Chapter 30: Blowing Off Some Steam

TRISTAN

After the first month, Tristan was no longer surprised when he would awaken fully healed in his bed with little memory of how he'd gotten there. Truthfully, he hadn't spent an evening fully conscious in weeks. The more he’d trained, the more he'd learned, and the harder the sparring at the end of each session had grown. He lost in so many ways, acquiring so many injuries, it was a wonder that he never gave up. He would have died multiple times by now if Jamal didn't have “the best healer in the realm” in Cleo. After a month of her skills patching him up, Tristan found himself agreeing with the man. He had actually lost count of how many times he should have died, a thought that scared him.

But he’d also made incredible progress. He’d spent most of the time learning about the strengths and weaknesses of his greatsword, and improving on both. But Jamal had also insisted that Tristan practice with the longsword and shield some too, “for the sake of versatility.“ Jamal had also started giving Tristan surprise “caltrops sessions” to further improve his footwork, though mostly they ended up with Tristan mostly unable to walk.

Thanks to all the training, Tristan had gained another two Secondary levels, making him officially a level 3 swordsman. He’d earned the [Riposte] attack skill, which would allow him to strike back immediately after blocking. That was the theory, at least, but Jamal was always fast enough that the counterstrike never actually hit.

He’d also gotten a new passive, [Agility Up I], and with it, another permanent 10% stat increase that felt really good. While it only added a few points now, those few points really helped. Even small increases in Agility made a big difference in his Swordsman skills. It improved blade control, damage output, and footwork. It was similar to how smithing relied on Strength and Endurance.

Yet for all his gains, Tristan had yet to land a blow on his teacher. His levels proved he was growing, but his gains didn’t matter much when faced with the best swordsman alive.

Perhaps the swordmaster could sense Tristan’s unspoken concerns. He had begun giving his student “pep talks” at the start of every training session, though Tristan found them less positive than such a title would suggest. The last few had been focused on how Tristan’s Path would be littered with challenges and problems that Tristan and only Tristan would have to navigate, and often enough those problems would require either a degree of creativity or a lot of preparation.

Jamal clearly favored the first option.

Tristan, on the other hand, saw the merits of both approaches. If anything, he preferred to go above and beyond on preparation. He didn’t mind so many sessions spent improving his defensive tactics, as it lay a better foundation to prepare for anything that might come his way.

“Just don't get hit, and you can't lose,” Jamal said one lesson in passing, and while it was obviously silly, it stuck in Tristan’s head.

Tristan knew the truth in that better than anyone. He just needed to improve a lot if he was ever going to get to such a level himself. When considering the targets he was aiming for... his end goal was far beyond his reach. I'll only get one shot at each of the Legendslayers out in the real world, and Cleo won't be there to save me if I fail. I have to keep getting better.

He just had to keep learning from Jamal and grinding out levels.

They sometimes talked about other things outside of his lessons. Jamal asked him about his Path and how he saw it unfolding, and where he thought it might lead him. Truthfully, it was something Tristan had thought about a lot--ever since the event at Jill's, when he'd been offered the many different event quests. He might as well ask about it.

“Back at Jill’s, why was I offered event quests to kill the waiter, among other awful things? Does my Path think that I’m a bad person, or that I could be?”

Jamal had taken the question in stride and even laughed. “Mate, all of us could be bad people. Where've you been? Look at the world around you. Every Path is valid, no matter how much other people might hate it. Every path,” he stressed.

Tristan had heard that before, but he’d never really thought about it. “Is that why thieving and banditry aren’t outright illegal?”

“Yeah. It’s only when they strike down-tier that anyone higher tier gets involved.”

Tristan wasn’t sure how he felt about that and didn’t like the idea of his Path heading in darker directions. “I've never acted like that though. Why was I given those options at Jill’s?

