Street Cultivation 3: Chapters 9-10 (Patreon)

Next couple chapters.

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Chapter 9: Preparations for Departure

The medical staff were extremely efficient assisting with Rick's injuries, but equally impersonal. He realized that they had to deal with countless fighters throughout the day and probably just wanted to get their work over with, so he didn't try to interact with them. Besides, he had plenty of think about.

Other than thanking them at the end, they didn't exchange any words. Rick was surprised at how good he felt: not just healed, but mostly pain free. His core had still received serious damage, of course, but that was his job to repair. He focused on it as he found a seat, trying to learn what he could. The explosive spheres attack had touched him so briefly, even the Dark Blood Kettle could only develop minimal defenses against it. A useful trick.

Though he'd wanted to watch the other events, particularly to find out exactly how the black sphere throwing event worked, Rick was just too exhausted. It wasn't just the injuries and the healing, it was the utter concentration for those two minutes of his life. Even though he'd been allowed in, he found himself wondering if he could really keep competing at this level.

Just when he was starting to feel a bit closer to normal, the cigarette-smoking man brushed past him, another cigarette dangling from his lips. "Come on. This is no place to talk."

"Uh, okay." Though a little suspicious, Rick decided it was better not to question his new sponsor. They only went a short distance off the field and stepped into a hallway underneath the main stands. Normally it would have been filled with crowds and concessions, but for the qualifying rounds it was nearly deserted.

"We need to talk terms, but first, you earned this." The man flipped a card toward him and Rick barely managed to catch it, because it didn't flutter like he expected. Though it was the size of a business card, it felt more like a heavy piece of tile in his hands.

Rick drew it closer to examine. Most of it was a plain, slightly reflective gray. His name and an ID number were printed on one side and below it he saw a circular pattern with a trigram inside it. Though it didn't mean anything to him, the way it glittered green meant it had to be the Jade Seal. The card itself felt both heavier and tougher than he expected, not bending even when he exerted his strength.

"Don't break the thing." The man cast him a sour glance as if expecting him to eat it. "The cards are tough, but they'll break if you put enough force into it. Now, the real credits are in a database somewhere, but they don't just give out new cards at random."

"So this Jade Seal... I've earned it permanently, no matter what else happens?"

"Well, not exactly. Some say all retirement from the Showdown is dishonorable, but there's different types. If you're found to be cheating or participating in some kind of felony, you might be dishonorably retired and all your accomplishments stripped. But if you formally give up, yeah."

Realizing he was being rude, Rick lowered the card and gave the man a polite bow. "Thank you for sponsoring me."

"Don't thank me. I'm doing a job, and I picked you because I thought you'd earn me money in the end." The man glowered at him for a bit, then removed his cigarette from his lips. "You can call me H. I might be rich compared to this place, but don't think I'm swimming in lucrim. If you perform well, this could be profitable for both of us. But if you can't keep up, I'll send you back home. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand." Rick gestured to the seal on the card. "This is a good start, right?"

"Better than nothing," H said flatly. "You know the trigrams?"

"No, not really."

"Well, the one you got is so-so. It's a mark of commendation, and those are always good. But the real version has a wing pattern around the sides, whereas the plain circle is the junior version. So this is a start. Maybe when we compete in China you'll be able to impress some more representatives and get a better one."

Rick nodded quietly, resolving to look it up in more detail later. He had a feeling that he could win a Nobel Lucrim Prize and H would still glare and have something to criticize. At least someone who was blunt about their profit motive was being straighter with him than someone who pretended to be on his side.

"I decided to sponsor you for two reasons," H went on. "First, I do think you have some potential. You've got grit and you've done something with it. But second, to annoy Alger. Let's see if we can't wipe the floor with his golden child, eh?"

"You have something against Raggest?" Rick asked. H merely shrugged.

"The boy is Alger's tool, that's all. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. This isn't formal yet."

Rick hesitated, running his fingers along the edges of the card. "Why not?"

"We need to create a formal legal agreement of sponsorship. Here's how it will go: the Showdown will still be in Branton for a couple of weeks. I'll use that time to check on you, just in case something nasty comes up. You use that time to say your goodbyes and prepare. In that time, we'll figure out the exact agreement. If we're both on board at the end, we leave to the next city. If not, you stay here permanently."

