Dragon Mage 019 - Training (Patreon)

391 days until the Arkon Shield falls

Magic is a manifestation of the caster’s will through the use of mana, but very few possess mana. Only those with Magic Potential are so gifted. —Trials Infopedia.

Tara laughed.

“Don’t worry, Jamie,” she said. “No one is going to make you hold a position in the wall anymore. You’re too important. Forget about weapon training.” She pulled at me again, not changing course.

I slipped out of her grasp. “I’m serious, Tara,” I insisted.

Tara’s steps slowed and the amusement faded from her face as she faced me. “Why?” she demanded.

“I’m just a Neophyte,” I replied. “My spells are still weak. I can’t wholly depend on them just yet. I need to be able to defend myself when I am without magic.” That was all true, but not the real reason for my request. I needed to raise as many of my physical Attributes as possible to the Trainee rank. Any martial skills I gained in the process would be a bonus.

Tara snorted. “You aren’t destined to be a grunt, Jamie. And there will always be others around—like me—to see you don’t come to harm.” I opened my mouth to reply, but Tara held up her hand, stilling my objections. “Now, I know every boy dreams of being a mighty warrior, but that’s not you, Jamie. You’re meant to be a mage. Our mage. Now enough time wasting. Let’s get you to work.” She turned around and began heading towards the tents again.

I stared at Tara’s receding back. She was completely ignoring my agreement with the commander, and acting less like a bodyguard and more like my chaperone.

I should have gone with, Petrov, I thought irritably.

My own face tightened. Tara might think she knew what was best for me, but she was wrong. “No!” I yelled, not budging from where I stood.

Tara jerked to a halt and swung around to face me. “This is not a bloody game, fish,” she growled. “Quit this foolishness. We need your magic. Desperately. You must spend every waking moment training it!”

“No.”

“You goddamn idiot,” Tara replied as she stomped back to me. “Don’t you get it?” she said, shoving her face inches from mine. “You’re crippled. Even with all the training in the world, you aren’t going to be able to hold off the monsters of this world. Not with a spear. Or any other weapon.”

I swallowed and felt my own face redden. But I refused to back down. I folded my arms and held her gaze. “Be that as it may, Tara,” I said slowly, “I insist. Take me to the training grounds.” I paused. “Or I will find someone else to do it.”

For a drawn-out moment, Tara said nothing. Then her expression blanked and she threw up her hands. “Have it your way, fish,” she ground out. “Follow me.” Brushing past me, she strode south, fury radiating off her in waves.

Silently, I followed on her heels.

I had no doubt I was going to regret forcing Tara into training me, but even if I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t ignore my physical conditioning. I would just have to bear the consequences of her anger.

✽✽✽

We reached the practice yard, with Tara muttering under her breath and me moving at a fast limp to keep up. Hidden by a fold in the land, the training grounds was to the south of the temple and the tented camp. As we drew up to it, I saw hundreds of young men and women sparring, running laps, marching to order, and a few even firing arrows at distant targets.

East of the practice yard was a separate demarcated area, lit with dozens of campfires. I had seen the smoke earlier but hadn’t had a chance to question Tara about it yet. Fewer people were gathered around the campfires than on the training grounds, but they seemed just as industrious. “Are those the crafters?” I asked.

Tara scowled, though still answered. “Yes. With none of our fortifications erected yet, the safest place for them to work is near the training grounds.”

I nodded. “Where do we go, then?” I asked staring at the busy field.

Tara glanced at me, her eyes still hard. “How is the wound on your back?” she asked abruptly.

My brows flew up. I had clean forgotten about the injury, and couldn’t recall the last time I had experienced a twinge from it. Tentatively, I twisted my torso. No pull of pain accompanied the movement. The time I had spent in the presence of the old lady must have sped up their recovery. “Fully healed,” I replied in surprise.

“Good. Follow me,” she said as she strode into the chaos of the training grounds. Ignoring the friendly calls of her fellows, Tara made straight for the fighting circles in the middle.

Curious looks and loud whispers followed me as I limped in Tara’s wake. I could not help but overhear many of the soldiers’ remarks. It seemed that I had garnered a bit of fame in the Outpost already. My crippled foot made me immediately recognizable, and speculation was rife on how I had survived my brash charge on the murluks earlier today.

But nowhere did I hear even the slightest mention of magic. To my relief it seemed that the commander had not shared that bit of news with her people yet. As it was, the attention I attracted was already enough to make me uncomfortable.

Tara entered an empty sparring ring, marked by no more than two concentric circles cut in the dirt. She stopped at the far end of the ring and turned about to face me. A curious crowd of soldiers formed around the edges. Ignoring the many watching eyes, she asked, “Alright, fish, where do you want to begin?”

Tara’s face was studiedly neutral, but it had not escaped my notice that since our little spat outside the temple I had been demoted from ‘Jamie’ to ‘fish.’ She’s still angry, then. “What do you advise?” I asked carefully.

