Tycoon May: Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Chapter 2

Grant leapt from the cliff, dropping like a stone toward the unforgiving ground below.  He concentrated, and his speed dropped considerably right before he hit.  Instead of slamming into the ground after a bone-shattering twenty meter drop, he hit the ground and rolled, his ankles and knees groaning in protest.

<Not bad.>  Grant stood up and brushed himself off while Sarge talked.  <It definitely slowed you down right at the end, but I think some more practice will get you some better results.>

“Add it to the training regimen.  It’s just one more thing to master.”  Grant started jogging toward the distant patrol, keeping an eye out for any ambush predators.  “It doesn’t upgrade with practice like a skill, so all I have to do is get used to it.”

<It will increase in strength as your Armor Cultivation increases, so don’t be so sure.>  Grant sighed, checking his sheet again.  <I’m interested to see what happens if you cause enough of a charge to create a lightning strike.  It should pair well with you Lightning Attunement.>

“Like I said, add it to the training rotation.  For now, help me keep a lookout for those angry wet blankets.”  Grant picked up his speed, moving from a jog to a run.  He wanted to catch up to the patrol quickly.  In the back of his head, he couldn’t help but hope that they were similar to the people he had befriended in District April.  That also brought a spike of fear.  Would he watch another person he cared about die?  Was it better to just continue on his own, and not risk the guilt and pain?

<Isolation isn’t the solution, Grant.  That would only make things worse.>  Sarge thrummed in his sheath when the young warrior didn’t say anything in response.  <I know it feels like it now, but isolation and building walls around yourself doesn’t help anyone.  Especially you.>

“I’m not building anything.”  Grant was hitting his stride, his breathing still even and smooth.  “I’m just thinking about how much better it would be to keep everyone away, and do everything by myself.”

<You… nevermind.  Just remember that isolating yourself only hurts you in the long run.  If you survive long enough to become the Calendar King, you will need allies.  People you know and trust.  Relationships built on time and experience can’t happen if you don’t allow them to exist.>

“I’ll think about it.”  Grant slowed down, a ditch up ahead forcing him to find a narrow spot that he could jump over.  “Until then, I am going to focus on training, and getting stronger.  Friends aren’t as important for-”

<Down!>  Grant rolled forward, slamming awkwardly into the ditch.  By reflex, he rolled to his feet and drew his sword, activating the skill Peach Flower Petal Fury and swinging his Uchigatana in a series of defensive arcs.  It saved his life, as a pair of arrows were deflected away from him before they could hit.  He crouched down, ready for another attack.  When they didn’t come, Grant cautiously poked his head up to try and find his ambushers.

“Wait!  Don’t shoot!  It isn’t a monster, it’s just another straggler.”  Three men carrying nearly identical bows stepped out from a cluster of trees.  They were all wearing clothing that blended with the landscape, and the shortest of the three stepped forward to speak with Grant.  “Sorry about that.  We thought you were a beast.”

“It’s not a problem.  No blood, no harm, right?”  Grant smiled, trying not to let his anger show.  Shouting at them for not making sure of their target wouldn’t do any good.  “I take it I made it to the rear of the group?”

“Well, we’re the rear scouting group, so I would say you are as safe as you can be outside the walls.”  The man grimaced, apparently bothered by the absence of a city surrounding him.  “Just keep going straight, and you’ll catch up.”

“Thank you.”  Grant nodded his head and jogged in the direction the man had indicated.  It wasn’t much longer before he fell in with the rear of their group, and slowed to keep pace with the loose formation.  He looked around, gauging the people around him, and frowned.  They were not what he was expecting.

<They look rough.  Less like a group of warriors, and more like a bunch of people pulled off the street that had a weapon shoved in their hands.>  Grant closely inspected their weapons and attire, quickly agreeing with Sarge.  Except for one discrepancy.  <I see it too.  Every single one of them is a Vassal.  But, why don’t their weapons match their appearance?>

“I don’t know.  Asking questions will only draw attention to me.”  Everyone around him was too exhausted to pay any attention to Grant muttering to himself.  “I’ll just keep my eyes and ears open for now, especially since no one seems to realize that I’m not a part of their original group.”

<That’s not entirely true.  You are wearing a full set of armor, and I only see the occasional armor piece on a few people.>  Grant looked around, noticing the same thing.  He subtly pulled off his helm and placed it in his storage bag, trying to blend in a little better.  The Vassals around him didn’t seem to notice, their focus instead on just putting one foot in front of the other, or nursing the occasional wound.  <Maybe you should move up more.  These are the slowest of the group, so it stands to reason that the people closer to the front made it through the battle with more energy.>

Putting action to words, Grant started making his way toward the people in the lead.  They were stepping a bit more lively, and several people were wearing more complete sets of armor.  The person in the very front had on a magnificent set of heavy plate armor, and Grant couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of envy.  His sword would be much more powerful if he could get one that nice.  Getting a closer look wasn’t possible though, since the few front ranks were clearly a separate group from the rest.  They acted like an actual army, marching in step, and keeping the rabble walking behind from mixing with them.