"Got it."

"Let me see your portfolio, and give me a number and address. I'll send you the contract so you can look at it on your own time."

Since if anyone needed to see his portfolio, it was the man who would train him, Rick complied. H gave no indication whatsoever what he thought of the numbers, simply grunted and then left. Soon enough Rick received a message with a contract attached, so quickly that it must have been boilerplate. Sure enough, when he opened it, he saw that it didn't even have his name, just a placeholder.

Reading it beneath the stands was awkward, and the stadium was getting louder with another event, so Rick headed out. On the sidewalk, he realized that he was strangely adrift in Branton. He had no apartment to return to, no work, nowhere else he could stop by. In the end he went to a public park and found a shaded place to read the contract.

It started well enough: the health coverage was excellent and didn't cost him a thing. That made sense, given that he was now an asset. But soon after, he started running into things he didn't like the sound of at all. If he understood right, the terms contained more than a few traps.

After so many reversals, Rick didn't feel anything. He just made some calls.

~ ~ ~

"This isn't good, right?" Rick glanced between the siblings as Adsila and Wemilat read through the contract on their own devices. Wemilat winced, but his sister gave an encouraging smile.

"Almost all contracts are bad at first - they expect you to negotiate. I'm sure you can make him bend on the worst clauses."

"Are you sure? He seemed pretty ready to just leave me here if I didn't cooperate."

'Just a negotiating tactic," Adsila said, but Wemilat shook his head as he finally entered the conversation.

"Here's what I think you should do: send him back another standard contract that's much more in your favor. He won't accept it, but you'll be able to see how much he's willing to bend. Then whatever you agree on, we can have Dad look over it."

Rick blinked. "Your father is a lawyer?"

"He does some law work, including combat contracts. Good enough that he could find any nasty surprises hidden in the lawyer talk."

"Enough about that, Wemy." Adsila cut off whatever her brother was going to say next and saluted Rick with her phone. "You should be happy about this! Not just anyone can get into the Showdown, and I'm sure once you negotiate a better contract, things will go well for you."

"Hopefully." Rick glanced between them and sighed. "That means I'll be leaving the Refuge, but it's obvious that you can manage without me."

"I'll miss having you to help out with the bigger animals," Wemilat said, "but we can badger Delsin into it when it's really necessary. Just remember what I said, okay? These big events can be a rush, but they don't last for your entire life."

Adsila rolled her eyes. "Yeah, just remember how you're going to get old and decrepit and shrivel up like a prune. That's a great tone to set for a celebratory moment."

Rick smiled as he watched the two of them bickering, though with a tinge of sadness as he realized it would be the last time, at least in the near future. With the Showdown moving all around the world, he wouldn't be able to visit home all that often. That was one benefit of Melissa being away at the YLAA, since they were already accustomed to talking online.

The contract negotiation proved boring, but critical. As expected, H immediately rejected the counter-contract he sent with the siblings' help, but he was willing to talk. Not literally, and his messages were incredibly terse, but they slowly hashed out an agreement.

His first contract had given him an obscene salary of over six figures in lucrim per year... but with a caveat that had set off immediate alarm bells. Victory purses were added to his salary, but all training costs were subtracted from it. It had struck him as obvious that the contract could bind him in permanent debt, if expenses exceeded his salary and awards.

A naive young warrior might eagerly take the contract and enjoy a lavish lifestyle, only to lock themselves into what was essentially indebted servitude. From what he'd seen of Showdown sponsors, Rick wouldn't he surprised if they liked the idea of having complete control of a young person's training. Fortunately, H dropped all those provisions without any argument, as if he considered the entire discussion more of an inconvenience than anything.

He fought other proposals, however, always taking things back to the fact that he intended to earn money on Rick overall. In the end they settled on an agreement where H covered all training expenses, but also took the prize money, with a clause that forcibly retired Rick if his performance suffered for too long. As far as Rick could see, that was a good compromise, because it meant their motives were aligned toward helping him win as much as possible.

