Red compelled his fatigued body to move and exited the eastern gate he was nearest to. The guards on duty didn’t bother looking up at the dirty peasant strolling by. Red took long strides, hands on his hips, attempting to catch his breath, until he hit the edge of the eastern wood known as the Fruitless Woods, so named that way because no fruit nor vegetation grew there that wasn’t leaves or the trees themselves. Without food, the wild animals in this wood were sparse.
Red jumped and latched onto a looming branch of a tree and began to do pull-ups. The lower half of his body was in pain from the run, but his upper half still had vigor left over. Red kept performing pull-ups until his arms couldn't take any more.
He dropped to the ground and searched for heavy yet manageable stones. Finding one, he took it in his grips and flung it as far as he could, and without slowing down, he grabbed it again and chucked it another time. He continued rock throwing until he could only throw it as far as his foot, his upper torso and arms feeling burned.
Looking up towards the sky, Red noted that the sun had already moved to the opposite side of the sky from when he initially began running.
All that time and I could only do so much, Red thought, disappointed.
Red was dissatisfied with how little he could accomplish with his present level of fitness because he still had so many workout regimens leftover in his head.
Stronger, I need to get stronger, so that when I have my match, I won’t just win; I’ll dominate.
Red ran back to the slums, but not as fast as when he left them; his body barely managed a jogging pace. He went to the Classy Slums to a stall that had a sign up that read, "The Rodent and the Bird," and bought some of the cooked meat they sold.
The place held such a name for obvious reasons, and Red, being as hungry as he was, chose both rat and bird meat. He would have eaten breakfast earlier, but he was upset having overslept and felt he was going to be late for training. With a water skin he kept hooked to his cloth belt, he drew water from the Classy Slums water well, which he had to pay for. The worn-out youth then sat down for lunch on a dilapidated bench that was positioned in some patchy grass.
After eating his fill, Red pulled up his legs onto the bench to sit cross-legged and began to meditate. His boxer friends at the gym used to tell him that meditating was only helpful in movies and didn’t actually benefit boxing, but Red always believed it did. It gave him a chance to reflect on the day that had just ended as well as what was on the horizon for him and what he aimed to do.
Red had no boxer friends, and no boxing gyms could be found in Soalde, but the confused young man remained ignorant while the foreign memories continued influencing his mind.
Red found meditating to be as pivotal as his physical training. Strangely, Red felt that there was something different with his meditation this time around. He sensed movement within his body as he breathed in and out deeply. It felt as if his body was absorbing something like how his throat and lungs was taking in air. He felt that his body was taking in some other form of air, but this air was thicker, almost like water.
Red opened his eyes and saw that the sun was beginning to set already.
What happened to me? How long was I meditating?
Gingerly, Red got up, wary of the injured state of his body. But as he did, he became aware that his body wasn't as worn out and sore as it had been previously. His replenishment of stamina and vitality appeared to have rested for several days rather than a few hours.
Was this due to my meditating? Or is this bench magical?
Red wasn’t, like in most things that required logic, good at investigating the causes of things. To Red, the broken bench sitting in dead grass could very possibly be magical in his mind.
Whatever it was, Red wasn’t going to waste the energy that was renewed in him. His body was still aching, but not nearly as weary as it had been. Taking advantage of good fortune, Red started to shadow box until he could no longer move.
In the foreign memories, there were coaches who told him not to overdo things in training, but it seemed Red wasn’t smart in those memories either and always took training too far. It would do Red some good if he actually received some memories of a brilliant person, or even just some regular guy would be helpful to his empty brain.
Red finished exercising, drenched in sweat and heaving for breath, but before he could collapse, he straightened himself out like a champion. Champions never went down without a fight, or that’s what the memories told him anyways.
He ran back to the Reeking Valley, moving past The Hole without being noticed by anyone troublesome, and finally arriving at the once majestic tree. He did his post workout stretches in front of the tree. The people around him sitting in their own filth all watched him as if he was putting on a show. No one spoke a word, they merely watched.
Red didn’t notice the gloomy gazes and simply continued his stretches until he felt satisfied. Afterwards, he brought out a waterskin and drank a heavy amount. Struggling to get up the tree after he stretched, was a chore, his tired body barely having enough strength to get into his mother and son spot among the branches.
Sitting up and closing his eyes, Red absorbed that strange water air that seemed to float around him through meditation, his weary bones and worn-out muscles benefitting greatly from it. When he opened his eyes again, the Reeking Valley had gone silent and still, letting him know how late it was. Finally finished for the day, Red lied down in a tired heap then became drowsy, about to fall into a deep and well-deserved slumber, but a thought kept him up.
Dammit, the magic man, I forgot to visit the magic man!
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With that thought, he fell asleep.
The world was still quiet and dark when Red woke back up.
Yes, this is the perfect time to train, Red thought excitedly.
Reaching in his pocket, Red dug out some leftover bird meat from a burlap sack tied at his waist and ate it for breakfast.
This isn’t juiced vegetables or anything close to healthy, but it will do for the meantime.
Thinking about time, Red realized that he didn’t have much of it remaining before the money his mother left him would run out. They didn’t have much, but his mother did manage to save something for him to survive on, but even with his slow wit, he could see that it wouldn’t be enough to last the month. At most, the left over money could allow him to survive for about three more weeks in total. This was a complete guess on Red’s part. His math skills were nothing to brag about, in fact, they were something to not show at all in case of embarrassment.
Red quickly went into his mind for the memories that weren’t his and searched for a way to make some money, but they didn’t show anything but training and fighting. What made things worse was from what Red could gather from the memories of the person’s life, that individual was just as inept at thinking as Red was.
