by David Burke
The rod was a focusing item for her spell, which in and of itself was simply a way that mortals had to use essence. Unlike gods, they couldn’t tap it straight from the source, so to speak, although how he knew that exactly he wasn’t sure. He just knew it was true.
As the spell formed around him, he realized it made him tingle inside. It was like someone was silently standing over his shoulder while he was trying to read. Then, as the spell finished, he saw his character sheet again—or at least part of it.
Name: Krig (Kyle Hudson)
Race: Demi-god (War God/human)
Stats: (Current/Max)
Strength: 16/42
Agility: 5/42
Constitution: 14/45
Will: 11/45
Mind: 6/39
Charisma:2/29
Essence: Current/Max
War: 12/50 – Conversion rate: 1/second
Raw Essence: 1,423
Divine Ability:
Rage Burst, 1 - 4 War
He saw the sheet but then heard what Selma read off:
Kyle Warborn, essence elemental. Human base: 50%.
Strength: 16, Agility: 5, Constitution: 14.
Everyone in the room was staring at him. Saber even whistled before coming over to look at him. “Well, well, I bet Darron is gonna be pissed as all hell when he finds out about this, and Soren is likely to drink himself to death in delight.”
Kyle was trying to read the body language of the people around him. He only could make out the occasional word. He wanted to ask Hilde what was going on, but it didn’t seem like he could do that and stay alert. The room suddenly seemed very tense.
Hilde translated for him but didn’t offer an explanation.
Saber continued pacing, then looked at the three humans. “You poor saps. A lycan, troll, and a dragon would have been bad enough, but a freaking elemental and a war one by the sounds of it. You boys might as well just hope to be good enough to make it onto my training staff, but this crew here is gonna tear the coliseum up this year.”
He turned back and looked at Kyle and Gilthan. “Dang, you two are gonna be beating the ladies off with a stick before the season is halfway over. A pretty boy with dragon heritage and a freaking elemental.” Saber shook his head and turned away.
“Selma, turn the reports in. And you seven, well, you officially belong to me. Oh, not like you belong to House Sorengaard. No, I’m gonna be your worst nightmare. For the next week, we are gonna work you to the breaking point.
I don’t care how freaking strong you are, I’m gonna find a way to push you past your limits. We’re gonna pick apart every weakness that you have and see what you are made of. Winning in the arena takes a hell of a lot more than a strong arm.
Now, follow me. Last one to the arena floor gets to be today’s training dummy.” Then he started running out of the room through a doorway different from the one they came in.
This, Kyle understood. He was still a second slower than he would have liked waiting for Hilde’s translation, but he got the gist of it. This guy was going to try to break them. Kyle laughed inside.
Bring it on.
Chapter 10 - Speed First
Kyle wasn’t the last to the arena. That honor fell to Skrug. The big half-troll was tough, Kyle gave him that. It was likely a really good thing, because being the training dummy wasn’t any fun at all.
Two dozen trainers had been waiting for them when they reached the arena. Each one was equipped with a different weapon ranging from a flail to a longbow. They each demonstrated their weapons and how they could best be used. It took the better part of two hours and ended up essentially being a huge beat down on Skrug.
Sure, they were using dull training weapons, but they were still metal. The arrow still pierced his skin, the spear thrust still drew some blood, and the crack of a mace against his side still brought the audible crack of a bone breaking.
Through it all, Skrug took it. Not passively and certainly not calmly, but he took it all.
He screamed at his attackers with a bestial roar, but every time he lost control and charged or swung at one of them, Saber would neatly put him on his back. The man was lightning fast, but it was more about precision of movement rather than raw speed. Kyle had seen some guys who weren’t the strongest or fastest, heck even some with a bit of a gut, who still made it to the bigs. They all had one thing in common. They were just damn good at baseball.
Well, Saber was the same, but with fighting or at least dueling.
He would move in under a wild swing from the angry troll that could take the head off a man’s body and slide in to swing a blunt version of his namesake weapon against the inside of a leg or back of a knee. He didn’t bother moving on to new tactics because the troll kept falling for the same ones.
The instructor even managed to hook the back of the giant’s ankle and take his feet out from underneath him just by timing it with the shifting of the man’s own bodyweight. It was a pro-level move that reacted to and took advantage of any opening given to him. There was no way that Saber could have lifted up the one-ton mountain of muscle, but Skrug just kept giving him openings.
By the end of the training demonstration, Kyle was beginning to suspect Saber was the kind of coach who took pleasure in the suffering of his team. The kind who thought he wasn’t doing his job if they weren’t complaining about the workload.
Kyle was ready for that, though.
He figured this guy would have him up there next. Well, he had been taking mental notes already. If anything, it was a pleasant surprise how the more he relaxed, the more naturally all of this seemed to come to him.
One by one, he took the trainees to different parts of the arena and set them up with trainers. While the others waited, they were led through a series of calisthenics. That much was child’s play though, for even with this massive body, Kyle had never felt so strong or flexible in his entire life.