The only thing the contract didn't give him was all that much actual wealth. He'd probably get a fortune in training, but little of that would go toward his bank account. Keeping in mind what everyone had said about an exit strategy, Rick fought hard for part of his income to include direct contributions to his Graham's Stake Lucore. In the end he got a monthly contribution and bonuses if he won seals.

All in all, he was actually receiving less of a salary than when he had been working at the House of the Cosmic Fist. But considering that his benefits included room and board, countless training materials, total medical coverage, and bonus invested lucrim, Rick considered it an excellent deal.

H didn't seem to consider it at all, just begrudgingly signed the contract digitally. In the same message he also confirmed that Rick's records were adequate, so he ended with a time and place to show up with his bags.

There were still a few days left, but Rick wasn't sure what to do other than train. He helped out at the Refuge with a few problems that actually needed his help, and on one of the final days the siblings presented him with a cupcake with a candle in it as a minor celebration. Delsin left him a "condolences" card and otherwise avoided him. Overall, Rick was surprised by how few goodbyes he required.

With Melissa gone and Emily keeping her distance, who would he say goodbye to? Certainly not his extended family, who would only want money from him. Definitely not his old boss Jimmy, and Henry was no longer a friend. He thought about Tom, but they were barely colleagues and there was always the off-chance that could get him involved with Granny Whitney again somehow.

A brief vision of him sharing his cupcake with Granny Whitney and Jimmy almost made him laugh, if it wasn't so ridiculous.

Of course, the largest sore spot was Lisa, but it felt awkward to try to meet up with her one more time while she was dating someone. Maybe that explained why she had been more distant. Rick almost decided to let her go, then decided he was being an idiot. Lisa had been a great friend for years and it wouldn't be right to just let things go like that.

So instead he wrote her an email explaining what he was doing next. He tried to keep it professional but friendly, telling her that he'd give her his new number and offering to show her special serums and training mixtures to his sponsor. After agonizing over every word of the email several times and wishing he'd made different decisions, Rick just sent it.

Lisa didn't respond.

By the time the departure date came, Rick was more than ready. He had little to pack and found that he wasn't leaving much behind. When he arrived at the location, he was surprised to realize that it was a barren field with nothing remarkable. Though he stood around, expecting some sort of lucrim portal or something, what he got was a helicopter dropping out of the sky. A big gray military-looking one, but without any signifying information.

The bay door opened and he saw H standing near the side, his arms folded. Rick picked up his bag and jogged to meet him.

"Do we have all the contract and personal garbage finished?" H glared down at him, but seemed to be in a fairly good mood. His glares were complex and nuanced. "Then pretty soon we can get to training. Jump in and we'll get moving."

"Where are we going?" Rick asked as he stepped in. H just shook his head.

"It doesn't matter, because you're not participating in the next Showdown. No, I figure we have a month to whip you into shape, then you really test yourself."

When the helicopter shifted and they began to rise, Rick hastily grabbed a handhold near the side. He'd expected someone to tell him how to strap in, but to his surprise there didn't seem to be anyone else on the helicopter. Was it all a lucrim construct?

The door didn't even close as they lifted into the sky, air whipping around them so violently that someone without a strong lucrima would would have been in danger. Rick kept a firm grip on the wall, while H merely glowered down. Though the helicopter blades were deafening at first, an envelope of aura closed over them, smothering outside sounds and leaving a surreal quiet.

Once he got used to the circumstances, Rick stared down at Branton. It sprawled all around them, like most flat Midwestern cities, but it was rapidly condensing. Everything he'd experienced, reduced down to a single point on a map that most people never thought about. He tried to find the Peakless Wildlife Refuge from the air, but he wasn't sure if he could really identify it.

"Do you think I really have a chance?" He hadn't intended to voice his doubts and immediately regretted it, but the question was already out of his mouth. H just stared at him. "I just... I'm from the middle of nowhere, so can I really compete in something like the Showdown?"

