Chapter 9

"Thra, I will travel down the road another mile or so before setting up camp. Take one of the bows and quivers from the wagon and hunt us some supper. I will camp close to the road so it will be easy to find me."

Thra nodded and looked in the back of the wagon, shocked to see how well-stocked it was with weapons. She saw a longbow, a short bow, and even a recurve bow. Next to the bows were spears, swords, and even a mace. He had said he wanted to sponsor a team of adventurers, and based on the quality of the weapons she saw, he was serious about that. Thra gathered a bow and quiver and made her way into the woods. After the roars of the troll, she would have to travel a distance to find anything, but she had plenty of daylight left.

Trog watched as the young orc moved purposefully into the woods. He needed to make sure he made camp before she returned and use his magic to start a new peach vine growing in one of his spare bags so it would be ready to harvest in the morning. His hands were still tender as the skin started to heal, but bleeding on the reins wouldn't cause too much trouble as he traveled.

As the sun began to set, the deep blue glow of the fifth moon could be seen above. Its swirling blue and white patterns could be hypnotizing, especially if you had eaten glow shrooms from the swamp. As Trog pulled off the road and began to set up camp, he took one of the peaches from a bag and pushed 95% mana into it, enough for the vine to fully form but not begin the production of the orb-like bulbs that would turn into peaches as it finished growing. He carefully wrapped the vine and tucked it inside the sack so Thra wouldn't notice the new vine in the wagon. Trog didn't think the young orc noticed any of the plants in the back after her eyes bulged at the sight of the weapons, but it was better to be safe for now.

When Thra arrived at the camp, Trog had a cookfire ready. Thra held up four dead rabbits, and Trog nodded to her.

"Well done. Do you know how to prepare and cook them?" Trog continued when she nodded. "Wonderful, then we eat before you begin your training. You will take your first steps to unlock the Precision Brawler skill tonight."

Thra looked joyful as she went to work preparing and cooking the rabbits. When they finished eating, Trog took a few of the longest bones and told Thra to sharpen them. Once she had a nice point on one of the bones, they walked to a tree. Trog handed her a one-handed warhammer and told her to hammer the bone into the tree at her head height.

"This is one of the simplest ways to start your training while we are on the road. Once I have my land, I will put together better training tools, but this will work for now. Your goal is to knock that bone out of the tree. It is a simple task, but you must swing as hard as possible. The farther the bone flies, the better. Oh, and only use your offhand."

Thra stood in a fighting stance and swung her left hand at the bone. Her swing went under the bone, making her feel almost clumsy.

Trog let out a laugh. "Ha, oh no. Not only did you miss the target, but that was so slow."

Thra's face began to show frustration. No orc liked to be laughed at because of their fighting ability. She set her feet and put more force into her swing, and again, she missed the thin bone. She cringed as she heard the laughter from behind her, and her anger flared.

"Seriously? Is that all you have? I have seen goblin children swing harder than that, and they hit the target!"

Thra's anger fueled the next swing, and she put her weight behind it.

CRACK!

The pain that flared up as her fist collided with the trunk of the tree brought her to her knees. She knew with certainty that more than one bone must have broken. She had expected to hear more laughter behind her, but there was only dead silence. As she turned to look at Trog, there was no smile or even a grin on his face.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Anger and rage work well for a brawler; with enough practice, you can even unlock a berzerker skill. However, brawlers focus on landing hard punches on any part of the target in front of them. They don't need to control their swings much as long as they hit with power. To become a Precision Brawler, you must control your anger and rage. We focus on hitting a tiny target on the body with enough force to break it with a single blow. I could not have beaten the troll if I had not broken or dislocated its knee with every attack. And The troll would have easily crushed me underfoot or sent me flying with a kick. The penalty for not landing your attacks could easily be your death. This is a painful lesson, but it is one you must learn. We are done for tonight. When you believe you can control your anger, I will give you a healing potion to fix your hand. However, you will only be allowed one healing potion per week. So it is up to you to use it now or let your hand heal naturally."

Thra looked at her hand. How was she supposed to let it throb in pain while it slowly healed and continue to train or hunt? How could anyone? Then she looked at her master and noticed his hands. They still looked raw, and she could see the fresh blood under the bright blue glow of the moon. She had gotten a good look at his hands when she had cleaned the wagon earlier, and it looked as though the skin had been peeled off after the fight with the troll. She had expected him to use a healing potion while she was hunting, but his hands showed no signs of it. She had heard of leading by example, but showing her that pain was something one could live with by letting his skin slowly grow back made her believe that he was the kind of master who would not expect her to do things he wouldn't do himself. Someone that you could feel safe in following.