Her eyes narrowed. “Now you want my advice,” she muttered in a low undertone too soft for the gathering spectators to hear. Raising her voice, she asked, “What are your lowest might and resilience Attributes?”

I gazed inwards and queried the Trials core. “Perception, followed by willpower.”

“Perception, anticipation, and intuition are all one and the same,” Tara said, sounding like she was giving a lecture. “To train perception, you must anticipate your opponent’s moves. The better you do this, the faster you will train the Attribute. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Willpower is a measure of your ability to withstand pain, to persevere and to push onwards despite the odds or how much you hurt. To advance it, you must experience the same conditions. Understood?”

I nodded again.

“Good. We will train both.”

I winced. Now why does that sound ominous?

Tara walked over to the side of the sparring circle and pulled out a spear. “Since you are already familiar with a spear, we will continue your training with it. What is your spear Discipline at?”

“It’s at the Trainee rank.”

Tara’s eyebrows went up. “It is? That was quick. It will be a waste of newcomer to attempt training it further then.” She dropped the spear and studied the pile of weapons again.

After a moment, she picked up a flat plank with a crude leather grip bolted on the inside—a shield—and a heavy log, narrowed on one end to hold more easily—a club. “These will do,” she pronounced and walked over with both items.

“This will not be pleasant, Jamie,” Tara whispered as she helped me strap on the shield.

I gulped. Suddenly, martial training was not looking like such a good idea. Too late to back out now. “Alright,” I muttered.

She squeezed my hand once in tender, motherly comfort—which only served to heighten my anxiety—before walking away. Removing her own weapons, Tara picked out a club and shield for herself.

Tara retuned to the circle and set her stance. Facing me, she imparted the last of her instructions: “This will not be like any sparring you may have done back on Earth. The Trials and its system make training infinitely easier on Overworld. Try to copy my stance and match my blows. Don’t worry if it doesn’t feel right just yet. As we spar, the system will gift you with skills, and your stances and strikes will come more naturally. Ready?”

My mouth dry, I nodded. Despite her much smaller build, the casual assurance with which Tara twirled her club was intimidating. Why am I doing this again?

“Then let’s begin.”

✽✽✽

On the tail end of her words, Tara dashed forward, her form a blur. I was too shocked to move, let alone block or dodge.

Her shield drove upwards and bashed the club out of my unresisting hands. At the same moment, her club drove into my shield—deliberately, I suspected—and sent me flying backwards. With a heavy thud, I crashed into the dirt.

The crowd broke out in laughter.

Stretched out on my back, I stared up at the blue sky. How had Tara moved so fast? I barely had time to register her first motion before she completed her last. Sighing, I picked myself up and swatted away the clinging dirt. Tara, her face expressionless, kicked my club towards me. “Again,” she said.

I grabbed my weapon and limped back into position. Crouching low, I watched her warily. Tara burst forward. I knew she was too quick for me to stop, but I tried anyway, raising my shield to fend off her blow.

It did me little good.

Once more I flew backwards. This time, however, I landed face first. But as I lay there with my nose and mouth pressed into the loamy soil, I realised my efforts had not been wholly useless. Something within me felt different. Ignoring the taunts of the spectators, I examined the sensation.

Your skill with shields has advanced to: level 1.

The Trials message cued my thoughts in the right direction. My understanding of how to employ a shield had improved. I grasped—just a little better—how to fend off blows, when not to meet a hit head on, how to angle a shield to deflect an attack, and when to avoid blocking altogether. Marvellous, I thought as I examined the new store of knowledge in my mind.

“Again,” said Tara, interrupting my musings.

Spitting out loose pieces of grass, I heaved myself upright. Tara did not give me time to recover. She came in hard and fast. I struck out, yet hit nothing but air as Tara slipped under the blow. She countered, her club thudding into my midriff.

I staggered backwards as my breath was expelled from me in a rush. Tara followed. Her club snaked out again and bruised my other side. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I retreated with my body held sideways and shield raised defensively.

Tara advanced again. Her face devoid of all expression, the warrior struck. I blocked—more by accident than design. She struck again, and then again, raining down blows at an ever-increasing pace.

I stopped one hit in ten. If that.

Pain broke out across my body. I gasped at each fresh wave, helpless to do otherwise. Resolutely, I slid backwards and attempted to intercept her attacks.

But Tara’s onslaught was unrelenting.

I was too slow.

Tara closed like an avenging angel. Pride be damned, I cursed. Desperate to avoid further pain, I hopped backwards at the fastest pace I could manage and tried to keep as much weight off my hobbled foot as I could. My movements lacked grace altogether, and no doubt provided rich entertainment for the watching crowd. What a sight I must look.

Right on cue, laughter erupted as Tara chased me around the ring. My face flamed. Damn idiots. Amuses them to see a cripple get beat up, does it?