Kierra was sent to one end of the arena and, from the glimpses that Kyle caught, it appeared that she was being tasked with trying to catch arrows out of the air. Made sense in a way. Her agility was superhuman, so they were probably testing the limits of it.
Skrug, on the other hand, was set to lifting heavy rocks, dragging heavier rocks, and sometimes being crushed by heavy rocks that they rolled onto his feet. It was bizarre training, but maybe meant to increase his body’s regenerative powers. They were already nothing short of miraculous. The brute barely had a bruise on his greenish skin left, despite two hours of dreadful beatings.
The strangest one of them all was Gilthan, who was placed in a circle of six trainers with tower shields. At least it seemed odd until Kyle witnessed the man create a spinning, bladed disc out of thin air. It crackled with lightning and spun around as though driven by its own tornado. The elven warrior or, perhaps more accurately, sorcerer sent the disc careening from one shield to the next.
Kyle would have liked to watch more of the display, but he soon found himself face to face with Saber. None of the other trainers were even close, and they had most of the middle of the arena to themselves. Inside the coliseum was as big as any professional football field. There were seats all around with obvious boxes that were likely reserved for nobility or other leaders—he guessed senators and such.
“So, they tell me that you don’t speak very well, or even understand that much. Well, what I want to know, is why? Is it because you can’t, just not smart enough like Skrug over there?” Saber asked.
Kyle shook his head no as soon as Hilde interpreted the question for him.
“A bit slow on the uptake there, but maybe that is just because you don’t speak the language. Is that it?” the instructor asked.
This time Kyle nodded in the affirmative and Saber smiled. “That’s good. It’s hard to fix stupid, but just about anything else I can work with. Now though, I need to know just what I’m working with. We had one elemental here, three years ago. She was half elf, half sky
elemental. She was so damn fast, it was almost hard to follow her movements. She might have won it all if it weren’t for the fact that she had a glass jaw.
Well, if you are truly a war elemental, then I’m gonna expect better from you. After all, this is sorta what you exist for, if I understand elementals properly. So, this is what we’re gonna do. You can pick up any of those training weapons that the instructors left there, and you and I are gonna have a little duel. Nothing lethal, just a test to see what kinda skills you have. Nod your head if you understand,” Saber instructed.
Kyle had known that this moment was coming at some point. Truthfully, he was no warrior, but if that‘s what he had to become to excel here, then so be it. He nodded and then started looking around at the weapons. His pickaxe was powerful and felt as natural in his hands as a bat. He hoped that other weapons would pick up that same, familiar feel, too.
For now, he wanted to stick with something similar, so he picked a warhammer up off the ground. He remembered the trainers demonstrating how this weapon could be used to crush bones, but also that they said its primary purpose was for use against armor. He looked at Saber. The man was only wearing light, leather armor, not even a breastplate.
This might not be the right weapon for fighting him, but it felt comfortable to Kyle. It also had the advantage that it was small in his hand and could be whipped around easily. Not one to second guess, he decided to stick with it.
“Interesting choice,” Saber said. “Now, to be clear, if by some chance you hurt me, that is on me and you will not be punished for it. But, equally, I am not going to go easy on you and this may hurt some, even though I am using a blunt weapon.”
Kyle nodded to show his understanding and the smaller man began to circle around him. His sword had a curved blade and was not exceptionally long. It was also relatively wide. He held it loosely in front of him just as his entire body moved fluidly. He had the look of a slack rope ready to be pulled taut in an instant.
At first, Kyle was content to wait to attack. He thought it better to take the measure of his enemy, but just as he began to question that, the man rushed him. Saber slapped his hand with the blade, but Kyle managed to hold onto his own weapon.
“Good. Can’t abide a fighter who drops his weapon at the slightest bit of shock, so at least you have good instincts. Though if my blade were sharp, you could easily have lost fingers there,” Saber said as though he were standing still to instruct.
Time and again, Kyle found himself being slashed. The blows hurt far less than he would have anticipated and, honestly, after a dozen welts, he started to ignore them. He could not, however, land a blow with his hammer. When he swung wide, Saber stepped into it and he earned a slap of the blunted blade against his face or neck.
At moments like that, the chief trainer would say, “Fatal blow,” and then move on.
When Kyle swung an overhand, downward strike, his agile opponent would spin effortlessly out of the way and deliver a blow to the back of the knee or across his bare side. He got tips at those times that went like, “Hard to fight with only one leg,” or, “I hope you didn’t mean to keep your intestines inside your body.”
Kyle was happy that he never got so upset that he tried charging or anything too brutish. What he marveled at more than anything was how near the end of the match, he managed to turn away one of the strikes by bringing the shaft of his warhammer into the path of the blade.
“Excellent, now break,” Saber shouted and stepped back. It took a second for Kyle to realize what the man meant, but then he too lowered his weapon.
“So, the good news is that you seem to be strong and fast enough to keep up with most regular human fighters. You also seem fairly resistant to pain and have good instincts. You were starting to figure out some of the basics there at the end, so I have high hopes for you, once we get to the actual teaching you part of the training.