"You think Branton is the middle of nowhere?" H flicked his cigarette stub over the edge and then the ramp began to close, leading Rick to wonder if it had stayed open just so he could finish smoking. "Might not be the center of culture, but it's a hot spot. Training updraft and all that."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"Take a place like New York City. The average generation rate is far higher there, among normal people or fighters. But the city is brutally competitive - the whole 'if you can make it there' nonsense. The strong go to New York, they don't come from there. If you want to find up-and-coming talent, you have to go somewhere more out of the way."

"And that means Branton? I didn't think it was anything special."

"No?" H gave him a flat look. "You think it's a coincidence that Branton has action in the criminal underground and activity from the Global Lucrim Authority? Like I said, it's a hot spot of activity. It may not have made you the strongest, but it got you off to a good start."

"Huh." Rick stared down at Branton, seeing it with new eyes. He'd lived in or near the city for much of his life, yet now it was retreating over the horizon.

There wasn't much he was leaving behind, yet it was still bittersweet to see it vanish.

-

Chapter 10: Three Weaknesses

The helicopter flew endlessly without refueling, confirming Rick's suspicions that it was powered by lucrim. H gave him some meditation exercises, said that he needed to make preparations for their arrival, and disappeared into the cockpit, leaving Rick sitting in the empty main room and imagining how this could all be some extremely bizarre kidnapping scenario.

Over the course of the long flight he managed to get H to tell him where they were headed next: South Africa. Rick didn't know very much about the nation, but there was wi-fi in the helicopter, so he began to look it up. He soon learned that it was one of the nations with a dragonweight, yet politically precarious. The tensions between the settlers and the more powerful Nokan Empire to the north weren't currently violent, so he thought it might make visiting the nation fascinating.

So of course as soon as they arrived, H escorted him from the landing pad directly into a featureless white training room that could have been anywhere in the world.

Rick resisted just long enough to get a brief look at the city from off the side of the building they'd landed on. It looked... like a city. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. There were more trees lining the streets than in Branton and the tallest buildings had an unfamiliar style of balcony. The shining skyscrapers nearby were similar, but he thought he saw a slum in the distance. Unlike the gray concrete slums of Branton, this one was more brown.

"Come on." H grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back to the entrance. "You can see the country in several years after you've gotten your feet under you. We have a hell of a lot of work to do if we want you to be ready for China in a month."

"The showdown is going to China next?"

"We're covering the world superpowers, but you won't be going along unless you get your act together. I said come on."

With that, H dragged him back into the generic white room. All the walls were ether-reinforced panels, high quality but similar to those he'd seen elsewhere. The floor itself was slightly rubbery, leading him to wonder if he was going to be knocked down repeatedly. There was nothing in the room other than a few doors on the other end, presumably leading deeper into the building, but H set himself up in front of them and folded his arms.

"You can't get anywhere in the Showdown as a one trick pony." H didn't have a cigarette for once, but his fingers twitched as if he wanted one. "Your performance in the Unlimited Defensive Ring wasn't bad, but it's not enough. What do you think you should do about that?"

"What do I think?" Rick bit back a comment about how he was the one being trained and gave it a little thought. He'd already considered it more than once. "I suppose I should start by shoring up my major weaknesses. That would prepare me for my main event but also others."

"There are worse answers you could have given. We'll start with things that will help your defense, so that you can perform well enough to earn back some of the money I'm wasting on you. What are your greatest weaknesses?"

Rick hesitated at that, flashing back to memories of his job hunt. This time, he thought the question was a real one. "In the ring, it was really obvious that I don't have a good way of dealing with ranged attacks. Particularly ones at sonic or higher speeds."

H waved the answer aside. "You're incompetent there, yes, but forget about the ring for now. Say you're in an actual fight for your life. What do you change about yourself right now to survive it?"

"Well... I'm really lacking a technique Lucore. If people can deal with my speed or defenses, they've seen everything I can do. I could use some kind of signature technique that would surprise opponents."

"That's a flaw, but not the easiest one to fix. To really use a special technique effectively, you need to build your portfolio around it, and yours just isn't set up for that. Besides, it's not a good match for Showdown events. No, if you ever get a tech Lucore, I think it should be a utility. We'll deal with that later, but right now we're talking about your weaknesses."

"I think you already know what they are. I've given you my best guesses."