I lowered my shield and roaring in fury, stopped retreating. Forgoing defence altogether, I met Tara head on and struck back with wild abandon.

It did me no good.

Nor did Tara let me off lightly. She punished me for my rashness—meticulously and systematically. Weaving deftly between my clumsy wafts, she landed blow after blow with scary precision.

But even through the aches, stings, and throbs that beset my body, I realised Tara was still pulling her blows. Not that it felt that way. Each new hit brought a fresh blossom of pain, and each time her club flew at me I winced, expecting bones to be crushed and flesh to be mangled.

Eventually, Tara’s shield bashed me in the face and put an end to my ill-advised attack. I staggered backwards and crumpled to a heap on the floor.

“Again,” called out Tara.

I rolled onto my back and gasped for breath. Dear lord, what have I gotten myself into?

“Stop, Tara!” called a voice out from the crowd. I creaked my head in the direction it had come from. It was Michael. “Can’t you see he has had enough?”

The crowd had grown silent, I realised. Probably stunned by my stupidity, I thought blackly.

“Stay out of this, Michael,” Tara replied.

I heaved myself back onto my feet. Still dazed from Tara’s last blow, I swayed. Remember why you are doing this, Tara had said earlier. She didn’t know the true horror that drove me though. I wondered if she would have given me the same advice if she did.

Alright, Tara, I’ll take your advice.

I reached into myself and unsealed the deep dark pit into which I had buried gruesome memories.

Mum’s cold, lifeless eyes, and bloodied corpse flashed before my eyes. My body shook as grief lashed at me. I refuted it. Sorrow is no use to me.

I shoved aside anguish and let rage replace it. My limbs trembled. Not with fear, but with adrenaline-fuelled strength. Pain would not stop me. Weakness would not hold me back. Tara could not stand against me.

I will have my revenge.

Clenching my fists, I tightened my grip on my shield and club. Then with a bloodcurdling roar, I charged.

✽✽✽

It was not much of a charge.

And it didn’t take Tara too long to set me back down on my rump—none too gently either.

I refused to give up, though.

Time and again, I got up and set upon Tara. In my near-frenzy, I lost all concept of time—or restraint. I threw myself at Tara mindlessly. Just as a beast would. I beat at her with every ounce of my strength and anger.

Tara, I’m sure, must have glimpsed something of the darkness that simmered in me, the black roiling hate that I did my utmost to unleash upon her.

I was lucky that the green-eyed captain was the fighter she was. In my berserker state, I could have hurt her and not realised it. If she given me the slightest chance.

But not once did Tara falter.

Despite everything I threw at her, I failed to land a single blow. Bobbing and weaving, Tara evaded my attacks while her own club wrote lines of black and blue on my body.

It was cathartic.

With every rage-fuelled attack I launched, the heaviness within me receded. With every agonising blow I suffered, the darkness tainting me lessened, even if only a smidgen. And towards the end, I fancied I saw both understanding and pity in Tara’s eyes as she let me spend my fury upon her.

✽✽✽

It was hours later when I finally collapsed.

Lying flat on my back, I stared up at the red-tinged twilight sky. My body was worn out and refused to move further.

Tara’s face appeared above mine. “Had enough?” she asked, her voice solemn.

I heaved a sigh and nodded mutely.

She sat down cross-legged next to me. “You feeling any better?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, and to my surprise realised it was true. Mostly. I turned my head to look at her. “Sorry,” I added.

Knowing what I meant, Tara only nodded. “Want to tell me about it?”

I swallowed. Was I ready to talk about Mum? Triggered by the thought, memories rushed to the fore and threatened to drown me in grief anew. I squeezed my eyes shut. No, not yet. “I can’t right now,” I said. “Maybe in a few days.” Or weeks. Or months.

“Alright,” replied Tara with calm acceptance. “You need to get some rest. Let’s get you back to camp,” she said, heaving me to my feet.

With Tara’s help, I staggered upright. My body was too shaky to stand on its own though, and I had to lean on her for support. Looking about, I saw the training grounds was empty. “Where’s everyone?” I asked, confused.

Tara rolled her eyes. “Training ended long ago, and even the most sadistic got bored watching you being beaten to a pulp. Everyone’s gone to supper. We better hurry ourselves. It’s not too safe out here after dark.”

Still a bit perplexed by the passage of time, since I hadn’t thought we’d been at it that long, I missed Tara’s next words. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked, how did you do?” she repeated.

I looked at her blankly.

“Your Disciplines and Attributes, you idiot. How much have they improved?”

“Oh,” I said, and called up the waiting Trials messages.

Your agility, perception, vigour, strength, and willpower have increased to: level 10 and reached: rank 2, Trainee.

Your skills with clubs and shields have advanced to: level 10 and reached: rank 2, Trainee.

My eyes widened in amazement. I had reached Trainee rank in all my might and resilience Attributes.

“I think I’m done with martial training,” I said, smiling a toothy and bloody grin.