"Block the strikes."
Els moved his spear to block the three repeating strikes — high, low, and high. He didn't quite understand the reason for the drill. It felt like something to be done with the sword and not the spear.
He blocked the sword strikes with ease. Knowing the pattern made it more like playing a game or performing a dance than actual sparring.
"Good." Helv, his father, smiled at him. "Put more force into your blocks. I'll be hitting harder."
Wood clashed against wood as Els used his staff to block his father's attack. He could feel the strain in his hands and arms as his father's strikes grew more forceful.
It had been two years since his first visit to the Trove. Sleep often took him there once a week but he could catch the drift and visit any time if he wanted to. He spent most of his time there studying and practicing the spear in Haru's virtual worlds.
"Can't I just evade and attack?" Els asked. "I could even strike before you even get close to me."
"Try it," Helv nodded.
He knew his father was a skilled swordsman. Townspeople often told him about his father's deeds as an adventurer and as a soldier in the wars. Els could feel a bit of disappointment in him when he chose the spear instead of the sword.
Swords were the norm — but spears were superior in many ways.
Els struck. With his feet planted properly on the ground, he shifted his weight, turned his body, and extended his arms in a textbook thrust.
Helv seemed to disregard the approaching staff. He sidestepped at the last moment and grabbed the staff's haft, pulling Els close and then mockingly striking him twice on each side of his head.
"I—" Els stammered. He was confused at how easily his father countered his attack.
"Your strike was good," Helv consoled him. "When I saw you practicing with the spear, I thought that you would do well as an adventurer or a hunter — but not as a soldier, and not against orcs and other creatures that used weapons of their own."
Els' eyes widened. He had spent most of his time in Haru's worlds fighting wolves and beasts — not other men. In the games, all he needed to do was avoid enemy attacks and strike at the right moments. Blocking and countering were new to him.
"Now back to the drill."
Helv attacked high, low, and high once again. Els countered each blow with ease. As the minutes passed, he could feel his father's strikes growing in power, jarring his hands as he struggled to keep hold of the wooden staff.
"Now we move."
Els instinctively took a step back as Helv moved forward to attack with the same pattern. He attacked high when his father stepped back, following the attack patterns of the drill.
"Excellent," his father noted, in between attacks and blocks. "Now faster."
The staff that served as a spear in Els' hands moved like a snake, blocking attacks and striking back when it was his turn to attack. It was like a dance of sorts — the set patterns of attacks and blocks flowing ever faster and creating a rhythmic clash of strikes.
Els tried to match Helv's pace, but he couldn't always block each and every strike. His father made sure none of his attacks made contact — but every missed block still found a way to wound Els' spirit.
"This drill teaches you to move constantly," Helv imparted in between strikes. "Pull back your staff the moment you extend it and keep your feet moving underneath you."
Els began to understand his father's simple yet complex drill. The repetitive strikes trained him to keep his staff moving and the constant movement while attacking and defending gave him a feel for the range of his weapon.
Father and son sparred for close to an hour. Els was glad that Helv maintained a pace he could follow. He was sure his father could go faster. There were slight breaks in his steps and attacks. Els would not have noticed if not for his training sessions in the Trove.
He dropped to the ground the moment Helv said their training was over. His hands were visibly shaking and he could feel a slight tremor in his legs.
"Rest for today and tomorrow," Helv tossed Els a towel. "After that, you can help in the smithy to build up your strength."
Els nodded without meeting his father's gaze. He could barely hold himself up as he sat, holding on to one raised knee to keep himself upright. Lying flat on the ground was not an option. His clothes were grimy enough as they were — adding dirt to them would cause more than a stir once his mother saw them.
This should be a normal day for him from now on. Els was glad to move on to sparring from normal exercises — but he didn't realize how tiring it would be.
He replayed the scenes of his spar with his father in his mind. He noted his mistakes and where he could have done better. There were also the strange texts hovering above his father as well as each time he attacked.
Els had a vague idea of what the texts meant. His visit to the Trove brought about changes in him — such as his surprising ability to read and understand every language he encountered. The texts during his spar with his father were probably connected to his gift. He guessed it was his mind trying to understand the language of battle.
Els closed his eyes. Set parameters with my current fighting ability as a base. Set number at 100.
The scene replaying in his mind changed — the indecipherable texts changed into numbers. The text hovering over his father now displayed the number 3112.
----------------------------------------
The drift came easily. It had the same initial sensation of getting pulled into a night hag's embrace — but ending up in the Trove instead of paralyzed on one's bed.