"As I see it, you have three major weaknesses." H raised his hand with three fingers and began lowering them one by one. "Ranged attacks is one, good job noticing the obvious. But more importantly, you're lacking full situational awareness. Your instincts are good enough, barely, but at this level of competition you need some sort of lucrim-based support."

"That makes sense." Rick nodded along, otherwise waiting for the third point.

"Finally, your technique is sloppy and impractical."

Frowning, Rick examined his trainer more carefully. It obviously wasn't a joke, since H probably didn't know what those were, but he wasn't sure how to interpret it. "I didn't think I'd be winning any style competitions, but I tried to develop what I thought worked."

"Oh, it isn't awful. I reviewed your fights in that multi-tier tournament and they didn't make me vomit. But focusing on the practical tends to open smaller weaknesses." H unfolded his arms and rolled his shoulders. "Try to hit me and I'll show you what I mean."

It was a simple enough request, but Rick paused. He realized that for all his training, he'd almost never sparred with someone he considered a mentor. At his old job at the gym, he'd sparred with people stronger than him all the time, but this was different. Though it didn't change what he needed to do, it felt surreal to step forward and attempt to hit H.

Rick started with an experimental punch and H simply slipped aside, footwork cautious and movements smooth. He tried again, aiming directly for his opponent's core, this time forcing some blocks. As Rick felt out his opponent, sensing no particular style, he sped up until he finished with a burst of speed and slammed his elbow into his opponent's chest.

Or tried. Rick realized his elbow had been caught and tried to pull back, only for a wave of aura to send him heels over head to the ground.

The rubbery floor was surprisingly soft, likely painless even without his defensive core, but being so easily blocked stung a bit. Rick pulled himself up and saw H simply waiting, so he raised his fists and tried again.

Again they made contact several times, but now Rick was familiar enough with his opponent to notice something odd: H was exactly as fast as he was. Normally with lucrim flowing through two fighters, one of them would have a slight edge, allowing for or requiring different techniques. It couldn't be accidental, yet Rick still failed to break through.

Using his Bunyan's Step core wouldn't be effective, but his basic offensive Lucore could help his speed a little. Rick focused on it, striking at a greater speed... only to find that H matched him exactly. He was keeping them even, forcing the fight to be about pure hand-to-hand skill.

And once again, when Rick attempted to get in close, he failed. H caught his knee, turned aside his elbow, and knocked him to the ground with another wave of force.

This time Rick managed to catch himself as he tumbled over the floor, but there was no getting around the fact that he was being soundly beaten. No, not beaten, he was being outfought. Grimacing, Rick set his feet, then burst forward in a Bunyan's Step that propelled him forward as quickly as he could manage.

He had a split second to see his opponent's arm, then he slammed back against the floor.

"That's what I mean." H lowered his arm and stared down at him. "Many lucrim fighters are actually terrible at melee combat, but they have enough speed and strength to overwhelm their opponents. You... aren't as abysmal as that, but you have some bad habits. For example, you're overly reliant on elbow strikes. They might work with superior speed, but against an equal opponent, your range is simply too limited."

"But usually I have a speed edge, or I'm not trying to out-speed my opponent at all."

"That's no excuse for sloppiness. Why exactly did you choose this style?"

Though the question came scornfully, Rick realized after a moment that it was actually sincere. He slowly got to his feet, deciding to be honest. "Throwing punches is too risky. When I was younger I saw a man punch a defensive core and shatter a bunch of bones in his hand. I thought elbows and knees were better supported, so I started training muay thai."

"Avoiding catastrophic injury is a reasonable decision." Instead of more invective, H simply nodded to him. "But it's holding you back now. I'm not suggesting that you completely change what you know. But as you increase the strength of your Lucores, we also need to improve your combat instincts."

"Seems fair." Rick rubbed his neck where it had been struck. "But that won't keep me from running straight into opponents."

"Yes, that's a weakness. That Lucore will either need to be dissolved, or we'll adapt. Let's review your portfolio." H waved a hand and a screen manifested in the air, listing his familiar cores.