Trog waited for a few minutes to see if she would ask for the potion, but when she nodded to him, headed back to the fire, sat down, and cleared a place to sleep with one hand, he couldn't help but smile. Fate had granted him a tough first student, and he would turn her into a Precision Brawler who could kill a troll, not just chase it off. He used his feet to clear his place to sleep and turned in for the night.

~@~

----------------------------------------

Many miles away, a young frogkin named Robbi finished another water drop stone at the edge of a small pond. He placed it in a large barrel with the others he had completed over the past few months. Robbi had made hundreds of water drop stones after his friend had managed to sell his first one while on a trip with her father. It was not difficult since he was using small stones; it only took 5% of his mana per stone, but something felt different when he completed it. Pulling up his Status screen, he noticed a new line.

Small Water Drop Stone Enchanting Skill:

Tier 1: Enchanting new small water drop stones only takes 5% of your mana instead of 10%

Tier 2: The rate of water drops has now increased to twice the original rate

His jaw dropped as he read. Robbi was excited when he unlocked the first tier during the first month of work, but tier 2 was even better. Zoni had done a test when they returned to the village after selling the first stone he had made for his friend Nino. It had taken a whole day for the stone to fill a single cup, which meant it would take 16 stones to fill a bucket with 1 gallon a day. It was not the best, but Zoni figured that farmers and maybe even the military would like a ready water source. This new tier had made such a vast improvement. Zoni should be able to sell them for more gold. Robbi could already enchant full-time after the advance Zoni had paid him. His life had taken a remarkable turn, and he couldn't be more thankful for the gift his grandfather had left him. It was the only awakening stone his grandfather had ever found as an adventurer. By the time he had saved enough to hire a mage to use the awakening stone, he felt that he was too old and had instead given the stone to Robbi. His grandfather passed away soon after, but Robbi felt that at this moment, he could feel his grandfather with him, proud of what his grandson had accomplished. Tomorrow, he would have to explain this to Zoni, and they could negotiate his payment for the next month's work.

~@~

----------------------------------------

Far from the peace of Robbi's pond, on a battlefield covered with fallen soldiers, an elf cursed as he tried to walk without falling as he returned to camp. It had been another long night of identifying objects found on enemy corpses, and once the vulture squad had finished, they had begun to feast upon the dead dragonkin. Aldon was thankful that the squad leader let him return to base instead of making him wait for the others to finish eating. It had been months of foul-smelling battlefields, and he couldn't believe he had lasted this long without defecting to the Dragonkin Empire just to escape the smell. He had thought about it more than once until he remembered that the dragonkin would kill him on sight. They allowed no other races within their borders. Why must he continue to suffer like this? It was just a goblin, one stupid goblin. Had he been within the boundaries of his family's estate, he would have just killed the goblin filth and been done with it. He could have turned the awakening stone in and gotten a reward or maybe even a promotion, but he had been traveling far from his lands and with two subordinates who didn't realize who his family was. He sent a letter home explaining the situation to his father but had not received a reply. He just had to wait it out. His father would surely find a way to bring him back.

Aldon noticed movement to his right the moment before the spear impaled him. He was driven to the ground as he looked up to see a dragonkin covered in mud and blood standing over him. A second was standing to his side, holding the spear in place, pinning him to the ground.

"You sure it is worth attacking only one of them? We were well hidden."

"This one is the elf reported to have the identify skill. Check him and see if he has anything on him."

Aldon cried out in pain as the spear twisted in his side, and the dragonkin forcefully searched his pockets and satchel.

"He has nothing; this was a waste. I am not crawling back into the pile of dead bodies again tonight. Let's go back. Next time, we wait until the whole squad returns to camp. I want to watch those vultures burn."

Aldons stared wide-eyed as the dragonkin spoke as if he wasn't even there. He thought that, for a moment, they would leave him there and that he could crawl back to camp for help. But when the dragonkin yanked the spear from his side, an evil grin spread across its face.

"Don't worry, elf. I will ensure your organs are intact so your vulture friends have something to eat on the way back to camp."

Aldon had tried to scream, but the spear was shoved into his throat, and no sound escaped as he felt his life fade to black.