Els stared at the Trove's seamless granite floor, the only thing unchanging in the malleable world. He focused his eyes — dismissing the endless rows of books, the digital lines of data flowing across the ceiling, and the multitude of screens floating in the air. There was also a hint of citrus in the air — that one he kept.
There were other visitors aside from him. Each one modified the Trove to match their avenues of knowledge to a certain degree. Els recognized Televin's shelves, Dinac's screens, Nyl's flowing lines of light. The citrus should be Casel's. He mentioned something about lemons helping him remember — but memory was a given in the Trove.
He was about to shift to his workshop when he heard a familiar voice.
"You're back."
Els turned towards the voice. He hadn't planned on meeting Nyl — but this time, she was the one who reached out. It was getting more difficult to look at Nyl as he grew older. Els felt strange and unwelcome emotions inside of him every time he saw her and that distracting outfit of hers that accentuated her femininity.
"You've grown quite a bit," Nyl teased him.
"And you don't seem to change at all," he replied.
"Of course, she doesn't," Casel's voice boomed from behind Els. "What you see is her vision of herself or what she wants others to see. She might not even be a woman in the real world."
Els glanced at Nyl and then turned back to Casel, a look of shock and disbelief plain on his face.
"She's a woman, kid," Casel laughed as Nyl glared at him. "though she might not be as young as you see her."
Els nodded. He had met dozens of new people over the years — even Haru, though the man was too enrapt with his creations for meaningful conversation. There were men and women of all races and ages — even a few strange-looking wolf and cat people, which he later learned were people who just chose the form to present themselves. They were mostly creative types - more interested in literature and the arts than discovery or technology.
Among them, Nyl and Casel were still his favorites. They were constantly there and they gave him more time than everybody else. They were the closest thing to friends in the cold chambers of the Trove.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
"So how's your spark thing?" Nyl asked him, playfully running a finger across his shoulder.
"Stop it, Nyl," barked Casel. "You'll wake the kid up with a heart attack."
"I was only asking," Nyl laughed coyly. "But how is your little project going?"
"Fine," Els answered. "I should be able to build a small generator in the next few months."
"What about your magic?" Casel asked with genuine curiosity. Mystical worlders were rare in the trove — Els was now the only remaining one.
"Water magic," Els replied, "as expected. Forge is a water city so almost everyone awakens to water."
"Wait, shouldn't Forge be a fire city?" Nyl asked, a hint of confusion on her face.
"Fire cities specialize in alchemy," Els explained. "water cities have the best smiths."
"That's odd," Nyl smirked.
"Firecasters can control how hot an existing fire is - but they can still get burned. Magical flames they produce won't burn them, but that isn't the case for ordinary or manipulated fires," Els explained. "On the other hand, mist-warders or water-users are quite resistant to fire and heat. We may not pack a punch in magical combat, but we can stand the heat of the forge better than anybody. Which is why we make the best weapons."
"So you spray water at your enemies?" Casel chuckled.
Els smiled, expecting the misunderstanding. "No. I use a layer of water magic to shield myself from attacks. It provides as much protection as leather armor."
"But you still wear leather armor!" Nyl gestured at Els. "You're wearing one now!"
Els shrank a bit in embarrassment. "I sparred with my father for the first time today. I guess it left an impression on me. I didn't think I'd be bringing this to the drift. The armor is a safeguard. I can't always rely on magic for protection — especially if I don't see or expect an attack.
"So it's an instinctive thing?" Casel scratched his temple. "No chants or rituals?"
"There are chants and rituals — but not for basic magic use."
"Can you show me?"
Els shrugged and raised his hand. "Fed'n."
Els expected at least a trickle of water to appear - but nothing happened. Casel stared at him with a bit of mockery in his eyes while Nyl just smiled awkwardly.
"Sorry about that," Els shrank. "Farrow, display a scene from my memories — torrent 1."
A crow seemingly flew down from somewhere and perched on Els' shoulders. It squawked and a puddle of water appeared before it. An image of Els rose from the water. It spoke the same word as he did before and a stream of water sprang from his open hand.
Els frowned, remembering the disappointment brought on by some of the games he had played. Most games that depicted magic had some sort of damaging water spell — but that was not the case in reality. Streams of water could barely cut flesh, and certainly not as efficiently as a blade. He discovered that cutting tools that used water required a mixture of crushed rubies or other hard gems to cut harder materials — and that only worked in controlled environments.
"I see you've moved to a 3D model," Casel observed, "and the spell looks impressive."
