Chapter 38: A Title Worth Equipping
TRISTAN
The first time Tristan switched out [Hope’s Aspiration] for the [Oozebane Greatsword] in front of Jamal, his master became a blur. Suddenly the swordmaster was holding Tristan’s blade between his fingers, testing its sharpness.
“This is actually really well made, man! Did you make this? Just look at the bevel on that edge! Yeah, let go for a second, mate, I want to feel the weight of this monster.”
Tristan didn’t even hesitate. He did notice a sudden wrongness, an incompleteness, with his hand emptied of the blade, but he could deal with that. Especially with how impressed his Master was with his creation.
The swordmaster took the sword in a proper, two-handed grip. “It’s still crazy to me that I can’t actually equip this, but...” he paused as he went through a couple moves, “Yeah, man, this is exceptionally well made for a tier 2 blade. I bet it would flow smoother still, were it not for that Soulbound property blocking me. I bet it lasts you all the way to tier 3.”
Jamal tossed the blade up into the air where it spun half around before he caught it by the blade and offered Tristan the hilt. It was quite possibly the most casual treatment of a greatsword Tristan had ever seen. Still, Tristan accepted his blade back, and the moment the cool metal touched his fingers, he felt whole again.
“You’ve got quite the talent there, Tristan. Seriously, I’m impressed! And good timing to boot!” Jamal leaned against his own sword.
Tristan wasn’t sure what the swordmaster meant, but he was at least mostly sure that Jamal wasn’t going to spar with him. At least not yet. “Why is it good timing?” he asked.
Jamal produced two chairs from his magical storage, sat in one, and offered the other to Tristan. “I mean, I’m just assuming here, and maybe it’s a little bit late. I don’t rightly know. But isn’t it around your birthday?”
Tristan’s mouth hung open as he accepted the seat and considered his reply. He hadn’t looked at a calendar in... weeks? Months? It probably is, he realized, but that actually begged a different question. “Yeah, but how do you know that?”
Jamal, for the first time since Tristan had known him, looked a bit sheepish. “Well, mostly because I’ve been holding onto this for a while.” With a flourish of his fingers, the swordmaster produced a gift basket from his magical storage. It was clearly a present, with a ribbon wrapped all around its handle and a bow on top the size of his head. He also recognized his mother’s beautiful calligraphy on the tag, which was clearly labeled with his name.
A bit of annoyance bubbled up through Tristan’s curiosity. “And how long have you had that?”
“Only a week or so. Or maybe two? I’m not exactly sure, honestly. You know how time gets around here, with all the training we’ve been doing. You’ve been making quite a bit of progress, nearly mastering the Roving Blade, and I didn’t want to see you get all distracted.”
Distracted? Tristan frowned as he thought about how nice it would have been to get a care package from his parents. To have had some extra, positive reinforcement. Gods, how long had it been since he’d thought of them? But now that he had, he realized he missed them tremendously. Being away from the familiar comfort of them had been quietly eating away at him for so long. It had left an emptiness within him not unlike what he’d felt when Jamal had taken his sword.
He resolved to write them a letter as soon as he got back to his room. Then he’d have Cherry deliver it--or find someone who could.
“Anyway,” Jamal said, placing the basket on the ground between them, “you should probably have this now. And a very happy birthday, mate! You’ve not only survived another year, but you’ve gotten a lot stronger too!”
Tristan sighed, trying to push his teacher’s poor manners out of his thoughts for the moment. When he went to lift the basket, he found it surprisingly heavy. Then he looked inside. Hidden there beneath the pretty, ruffling paper, were bars and bars of metal. But it wasn’t just any metal, either. It was tier 2 white mithril.
There were ten billets and ten bars, all expertly made--no doubt by his father--and each of their glittery white exteriors sparkled when they caught the light of the sun. They were, more than anything he’d seen since his father’s shop, beautiful. He didn’t even want to begin to consider how much this much mithril would have normally cost, but his mind was already bursting with ideas of what he could do with it.
Nestled on top of all that precious metal was also a letter written in his mother’s ornate script. Tristan picked it up and immediately began reading.
> Dear Tristan,
>
> We hope you’re doing well with Jamal, learning as much as you can, and growing into the greatest young man you can be. We know you’ll make an excellent Swordsman, and we wanted to make sure you know that no matter what you do, we believe in you. We hope these gifts will help you along your Path.
And here the handwriting changed to the blockier printing of his father.
> In case you can’t tell, the heavy stuff is all white mithril. It’s the payment that Brightshield provided for repairing his breastplate. I don’t feel right keeping it since I didn’t finish the job in time. Instead I’m giving it to you, since he was your hero, and he would want it to protect you. It should go without saying, but this material is extremely valuable and rare, so only use it once you’re ready.
