out of hiding?”

“Can they? Should they?” Anton shook his head. “You saw what happened in Thuston. Grand Elder Vandale wiped out hundreds of beasts from a distance. If the Order sends elders in to avenge some country villagers, what does that accomplish? Dead cultivators. Dead cultivators in Ofrurg, and dead members of the Order. Perhaps someone can track down bandits on an individual level. If there is no disturbance on a large scale… I wouldn’t expect those of great power to get involved directly. If they do, more common folk will die as a side effect.”

“But… wouldn’t Ofrurg want bandits dealt with?”

Anton smiled bitterly. Catarina was a smart enough girl, skilled in cultivation… but she was still young. “I already said they don’t care where slaves come from. And of course they don’t cause any trouble inside Ofrurg. More importantly… Spirit Building cultivators don’t just pop out of the ground. Potatoes barely do that, and that takes work. The chance of them being connected to a sect, formally or informally, is rather high.” Anton nodded. “I’d love to be able to go in there, kill them all, free everyone taken away. And… I will try. But it’s not so easy.”

“Couldn’t they just send someone a little bit stronger, not an elder but a disciple in late Spirit Building?”

“Who? And why?” Anton shook his head. “Nobody knows who they are looking to save, and assassinating people in another country is too much of a risk for a mission. The Order has already increased security on the border. Perhaps that should have been sooner, but what has been done cannot be undone.” Anton stood up and stretched, “The job requires someone who can able to risk their life, in such a way that it can pay off.”

“... I can go with you.”

Anton smiled, “I appreciate the offer. But this isn’t like Thuston. Disaster can’t be prevented, it has already happened. You shouldn’t risk your life for people you never knew or an old man you’ve known for a few months. You have too much value to risk yourself for it. Grow stronger, so you can protect more people in the future. I won’t tell you to ignore any trouble you can see… but don’t risk yourself for an old man who is about to die anyway. I’ll be able to use what I have to save some people. I’ll try to save everyone, to right every wrong… but we both know that can’t happen.”

“... I won’t let you go alone.”

Anton sighed, “We’ll talk about it more later. Regardless, I’m not yet strong enough. I need more training… and that means so do you. I’ll see you in the morning.”