"Don't patronize the boy, Casel." Nyl refuted him. "A stream of water can't compare to a stream of fire. He said it himself, it's practically useless in combat."
"That may not be the case," Casel pondered. "Does the water push you back?"
"No," Els answered.
"Can you make it so that it does?"
"Why would I want to d—" Els paused. "Yes. I can anchor the spell to my hand or something I'm holding - but then I'd have to resist the push."
"What are you getting at?" Nyl moved closer to the two, her curiosity drawing her in.
"He doesn't need to damage his enemies with water," Casel explained. "He can use it to enhance his strikes. With the proper angle, he could use water jets to drive his strikes towards his target — whether it be chopping down with an axe or thrusting with a spear."
Nyl nodded. "He could even fly if he summons it using his feet — but that would take practice."
Els stared blankly at the two, the principles of hydrodynamics still alien in his mind. It took Casel ten minutes to explain its principles and practical use before he understood the gist of their words.
"You'll need to try it out in the real world to see if it works," Casel pointed out. "Tell me if it works the next time you see me."
"Me too," Nyl tilted her head.
Els was old enough to understand that he was being dismissed. Everyone had their own thing in the Trove and time was limited. "Thank you," he grasped a clenched fist with his other hand in a gesture of thanks he learned from the games he played and moved to his personal zone.
Changing locations in the Trove was as easy as blinking. Just think of a place and there you are. Some visitors erected safeguards for privacy — but those safeguards only lasted while they were there. All knowledge in the Trove was free for everyone to see.
Visitors could build or just summon things for experiments and practice. Els heard from Nyl that Casel's zone was filled with miniature cities while hers was decked with instruments. All he had was a work table, some chairs, a few books, and a working smithy.
His zone adjusted to the rules of his world. There were no boilers there that harnessed steam but he could practice forging protected by his aura.
His nightly visits to the Trove gained him a basic understanding of forging and its methods. Farrow in the form of a featureless mannequin guided him in the use of the various tools of the smithy as well as the procedures needed to forge weapons and other items. Els relished the thought of seeing his father's surprised face once he started helping out in the forge.
Getting to talk to Nyl and Casel was a lucky break. Usually, he just saw the two from afar. They were mostly busy with their own research.
The short lesson on hydrodynamics and how to harness pressurized water intrigued him. It was even possible to use water pressure to launch projectiles — but that needed tubes and vessels that could withstand enormous strain.
Fixed or unbreakable — even unchanging — weapons were not unheard of. The right materials under the right enchantments could make a sword eternally pristine — retaining its edge, shape, and other properties from the moment of enchantment.
Fixed swords or weapons were rare. More common were ghost weapons forged from Ethrin. These weapons would turn ethereal once they stopped moving, only turning solid once they clear all obstacles in their path. They allowed warriors to attack continuously, without fear of their weapons getting trapped or snagged in armor, bone, or flesh.
Els had worked on a few of these weapons with his father. Ethrin was common on the island — as it was almost everywhere else. Most major cities had access to a mine or two, and it only took a pea-sized portion of ethrin to enchant an entire sword.
On the other hand, the manufacture of fixed weapons was a closely guarded secret.
"Farrow, are there any records of fixed weapons in the trove?" Els asked.
The crow paused before squawking its answer. "The easiest method to mimic a fixed weapon is by using an amalgamation of silversteel at 60-70 percent and wolfram at 40-30 percent in conjunction with time magic."
Els frowned. Silversteel was expensive. The lightweight metal was usually found in elven lands, refined from ironwood trees that drew the purest of metals from the earth and air. Wolfram was rare but inexpensive. He already had filaments of Wolfram, stashed away for future experiments in making lightbulbs.
Time magic was a major problem. He didn't even have the faintest idea about how and where to learn about it.
"The Els' use of water magic can also substitute for time magic — but not at its current state."
"Explain," Els prompted Farrow, disregarding its use of his name as some sort of title.
"The Els' water magic in its purest form diffuses movement," Farrow started. "Once it advances, it could potentially stop movement relative to a small area or device.
Els pondered for a moment. Summoning a mass of water and channeling it into a tube to launch a projectile would cause all but the sturdiest tube to rupture. Halting the movement of the tube with magic would probably make it work, but that would require casting two spells at once — an almost impossible feat. Runic enchantments designed to trigger on certain conditions might work, but that would require more expensive materials and knowledge.
Els frowned and decided to put it off for the coming weeks. Then again, he could ask Arun for solutions when they meet the next day. The shadow mage was free with his advice. Els wished he was as free with his coin.