Now that Hadrid was wrangled, Tristan moved on to the next order of business. Testing what he could do now. He had already been through this twice and it took less time to get control over his jerky body. Tristan had noticed something with tier two that surprised him.
Moving the essence in his blood came much more naturally. The effect was great enough that he was starting to suspect that the individual tiers represented more than a quantification of internal essence. Tristan had seen tier ones activate the essence in their kern, Sun Set had made light after all. However he had never seen one move the essence in their blood, in addition to that, when he had done it just a few days ago, he had to pay attention to what direction the blood was flowing to account for drifting essence.
Now that he could move essence he realized that all he had been doing was activating it in much the same way Sun Set had. Tier three permitted the creation of elements from the essence in ones kern. Tristan suspected that tier four had something to do with infusing other objects with essence, as Luke had been the only one he had seen do that. Tier four was where Tristan suspected the minimum threshold for alchemy lay as infusion seemed to be invaluable for it and was one of Hadrid’s prominent alloyed forces.
Tristan walked to Eve who looked concerned, she asked, “So, how are you doing?”
Tristan shrugged, “Fine I guess. That experiment, horrible as it was, did push me into tier two.”
Eve’s eyes widened, “In just a few hours!”
“Isn’t my Hadrid amazing,” Ruth cooed.
“No,” Tristan answered, then asked, “Why do you even like him, I can’t think of any redeeming traits?”
“He’s amazing,” Ruth reiterated, “That’s the best trait someone can have.”
Eve answered, “There is a kind of reasonable explanation. Ruth was very sick with an unknown mind disease when the alchemist kidnapped her to use her as a hostage. The only reason she was alive in the first place was because the head family was wealthy enough to commission some herbalists to create a medicine specifically for her. This version of Ruth is actually much healthier than she used to be, at least the person she is fixated on is real, not a hallucination.”
“I did not hallucinate mom, she was at my birthday before I left,” Ruth said.
Eve gave her a sad smile, “That was grandma, mom died giving birth to me.”
Sadness crossed Ruth’s face before clearing up and focusing on the picnic. Tristan felt strange now, he had thought she was a fool for staying around Hadrid. Maybe the alchemist had messed with her head. Now that he knew a mental condition was involved, Tristan felt bad for those thoughts. She was probably better off with the alchemist where she could receive constant treatments, and somehow over the decade of imprisonment, Ruth had wormed her way into Hadrid’s emotions. She loved him unconditionally and such devotion was enough to break down any wall over time, which it had. It gave them a weird mimicry of a father daughter relationship. She saw him as her hero and he brutally destroyed anything that dared touch her.
Tristan shook his head to clear that train of thought, “Anyway, did you talk to him about the crab plague?”
Eve nodded, “He agreed to do it, even said it would only take a few days to put together. However he also said we would have to wait a year before planting any crops in the plains.”
Tristan frowned, was a plague toxic to plants too? That could actually cause a larger issue than the ghost crabs were causing. It seemed a bit overkill. But it also was not his problem. He thanked Eve and continued onto where Bruce was practicing. For the first time he saw Clive sitting there breathing heavily with a wooden pole beside him.
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“You decided to start training?” Tristan asked Clive.
He nodded, “Yes, its getting ridiculous that every time something the size of a house cat attacks, I need to run away.”
Tristan looked at the pole and asked, “You mind if I take a turn.”
Clive nodded and flopped over on his back. Bruce watched him quizzically as he gripped the staff. Tristan made a few practice swings. Luke had made him practice with staves as they were the easiest weapon to get ahold of. Broom handles, curtain rods, tree branches, were just a few places that one could source a stave.
It took him a minutes to get used to the greater force and speed. The lightness he felt was deceptive. It made his stances feel off, as he had gotten used to the weight of his body. He wondered if that became an issue in the hero tiers. When someone could apply more force than their friction with the ground could withstand, would they push themselves back when they hit something heavy? He was not sure there would ever be enough people between tiers six and ten to develop a method to cope with the issue.
Turning to Bruce he held his staff parallel to the ground. If Tristan was being honest, he did it because he thought it looked cool, “Do you want to go a round.”
Bruce thought for a moment, “So long as you don’t beat me like I beat you.”
“Sure,” Tristan nodded, then he brandished his staff, “I won’t bring my friends.”
Bruce’s eyes widened as Tristan ran at him. He was still holding the artifact spear, so he definitely had the weapon advantage, but that was his only advantage. Tristan had already been a battle ready tier one, which was odd for his tier, but being battle ready gave him several advantages that allowed him to fight weak tier threes. Bruce was currently trying to step past being a week tier two. He was a businessman not a fighter.
Tristan watched Bruce’s body language and observed the traits that commonly predicated certain movements. Siren had said most strikes come from the back foot for extra leverage. Grips tighten and teeth clench, in new soldiers, they sometimes even closed their eyes. All of these tells only helped when fighting humans, as most mythical beasts lacked human expressions.
Bruce demonstrated every sign, and Tristan watched the sweep approach his leg. Tristan was used to his opponents having a two or three tier lead on him, so someone slightly higher within the same tier seemed slow. Tristan simply stepped into a slightly longer stance to avoid the blade of the spear. He reinforced his calf and jabbed forward.
Staves were not soft, breaking someone’s leg was normally a good move, however, metal essence excelled in defense. The shaft thunked harmlessly into his leg, and Tristans jab got Bruce in the hip. He folded and groaned. No damage had been done, but that was a sensitive area and light essence was the worst on defense.
Bruce looked at Tristan and shook his head, “That’s cheating.”
“If it makes you feel any better, its not like armor, I can’t just always have it on,” Tristan said with a smile, “And I’m pretty sure that the head of your spear would go right through it.”
Bruce shrugged, “It does not really matter if I can’t hit you with the point, metal essence or not.”
Despite the depressed statement, Bruce raised his spear into a ready stance and they clashed again. The result was the same as the first match, and Bruce demanded another match. Tristan sparred with Bruce for around thirty minutes when he realized that he was running out of essence.
He had forgotten that the strength of light was healing and stamina. Tristan had trained his body harder, but the difference was not extreme enough to overcome the efficiency of light essence. Bruce grinned when Tristan dodged a strike instead of simply absorbing it.
“You running out of steam?” Bruce asked.
Tristan did not have time to nod. The lack of metal essence was one problem, but no human could move indefinitely. Now that Tristan had to dodge he was running through his endurance at an astonishing pace. Bruce kept going like a machine.
He stabbed a few times and Tristan shunted the tip off to the side. The butt of the spear whipped around forcing Tristan to duck. Sweat dripped off of Tristan and his actions were slower than he intended. He was not able to stop Bruce’s kick. Tristan staggered back, tripping over his own feet. By the time he rolled over the point of the spear hovered just in front of his nose.
“I win,” Bruce said with a grin.
“Congratulations,” Tristan said sarcastically, “the tally is now thirty-two to one.”
“Its only the last person to win that counts,” Bruce said.
Tristan frowned, confused that he would say such a ridiculous thing. If someone killed you thirty-two times over, then you were way too dead for that thirty-third time to matter. However, Eve and Ruth both seemed to see it Bruce’s way as they congratulated him for his hard won victory. He wondered if it was the underdog favoritism that people enjoyed so much, and how in the world did Bruce become the underdog. Tristan could only shake his head at this ridiculousness.