The swordmaster gave him a sympathetic smile. “Because options mean you have to choose, and choosing defines your Path more than anything. Even if you’re just a blacksmith, your Path will care about your morality. For what it's worth, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. At least, not in that regard. Your swordplay? Sure. But Tristan, you don’t seem like a piece of shit--and trust me, I’ve known a lot. The shittiest of the shit, in fact. You're not like them, mate. Just stay true to yourself, and I don’t think you'll become like them, yeah?” He laughed easily again. “Honestly, I'm just glad you already know about event quests. They can be quite difficult at times, but at least you don’t have to do them. Unlike Path quests.”

Tristan briefly considered his quest log where two quests still lingered. His Path quest, [Avenging the Brightshield], and the other that he’d tried not to think about:

[Quest: End the Progenitor]

Avenge your fallen comrade and defeat the Black Ooze Progenitor.

Reward: Title {Oozebane}

He didn’t bring either quest up though, and if the swordmaster noticed Tristan’s frown, he didn't mention it. Instead the man continued his previous thought. “Anyway, it sounds like your Path cares most about you improving yourself, not what you do to get there, or even what you do with your power after.”

Tristan was a bit confused by that. “It doesn't care if I'm a good or bad person?”

“Apparently not, or at least not yet. Who knows, maybe it will. For now, it just cares that you get stronger.”

“And if I want to be a good person?” Tristan asked.

Jamal laughed. “Then be a good person! Or try to. You do you, kid. Even if your Path is a bit selfish, there's nothing wrong with that. Gods, look at me! I’m as selfish as they come. I can't name a single person tier 4 or above whose Path isn't at least a little bit selfish. Otherwise, you’d stop progressing and just be what you already are. Even the Brightshield wasn’t completely selfless.”

Tristan didn't know all that many tier 4s, and not even a single tier 5 since the Brightshield. He trusted Jamal’s words and experience wholly. Though whether they were more comforting or disheartening, Tristan couldn’t say.

Jamal slapped his chest twice twice in quick succession as a gesture of respect before lifting his greatsword and returning to the stance they'd been practicing. “Anyway, you’re actually pretty lucky since it sounds like your Path doesn’t care about the journey OR the destination, just that you’re journey-ing. There's a lot of flexibility in such a Path. That’s what all those various event quests you were offered tell me.”

Tristan nodded. Even for such a long answer, it made sense. “I just need to keep making my choices align with the Path I want to walk.”

“Precisely,” Jamal agreed. “So just keep on not being a dick, walk your Path your way, and maybe let’s get back to the lessons now so your journey can begin a little sooner, eh? We’ve still got loads to improve with your footwork.”

Tristan was constantly surprised at how much he enjoyed the lesson portions of their day. He’d always thought himself more of a “learn by doing” sort, but Jamal had a way of cutting through even the most difficult of topics and presenting them in a way that Tristan just understood. Tristan enjoyed how thought-provoking the lessons could get. In their own way, they were just as challenging as the sparring sections. He didn’t fool himself into thinking he was really sparring with the swordmaster. But he had hope that someday he might surprise the man.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It was the same drive to improve and better himself that he felt toward his smithing. It was what kept him coming back every single day, no matter how bad a beating he’d taken the day before. Even if his injuries kept getting more serious, he was focused. He would improve.

So when Cherry appeared in the training circle one day instead of Jamal, Tristan was worried.

Initially he wondered if he’d done something wrong and if Jamal was tired of training him, which made him worry that he was being sent away. It wasn’t a logical fear, but that didn’t stop his mind from going there, however briefly. Pushing those worries aside he asked, “What's going on, Cherry? Where's Master Jamal?”

“He had an engagement that he couldn't miss. Normally he'd schedule such things for the evenings, but today it couldn’t be helped. So, you're getting the day off.”

A week or two ago Tristan would have loved a day off, but now all he felt was worry about his focus slipping. A day off was time wasted and improvement delayed. You wouldn't stop a craft mid-heat after all. He stabbed his sword into the dirt in disappointment.

Cherry interrupted him before he got too broody. “But Master Jamal did arrange a driver for you, to take you back into Rockmoor for the day. He said, and I quote, ‘Every boy needs time to blow off some steam.’”

Tristan knew what Jamal probably meant. He just didn't find the same comforts in other people that the swordmaster did. But, he realized, I could go to a forge, and that would scratch the same itch.