After finishing his stretches, Red started his morning run. If there was anything that let him think more clearly, it would be working out, or was that what made the boxer think more clearly? Red was beginning to doubt what thoughts were his and what belonged to the foreign memories of the boxer.
As he ran, Red was stopped by two guards who saw him as suspicious. But after getting closer to them, the two guards recognized him.
“Ah Red, what in the realm has gotten into you, boy?” Hewy, one of the guards familiar with Red, said coming up to the young man with a stern look on his face. “We had gotten complaints about some mad man that was running about all over the place for no apparent reason.”
Red kept jogging in place trying not to slow his heart rate down, afraid he'd lose gains.
“I’m training,” Red said to Hewy with an impatient look on his face. He didn't feel he could afford time talking right now while in the middle of his very important training.
“This about that gypsy boxing?” Pharq asked. His facial hair was as curly as ever, a sign of a good Soalde guard.
The requirements to be a guard were heavy, but very passable when it came to physical and magical requirements, but what really separated the wheat from the chaff was the maintenance of ones looks. If a guard wasn’t presentable at all times while on duty, that guard would be fired immediately and made to sit in a holding cell for a month. The city of Soalde took presentation as its utmost priority and it showed in the design of the city and what they expected of the people who worked under them.
“I don’t like that kind of boxing…” Red began to say, but immediately stopped himself as he found himself getting an idea.
The two guards looked at Red with confusion seeing as the young man had stopped talking entirely and looked wide eyed into the distance.
“What’s wrong with him?” Pharc asked, walking up to Red and waving a hand in front of his face.
“I’m not sure…” Hewy said, looking Red straight into his blank brown eyes.
Red in finally forming his idea, suddenly moved while he shouted, “I’ve got it!”
Both guards jumped in fright at the sudden movement by Red.
“Dammit, boy, why the hell did you do that?” Pharc barked angrily.
Red didn’t bother figuring out what the guard was talking about and asked the two of them, “Do gypsy fights pay?”
“Um, sure it does, Red,” Hewy said, unsure about what was going on.
Excitement grew like a storm inside of Red as he thought about the gypsy fights and how it could be the way out of his financial problems. He began to run once again, motivated about the future and driven by the enthusiasm for training. He now had a way he could make money, and the skill required to make sure he gets it.
The two western gate guards looked at Red run away from them, both uncertain if they should stop him or not.
“The people complaining about the running mad man aren’t that serious anyways,” Pharc said, shrugging and moving back to his post.
“Yes, it’s just a boy trying to make a living is all,” Hewy said, adding more reason not to find issue with Red.
They both felt pity for the boy who had lost his mother and sympathized with his lack of intelligence, so they wanted to give him as much leeway as they could.
I’m going to go to the gypsy camps first then I’m going to find a mage to help me get control of these new memories, thought Red.
But his legs didn’t take him toward the gypsies nor did they take him to the Sage district to get a pass for entry to the upper districts where the certified magic men were known to be. He just kept on running.
But I can’t stop training now! I would lose all my gains if I did!
So, the young, confused man continued his run until the sun was high up in the sky, blazing bright on all creation.
Finally, Red thought, finishing his run, now I can go to the gypsies.
But his body didn’t go to the gypsies, and instead, he found himself headed to the Fruitless Woods. He was upside down on a branch doing sit-ups before he realized what he was doing.
Damn it all, I can’t stop now since I’ve already started.
Red continued until he could no longer sit up then went and did squats while hugging a heavy rock to his chest to add weight to his exercise. Afterwards, he sat and had a meal of rodent and bird meat, washing the meal down with water from his water skin.
He meditated after finishing his meal under the shade of a tree while sitting with his legs crossed under him. The familiar water air floated into him, revitalizing him somewhat.
Red did not want to continue training. He wanted to get to the gypsy camp to find out if he could earn money fighting there, but he knew he hadn’t covered skills training yet, so how could he possibly leave?
Red attached large rocks at the end of some rope then tossed the other ends over a tree branch and after, wrapped each rope around each hand. He then would punch out with the ropes attached to his fists, letting the rocks the rope were tied to, lift up when he punched. This would help his punching power as well as help his endurance when punching.
Finally, he went into skills training. He shadow boxed for hours on end then he walked in front of a tree and lightly hit it with punching combinations. How he longed for a heavy bag.
Before he knew it, darkness had fallen and he was like he was yesterday, exhausted.
Running tiredly back to the slums and past an angry Tatters who was sure it was Red in the dark that he was yelling at but not sure enough to chase after him, Red found himself at the once majestic tree. After stretching out, Red climbed up to top of the tree, ate his meal and meditated for a few hours before finally falling asleep dreaming of gypsies and magic men.
The next day should’ve been the day that he was able to go to the gypsy camp and find a mage in the Sage district, but he didn’t. Instead, he trained. Then the day after that, he trained and the day after that one, he trained again. He wasn’t able to fight the memories and their constant demands to train.
The foreign memories in his mind was from someone similar to Red, except instead of a mother as a guiding light, the man from his memories was guided by boxing. If the man ran into problems he couldn't solve, he would train. If something unexplainable occurred that uprooted the man’s life, he would train. The man was of similar intelligence to Red, but his soul was dedicated to only boxing. The boxer was lucky enough to have managers and family members who looked after his wellbeing since he was helpless outside of fighting.
Red on the other hand had only himself.
One morning on one of Red’s runs, he found a way to fight the instinct to train. He convinced himself that he didn’t have a fight coming up and he had to go have talks with his manager in order to get one. His body finally listened to him and he found himself at the north end of Saolde, near the northern gate where the gypsies made camp.