“The bad news is that while strength is good, speed is better. That means that many lesser foes will be able to kill you just because you are not able to keep up. My agility is only nine. Can you imagine what the lycan would do to you with an agility of eleven, were she to have my level of skill?
“The first stage of your training is going to suck, but it will determine if you can be good or great in the arena. Now, I hit you thirty-seven times, so I want you to give me thirty-seven laps around the arena.”
Inside Kyle groaned; no one wanted to run laps. Working on skills was always more fun and more productive, but he would do what was needed.
“While you are running, you need to think about something. I still can’t get a gauge of how much is going on in that melon on top of your shoulders.
“You have the look of intelligence in your eyes. A fighter with strength, speed, and intelligence will rule the arena. What I don’t see, though, is a killer instinct. You seem to care and learn quickly. But this isn’t a dancing club.
“What we do here is purer and more simple than all the master craftsmen around the city. They all study a craft. Improve themselves. Improve their skills. Master the tools of their trade. Then they pour all of that into creating something. The testament to their skill will reside in that item, whether it be a finely crafted plowshare, a potion that heals the wounded, fine jewelry to win a woman’s heart, or a meal to satisfy all around the table.
“It doesn’t matter what it is, they pour themselves into it and have something to show for it. Battle is no less a matter of mastery. You will likewise be called upon to improve in all those ways. You will do this, or you will fail. The difference is, if you fail, it won’t be a misshapen piece of art or a poorly seasoned meal. No, your failures will be marked upon your body in pain, suffering, and scars.
“If you strive to get beyond the showmanship of our craft, then a lack of commitment will be revealed by your rotting corpse, thrown to feed the crows. Battle is pure and simple. There are no ambiguities about who is the best. We don’t stand here and admire the technique of two different painters to determine who makes the best art. Those distinctions are subjective.
“We are the only craft that has no subjective standard. You can be faster, stronger, smarter than your foe, but the only measure that matters in our art, is who is still standing when it is over. The best warrior is that man, and nothing else matters.
“What I fear, is that you don’t have that killer instinct, the drive to push you to do whatever is necessary to win. I see that you don’t like my words, yet you didn’t come after me with your weapon. I never saw a willingness in your eyes to crush me. The art of war is not for the faint of heart. You must decide, and quickly, if you have what it takes to be a warrior. I would suggest that you try to commune with your elemental side.
“For now, though, you owe me some laps. Get to running,” the instructor said in grim tones.
Kyle wanted to scream at Saber that he didn’t know who he was talking to. Kyle Hudson was the best at whatever he put his mind to, but in the back of his mind, he recognized there was a difference between hitting balls and slaying men. He was going to have to do some soul searching, and decide if he could overcome years of social conditioning that violence was bad.
Truthfully, though, it was so ingrained into him from childhood by a society that thought bullying to be the greatest problem facing a generation of school children rather than the mediocrity that had settled in. No, he would have to sort out his mind, so he took off running at a good clip.
Behind him, he heard Saber shout, “And don’t let me catch you stopping until they’re all done.”
Chapter 11 – Introductions
Beyond running laps, Kyle had been required to do some stretching to demonstrate his flexibility. After that had come balance drills. They served a purpose, but had never been part of what he enjoyed. Now he had a fairly good idea of what was going to be required of him over the next few weeks of training.
Once the sun began to set, they were all herded back down to that initial ro
om. There, he was poked and prodded by Selma and a group of three other mages that worked for her. She was a bit old for him and had a severe cast to her face, but at least she was a woman. If he had to be felt all over and checked for injuries, he was definitely glad that he had her doing it, rather than one of her male assistants.
Still, it was more like he was livestock being inspected and he found it strangely demeaning. Who could have ever imagined that having a woman running her hands over your junk could be degrading? And yet it was. That must be the simple fact of slavery. It chafed at him, not just as something that was morally wrong, but also as an invasion of his personal space.
Measurements were taken, not only of Kyle, but of all the fighters alongside the physical exams they got. Throughout it all, Saber lectured them like children.
“Sleep well tonight, for tomorrow the real work begins. If you survive the next week of training, then we will deem you worthy to begin actually training you in the use of weapons. Your body is going to hurt tomorrow. Bones will be broken, skin cut, and muscles torn. This is just the price of learning what we have to teach.
“It might be nice if I told you that you could ring a bell and say you wanted to quit. But you are slaves. Never forget that. Make sure you remember that you are property. No one asks a shovel if it is tired of digging. No, they work it until the task is done or it breaks. If the job is completed easily, the man might be grateful momentarily for having had a good tool, but then all he will think about is his work. If the shovel breaks, then it will be cursed as worse than useless and chucked aside.
“There is no giving up. There is success or death. And for the next week, my instructions are that either outcome is acceptable. Yes, some of you were expensive to obtain, but better to know now if you will break. That way your owners don’t throw good money after bad.