“I've already told the driver to take you to The Agora,” Cherry was saying, and she held out a tiny pouch. “He also wanted you to have this.”

Tristan took it, both curious and immediately surprised with just how light it felt. He wasn’t sure what it could be or why Jamal had given it to him today. The bag was small enough that he could close his hand around it and leave nothing showing. What could it even hold? With a touch of uncertainty, he looked inside and was amazed.

The tiny pouch was actually magical storage! The mouth was barely wide enough for his hand to fit through when he narrowed it, but on the inside it was large enough to fit his head--not that he’d try!--and it was full of gold coins. It was more wealth than Tristan had ever held before. He’d only seen its like a few times after his father had finished a commission for a wealthy client.

Did he earn all this wealth by adventuring?

Tristan forced himself to focus instead on the more pressing question: How could he best spend all that gold in one day? He looked up at Cherry. “Could he take me to Smith's Row instead? Garrow’s shop, specifically?”

Cherry smiled pleasantly. “I don't see why not. I'll send the messages immediately.”

Messages, plural? Tristan wondered at that, though he didn't ask. The more he thought about it, the more his fingers were itching to work metal again. His head was flooding with so many ideas he'd put off over the month: concepts he knew he wanted to try, especially since he could now afford better materials. “When can we go?”

“Just give me fifteen minutes to set everything up,” she replied. “And maybe you should change into more... real world attire. You're not going to be training today, so maybe something less... breathable.”

Tristan looked down at his shirt and pants, recognizing for the first time just how shredded they'd become after weeks of training sessions against a master swordsmith. “I don't really have much else to wear,” he admitted. “It’s all kind of like this.”

Cherry shook her head knowingly. “I told him as much. The master said to give you these.” Then with a flick of her hand, a full set of clothes appeared on a nearby chair. “They’re not actually gear, so he’s hoping they’ll be usable.”

Tristan had never had an issue with basic clothes before, just gear, so he shrugged her concern off. “Will it fit?” he asked. He knew Jamal was a bit more stylish than he was, tending to wear things that were tighter and narrower. Tristan worried that his chest and shoulders were just too much like his father’s.

Cherry raised one eyebrow. “Try it on and we’ll see.”

Tristan shrugged, admitting defeat, but otherwise only fidgeted slightly. He looked from Cherry to the door.

Cherry didn’t seem to understand his hesitation until Tristan looked away again. “Would you like me to leave so you can try it on?”

Tristan coughed slightly. “I mean, that’s not--could you just, I don’t know, turn around?”

He saw a smile on the woman’s lips, but she did as he asked.

Tristan managed to pull on the shirt and pants, both of which were much tighter than anything he’d normally wear. He felt immediately uncomfortable, and even though nothing hindered his movement, it still felt like it could. He also didn’t love how it looked; the outfit reminded him of Aaric.

Cherry considered the fit and nodded appreciatively, “It's better than everything else you've got, and now you’re representing Jamal, not just yourself. Besides, should they prove too uncomfortable, I could direct you to Jamal’s tailor in Rockmoor.”

Tristan refused politely, since he'd only been cleared to stay out for one day, and he didn’t want to waste a single moment of it.

“A wise decision,” Cherry said. “However, should you change your mind, your driver is on retainer for the full day. As long as you return before midnight, you shouldn’t have any issues.”

Tristan was led outside where he was introduced to his personal driver for the day.

[Billy, Half-elf, Level 18]

That the driver was only tier 2 was surprising, as the half-elf man did not look young. Had he been a human, Tristan would have guessed he was in his 30s, but he had no idea what the equivalent would be for a half-elf other than ‘older.’ The driver was thin, bordering on wiry, and sported a couple days' hair growth on his jaw. He sat in the front of a wooden wagon behind two horses that seemed to be waiting incredibly patiently.

With a brief nod, Billy confirmed their destination, “Garrow’s on Smith's Row?” Then they were off.

The trip that had taken Tristan hours on foot was done in only half of one with the wagon.