[Name: Rick Hunter

Ether Tier: 12th

Ether Score: 442

Lucrim Generation: 87,100

Current Lucrim: 23,750]

[Rick Hunter's Lucrima Portfolio

Foundation: 3700 (Lv VI)

Dark Blood Kettle: 17,100 (Lv IV)

Offensive Lucore: 13,400 (Lv VII)

Defensive Lucore: 37,000 (Lv IX)

Bunyan's Step: 15,150 (Lv VIII)

Graham's Stake: 23,950 (Lv IV)

Demonic Bond (Bftgage & Ythsil): 750 (Stage I)

Demon Mass: 500 (N/A)

Total Lucrim: 111,050]

"This Bunyan's Step core is actually surprisingly advanced," H said after observing briefly. "I wouldn't have expected you to have the materials for it, but it seems you've scrounged up a few. So we'll keep it and train you in footwork designed for supersonic speeds. You aren't completely brain dead, so combined with improved sensory capabilities, it should be adequate."

The advancement of the Lucore must have been at least in part due to Tom and Damian, so Rick silently thanked the man. He liked the idea of learning more advanced footwork, since he could understand how conventional martial arts fell behind eventually. But as H continued to speak, he liked the sound of the plan much less.

"This Dark Blood Kettle is... adequate. It will do for a secondary foundation, at least for now. But your base foundation is dull beyond belief, and this Offensive Lucore is frankly pathetic. We're going to melt both down and form something called the Midas Foundation. That will serve as a real base for power that can hold the other remaining Lucores."

"Wait, you want me to entirely transform my foundation?" Rick didn't want to cause problems on his first day, but to completely change his portfolio like that... "Just what is this Midas Foundation?"

"It's a proprietary foundation type that is best suited for you. Don't worry, you won't lose any overall generation rate. Some things about your base skills will change, but it will put you on the right path."

"You said you wanted me ready in a month. Completely transforming a foundation and getting me back into fighting shape would take longer than that."

H waved vaguely. "Sometimes there are more important things than short term strength."

"No. That... if you really want me to use this Midas Foundation, I need it explained to me a lot better than that."

"It's a bit beyond your current level of understanding."

"Then I don't think I'm qualified to use it. There has to be another solution."

Though H glared at him, when Rick didn't back down, the man let out an irritated growl. "I suppose a clumsier solution would be giving you a new Lucore that will cover your deficiencies. A new foundation would be the superior choice, but I'll give you a chance. If you can meet every single mark I set for your base skills, I'll let you try the Lucore solution. If not, you remake your foundation."

Rick hesitated, but knew that he didn't have much leverage. "Deal. I'm willing to look into the new foundation if you can convince me, I just want to know what I'm getting into."

"Most of it will be familiar. Take a break while I assemble some materials, then I'll show you what you'll be working with to start."

Finally Rick was allowed to enter one of the other doors, which was thankfully not as blank as the training chamber. Unfortunately, it was a rather spare room with nothing but a cot, a shelf, a table, and a chair. Was this where he would be training for the next month? Not much worse than his cabin, he supposed, and probably better than his old apartment.

Alone for a while, Rick took his luggage from the other room and set it on the bed. He investigated the shelf more carefully, but it only had a few books on lucrim that had nothing to do with him and some metal containers. Those containers proved to have ration packs that struck him as military, yet not in a way he could specifically pinpoint. The contents proved to be sandpapery nutrient bars, but they were at least filling.

Accepting that this was where he would pursue his next goal, Rick sat down on the bed and began his usual exercises. He was only partway done when H entered the room again, carrying what looked like a mechanic's tool case. It opened to reveal a sizzling rainbow of vials and pills.

"We won't start you on high end philosopher's elixir yet, but we'll begin with the more difficult supplements," H said as he removed select items. "There's no sense wasting money on you if you're going to prove to be an idiot. But just enduring these should be enough to prepare you for whichever step comes next."

When he closed the case, H had removed a glowing thermos, two pills, and six vials... and three rubber balls. Rick looked at them, trying to figure out if they were containers for something, or god forbid giant pills, but they appeared to be completely normal rubber. "What are these for?"

H regarded him flatly. "If you're going to ignore the Midas Foundation like a clown, you need to learn how to juggle."