His mother’s flowing script resumed and filled the rest of the page.
> I’m also sending you four loaves of garlic bread--baked with extra love! I hope that it will help you remember the joys of the simpler life at home. Your father and I both want you to know that we miss you, Tristan. But we also know that time away is immensely important in this stage of your journey. Please be as safe as you can be, and maybe return home sooner rather than later. We can’t wait to see how much you’ve grown!
>
> Love,
>
> Your parents
Tristan had to close his eyes to keep the tears in. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his parents if the mere act of reading their words had made him this emotional. He would definitely write back to them and explain why his response was so delayed... once he had time.
When he finally composed himself, he reread the final paragraph again. His eyebrows pinched together at the mention of garlic bread. Other than a few buttery stains on the page, there were no signs of the four undoubtedly delicious loaves that should have been in the basket.
He raised his eyes to examine his teacher as he asked, “What happened to the garlic bread?”
For a brief moment, it seemed like Jamal was considering playing it off that he had no idea what Tristan was talking about. But no doubt Tristan’s face showed just how little that would work.
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“I say we put your new sword to the test before talking about any of that stuff,” Jamal said, clearly trying to change the subject as he pulled his sword out of the ground.
But Tristan was having none of it. He stared at his teacher as his voice became a growl. “Jamal. What happened to my mother’s garlic bread?”
The swordmaster shrugged slightly as he leaned back in his chair, trying to look as casual as he ever had. “Mate, you’ve gotta see it from my point of view. The basket arrived a week or whatever ago, right, and I knew that you weren’t quite ready for it. Not yet. Birthday or not, you needed to focus. But I also knew that those loaves of bread would go to waste if they weren’t eaten.”
Tristan stood bolt upright, knocking over his chair. His fist tightened around his sword’s hilt, and he took a fighting stance. “You ate my garlic bread? My mother’s homemade, extra-love-for-my-birthday garlic bread?”
With a twitch of the lips and a half-shrug, Jamal simply replied, “Yeah, man. And in all honesty, I’m not sad about it. It was bloody delicious. My compliments to the baker, you know? Might be the best I’ve had in--"
But whatever he might have said, Jamal did not get to finish, as Tristan was already charging him with his new [Oozebane Greatsword] fully drawn. The swordmaster was up with his own blade drawn in an instant, and it clashed with Tristan’s with a fierceness and volume that must have rung throughout the entire manor. Tristan wasn’t really sure what he was going to do, but fire had been lit within him, and he would not excuse his teacher’s actions.
Yet no matter how hard he tried, Jamal’s blade always found a way to meet his own.
“Tristan,” the swordmaster said firmly, “What are you trying to even do here, man? You can’t get it back.”
But Tristan refused to listen. His garlic bread was gone, and his hunger would not be sated by Jamal-isms. “APOLOGIZE!” he yelled, far more loudly than he’d expected.
Meanwhile, his teacher’s blade had begun to rove, circling and meeting his every strike with even smoother fluidity. “Tristan, man, you really need to calm down--”
But if Jamal said more, the younger Swordsman did not hear it. Tristan was seeing red and would not stop. For four more exchanges, he attacked Jamal and seemed to hold his own. It didn’t matter that he hardly knew any attacking moves. He wasn’t using them anyway. He was just trying to find gaps in Jamal’s defenses with his own techniques. He wanted to land a single blow, no matter how quick his teacher was.
Then there was one word that broke the moment, broke Tristan’s flow, and broke any thought of resistance.
“Stop.”
The word, steeped in Jamal’s presence, washed over Tristan like a tidal wave. His blade slid to the ground for stability, and even then it was still a struggle for Tristan to keep his feet; the urge to kneel before this superior swordmaster was so great.
His father had used his presence before, but never on Tristan. Not directly. This was the power of a higher tier, and it was undeniable.
Jamal sighed loudly. “You’re really going to have to get better about listening, man. I get that you’re mad, but come on. What did you hope to accomplish by attacking me? You said you wanted me to apologize, but how were you supposed to hear me, man, if you kept coming at me like that? Though, by the way, good job on those combinations! I was genuinely impressed with some of that footwork, too. I didn’t think you’d picked all of that up yet!”
Behind him, a second person coughed, and Tristan realized that Cherry had stepped into the sandy ring at some point during his emotional moment. Perhaps to remove the two chairs.
“Right, back on track,” Jamal said with a sheepish grin. “So yeah, I guess I am sorry that you didn’t get to eat any of your mum’s special birthday bread. I’ve got something to kind of make up for it though. Recompense, as it were.”