“I'll be here when you're done,” Billy said, pulling the wagon right up against the side of Garrow's.

As soon as Tristan walked in, he was greeted by the old salesman again. “Welcome back, young smith. How can we help you today?”

Tristan pulled out his new coin pouch. “I'd like some time in the back again, please.”

“I thought I recognized the look in your eyes. Tempy’s working in the back again today, so the rate’s the same as last time. Same terms, too: don't talk to her or your time's up, even if you've got the gold.”

Tristan specifically remembered Temperance saying he'd been overcharged last time, but rather than point it out, he pulled 10 gold coins from his pouch. “I expected no less.”

After depositing the coins in the old man's hand, Tristan was pointed to the back room. As he opened the door, he could feel the welcoming heat of the room beyond, though he noticed that he didn’t hear any of the sounds of traditional smithing this time. He had only taken a single step through when he heard a jingle from the front. Tristan turned back just in time to see a newcomer enter. He was so tall he had to duck his head.

“I'm lookin’ for the smith,” the enormous man growled. He was at least two heads taller than Tristan. Honestly, he was bigger in seemingly every other way too. Something quickly explained with an [Identify].

[?, Half-giant, Level 15]

The half-giant swaggered into the shop as though he owned it. He wore sturdy-looking black leather armor that would easily have taken several cow hides to make. What marked him most as an adventurer in Tristan's eyes were the two swords he carried, one on either hip. He used [Identify] on both of those as well.

[“Rip” (uncommon)]: [Bleeding]

[“Tear” (uncommon)]: [Weakening]

Both weapon properties inflicted negative status effects on targets struck: [Bleeding] adding some periodic damage, and [Weakening] reducing the target’s damage output.

Seems like a good combination for someone who wants to outlast his opponents, Tristan thought. Given the man’s size, he wondered if he used his reach to hit a few times, then harry his foes from a distance, or possibly with a shield. There were a lot of possibilities.

While Tristan evaluated the newcomer, the salesman stepped up with a grand smile. “Welcome to Garrow’s, sir. Our smith is currently working in the back, but I believe you'll find that I can be of service with nearly anything--"

“I’m only here for the smith,” the newcomer said, roughly pushing past the old man and sending him into one of the display shelves. Upon seeing the shock on the old man’s face, the half-giant sneered. “‘Less you wanna play, too.”

Tristan saw the half-giant's hands dip slightly toward his swords. His fingertips curled excitedly.

In a flash, Tristan made a decision that he knew might be foolish, but he didn’t care. He folded his arms across his chest and walked out of the back room. “I'm a smith. How can I help you?”

The half-giant made plain that he was sizing Tristan up. His head went up and down, and his sneer deepened. “Yeah, you look about right.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’m here to test your mettle,” he said, laughing at his own pun.

Tristan’s brow wrinkled as he hoped he misinterpreted the man’s words. He decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt. “There are lots of samples around the shop, though the enchanting is really what makes all these weapons--"

“Shut up! I don’t care about your gods-damned merchandise!” The half-giant placed his huge hands on the swords at his hips. “Get over here and fight!” In the span of those words, the half-giant had pulled out both his longswords, with Rip currently pointing directly at Tristan’s chest.

“Not in here,” Tristan replied calmly, thinking of the old man. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but if you’re insisting, we’re going to take it outside.”

The half-giant scoffed. “Damn right we are, ‘cause I got a contract with your name on it.”

“From who?” Tristan asked, but the half-giant wouldn’t answer.

“Let’s just get it done with. Inside, outside, won’t make a difference to me. Let’s just go. Now! I’ve got other quests to get to today.”

Tristan sighed. Why does trouble always seem to find me? He walked past the old man, who barely stuttered out a, “Thank you,” on his way to the back.

Then Tristan was outside in the dusty midday sun. There were a lot more people, but they seemed far enough away that they shouldn’t be a concern. The road itself was just dirt, just like the training ring at Jamal’s. But he didn’t really have time to prepare for anything else before the half-giant roared, raised both his swords to the sky, and charged.