[1743] – Y07.243 – Training Out Hearts III

‘Why are you training so hard?’ Merl thought.

Nobby threatened to drown in his sweat as he squatted, the log over his shoulders straining his muscles. His eyes held a certain focus within them, glued to the forest. It was within the forest he saw the ghost of the previous year.

Merl remained certain something wicked had happened within the forest, but he wouldn’t speak of it. After the letter had come for him from the Executive, he doubled his training. He was training so hard, even little Merry had begun to train alongside his father, though the boy was out of breath almost immediately.

“Do you have to go?” Merl eventually asked as they sat down for lunch, the vapour floating between them, a screen that allowed them to separate themselves into two halves once more, no longer husband and wife but husband, and wife.

“Yes,” Nobby replied simply, and the look within his eyes said he couldn’t be convinced out of it, not even by his beautiful wife. As Nobby’s eyes fell down to Merry, the boy squinted up at his father, smiling, and accepted his father’s rough, calloused hands atop his head, The boy’s hair almost fell down to his shoulders now.

It wasn’t just Nobby who trained hard, for within the Front Iyr, there were a particular trio who were shooting hundreds of arrows daily, thankfully arrows whittled from wood, heavier wooden tips spun around the shaft.

Brittany, like the others beside her, ran and shot a hundred arrows every morning, every afternoon, and every evening. Archer John and Ivy each practised together, the trio sparring with clubs and staves, preparing themselves against the Reavers.

‘Even if I’m an Expert, the Reavers, they’re apparently Experts at least, and so many are Masters and Grandmasters…’ Brittany thought. This world she had stepped into, just how many years had it been? Seven and a half or so? Since the turn of the millennium, when she had met the half elf and had begged him to take her to explore the world, and he obliged, but only because she worked so hard, or so he had said.

Archer John dropped down, panting for air. “Why did I have to become an Expert and earn twenty gold a month?”

“…” Ivy replied.

John stared up at the sky. “It’s such a beautiful sky, shouldn’t I be painting it?”

“…” Ivy replied.

John stood, and after drinking from his waterskin, he drew his pair of daggers, and meditated with them, feeling their weight within his hands, readying himself to face the shadows before him.

Brittany drew her own steel, feeling the magic running through the shortblades. It had been so long since she had fought properly. She considered the previous year in which she had met the Whirlwind Arrow, the leader of the Whirlwind Arrows, and looked up towards the sky. She wondered if they really meant it, that she was someone skilled enough to join the Whirlwind Arrows.

As they returned, they found the half elf, who was still a little tired, seemingly, reading to the children, who excitedly listened to the tale. It was a tale of his grandfather, as much as he could remember, and as much as had been written, for perhaps only the scholars of the Iyr truly knew the complete tale, as Jarot had forgotten a great many of those he had slain, for at the time he was either too tired to remember, too drunk, or too bored.

‘Ah, right, I need to work on George’s tongue,’ Adam thought.

“Mister Adam, when you kill the Reavers, can you kill one for me too?” Copper asked.

“I’ll try my best,” Adam assured, and Copper smiled. “Although, since my wife would be disappointed, I might just beat them up.”

“Oh…” Copper pouted.

Adam winked, and once he was done reading the tale, he gave them their space, and then made his way out, going off to relax with his family, having given them some time away from him, since he was eating his daughter’s head.

“Oh?” Adam called, noting the way the Golden Savages were training so hard. They wore their armour too, their magical armour which he had promised them, and their weapons, gleamed brightly under the sun. He wasn’t sure if he had granted them magical weapons yet. ‘Right, I should probably hand them some magical weapons, and Rook will finally be able to retire that cute little fire sword he had managed to procure.’

Adam considered how they had met one another, during the tournament, in which Vasera had to claim fourth place, although had originally had planned to claim third place, but since he was there, she had to claim fourth. Even then, the pressure of the King’s Sword’s daughter, and her cousin had forced him to take third. He closed his eyes, recalling how he had beaten the noble up in the next tournament, in which he had taken first, alongside Jurot and Kitool, who had taken first in their own segments, and then Jaygak, who had, somehow, taken third in his segment, behind himself, the Princess, and then above the King’s Sword’s daughter.

Adam swallowed, smiling, and as he stared at the Golden Savages, who saw his smile, he waved towards them.

“Are you thinking about the magical swords you are to grant us soon?” Vasera joked.

“That, and more,” Adam replied, and with that, he let out a soft exhale, and made his way out, whistling to himself as he did so, for the good mood took his heart.

“He’s always so queer…” Vasera mused, causing her fellows to glance towards her with their own looks. “I can’t believe he’s not gay.”

“Are we certain? I’ve seen the way he looks at some men.” Rook raised his brow.

“Certainly, everyone has a touch of it, but not enough for you to claim it, for you do not possess such fine taste.”

“You don’t even like men.”

“I suppose you do have good taste then…” Vasera smiled.

Rook sighed, shaking his head lightly, and returned back to his training.

‘If we are going to face the Reavers next year…’ Jera considered how strong he was, certainly between an Expert and Master, but he heard the Reavers were quite powerful. He sighed, and began to train once more, swinging his sword, for he was paid a gold a day, a touch more, and he, too, had received magical armour.

Tork sighed, flexing his muscles, and though his brother was still running about, he made his way away. ‘Ah should steelfight someone, but all the Iyrmen, they’re…’

Mork coughed lightly, his hands upon his knees, half keeled over. ‘I saw the Brothers train so hard the other day, but how come they’re able to run more than me? I can’t let the southerners outrun me!’

PATREON FOR 30+ CHAPTERS!

Always good to see Nobby again.