Tristan rolled that word over in his mouth, hoping it meant Jamal would be adding something more to the apology he’d finally given.
Before he’d finished the thought, a notification appeared at the bottom of his vision. Tristan’s eyes widened as he read it:
You have gained the title: {Student of Jamal}.
He quickly expanded the title to see its full description and benefits, and it was ridiculously impressive. Tristan’s mouth dropped wide open, unsure of what he could possibly say in response.
{Student of Jamal} +25% to swordsman experience gained while training with Jamal.
“I had never planned to give this out in my life, man. Never found anyone worthy of it,” Jamal said slowly, “but I’ve got to admit you’ve earned it.”
Tristan was still slightly in shock, but at least his voice began working within short order. “This is amazing, Jamal! Thank you. But wouldn’t it have been even more helpful to have gotten this back when we first started? Just thinking about all the experience I’ve lost–-”
“No way, man,” Jamal cut him off. “Stop that. Firstly, that title’s something you have to earn. And who were you to me back then, eh? The probably-bratty kid of Marrik Hammerson. Just a way for me to finally expunge an Oath I sealed way too long ago and that’s been hanging over my head ever since. Secondly, I was hoping for something a bit better looking, mate.” He actually winked at Tristan with that ‘point,’ which he seemed to find amusing right up until Cherry elbowed him in the ribs. Tristan merely shook his head, not sharing his master’s amusement, which only served to call back to the birthday presents he should have gotten sooner.
Jamal continued: “Most importantly, though, you can’t rush learning the sword. Everything has to be done the proper way, which truly is the slow way in this case. Trust me. It’s better in the long run. We’ve got to lay the foundation properly. Establish new, better habits. Train your mind and body. All the lessons need to soak in, need to marinate almost, to get through that tough skin of yours. And it’s not like we’re done yet or anything. Not for a while yet! So you will still get a fair amount of benefit from it. Besides, someday, that title might say ‘Disciple’ instead of ‘Student’.”
Tristan nodded along. It made sense, in a very Jamal sort of way: it was a compliment but also a bit worrying, especially as Tristan wondered how much longer their training would be. It was equal parts threat and boon.
So when Jamal pulled him in closer and locked eyes with him in a seriously uncomfortable way, Tristan got slightly worried.
“Oh, and this is super important, mate, so I need you to listen really carefully to this. Right, you ready?” He waited until Tristan actually nodded his head. “Good.” Jamal pulled back slightly but gripped both of Tristan’s arms tightly. “Try not to embarrass yourself while you’re wearing my name. You got me?”
Tristan nodded solemnly. “Yes sir.”
The carefree grin found its way back onto Jamal’s face as he released Tristan from his grip. A drink appeared in his hand. “Perfect! Then what are you waiting for? Put the title on! You quite literally have my blessing, man. And that’s something worth celebrating!--Along with your birthday, obviously. So, uh, we’ll put the lessons on hold for today and celebrate properly. That title can get to work tomorrow, yeah? I think by then it’ll be about time for the second Jamal-original technique!”
Tristan’s smile may have been a touch uncertain at first, but as Jamal and Cherry began making detailed plans for the feast that evening, it felt more and more right. He knew that today, whether it was his birthday or not, even whether it was filled with garlic bread or not, would be one of those days he’d never forget.
He even let his attention slip into his Status again, just for a moment in between Jamal’s questions and grandiose plans. He wanted to look at the title one more time, thrilled that he finally had the respect of a man who’d long had his.
Then he chose it, putting a second set of brackets around one of his titles for the first time.
He finally had a title worth equipping.
STATUS:
Tristan Hammerson
Human
L12 Swordsmith/4 Swordsman
{{Student of Jamal}}
Stats:
STR 44 (+5)
AGI 23 (+3)
END 47 (+6)
INT 13
WIS 15
WLL 26
Core: [Soul-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul, are greatly enhanced, and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.
Titles: {Awakened}, {Fledgling Dungeon Delver}, {Soulscarred}, {{Student of Jamal}}
Skills: [Craft Armor], [Craft Shield], [Craft Tool], [Craft Weapon], [Create: Portable Forge], [Gather Ore], [Identify], [Permanent Party], [Repair Item], [Sharpen Blade], [Work Metal]
Attacks: [Cleaving Slash], [Piercing Thrust], [Riposte]
Passives: [Agility Up I], [Blade’s Resolve], [Born Blacksmith], [Combat Reflexes], [Endurance Up I], [Enhance Craft I], [Heat & Fire Resistance], [In a Hurry], [Strength Up I]