“That was a pretty bad one, wasn’t it?”  A pair of spear-wielders walking nearby were talking, both young men that looked similar enough to be brothers.  Grant angled himself to get a little closer.  “I don’t know what was going on, but I definitely didn’t like the way the border was acting.”

“It sure wasn’t natural.  Just sayin’, but we should take a break from these jobs for a minute.  There’s other ways to earn some Time.”  The older of the two knocked his knuckles against the haft of his spear.  “Only thing is, I don’t want to give these up.”

“We can get new ones once things settle down out here.  It isn’t like it’s hard to become a Vassal.”  The younger one spun his spear, showing off a fair amount of skill.  The spearhead glowed a dull green, and cut through the air with a crackle of energy.  “Although, getting a set of spears as nice as these won’t be a guarantee.”

“Sounds like we need to talk it over once we get an ale or three.”  Both laughed, and Grant dropped back as their conversation switched to which brewhouse was the best option for post-victory drinks.

<I… I don’t know what to say.>  Sarge sounded genuinely flabbergasted.  <Are they saying that anyone can be a Vassal?  What does that even mean?  How can they properly protect their people if they aren’t trained?  How could a District devolve into such a state of anarchy?  It doesn’t make sense!>

“Calm down, Sarge.  It will be okay.  I’m sure we have plenty of time to figure out what is going on.”  Grant patted the hilt of his sheathed sword.  “I’m sure at least the Wielders are capable people here.  Otherwise, there is no way they would still be alive.  Not with the density of monsters in this place.”

Putting proof to his words, the sounds of fighting were clear from all sides.  The screen of scouts along the edges seemed to be in an almost constant state of skirmish, providing an unrestricted path for the main body of troops to move through.  For there to be so much activity, District May must be almost as overrun as District April had been.  Possibly more so.

“You get hit on the head or somethin’?”  Grant looked over to see a man holding a heavy wooden stave.  He was wearing a thick iron breastplate marked with a silver star, and a mismatched set of leather bracers and greaves that barely covered his muscular form.  Thick black hair, a prominent brow, and deep set blue eyes made even his casual glance seem intense.  Instead of answering, Grant raised a questioning eyebrow.  “You are doin’ a lot of talkin’ to yourself.”

<Ten Weeks says he’s a mercenary.>  Grant didn’t take the bet.  It was obvious the observant man was one of the more competent members of the group.  His measured gait and scarred hands only cemented the idea.

“Just thinking out loud.”  Grant held his hand out.  “I’m Grant.  Good to meet you.”  The other man reached out to shake his hand, and immediately tried to crush Grant’s knuckles.  He seemed surprised when it only took a slight tightening of his grip to stop the mercenary from hurting him.  Instead of being upset, the man gave Grant a genuine smile.

“Good to meet you.  I’m Doug.”  He let go of Grant’s hand and lengthened his stride to keep pace with him as they climbed a steep hill.  “I’m Vice-Captain of the May Berry Beaters.  What merc band are you with?”

“I’m… new to… the area.  For now, I’m just going solo.”  Grant held back the wince at the stilted answer.  Doug gave a slow nod.

“I see.  You must be from the southern cities.  May Seventh’s part of the District?”  He pointed to Grant’s Uchigatana.  “I hear there are plenty of Wielders handing out swords from there.  The mercenary groups must be pretty decent for you to have a matching set of armor.  Not the highest quality, but it looks serviceable enough.  You must have done some good stuff for them to let you keep your weapon.”

“Um, yeah.  Sure did.”  Grant took a quick look around and realized that he was the only person with a sword.  Everyone else either carried a spear, stave, bow, or oversized shield.  “Killed a really big monster.”  Images of several building-sized enemies ran through his mind, and he shook his head to clear his mind.

<They must have divided the District up between the Wielders.  This area only has four, which explains the specific weapons.  I wonder if the monsters adapt to the specific abilities?  The people aren’t migratory like the ones in District April.  If they didn’t rotate Wielders to keep up with beast migrations and adaptations, it would allow the monsters to thrive, and with the Vassals being just anyone…>  Grant topped the hill, and gasped.  <It would force those in charge to build massive fortifications to hold off the monsters.>

“It really does take your breath away, doesn’t it?  May Third doesn’t control the biggest of the cities, but being this close to the border certainly has its benefits.”  Doug’s words fell on deaf ears, because Grant was completely shocked at what he was looking at.

Using the word ‘city’ was misleading.  What he was looking at was the largest fortress Grant had ever seen.  The exterior walls had to be well over fifty feet high, and just as thick.  There was another set of inner walls that were even higher, with a gatehouse that would be called a castle anywhere else.  In the center of the circular city was a palace of rose-colored marble, its spires piercing the sky in a cluster of three near the center of the ornate building.  The leading ranks of their group were heading for the smaller gatehouse on the outer wall, where rows of ballista were actively shooting at any monster that was in range.

<It isn’t just the ballista in front of the gate that’s shooting.  There are clusters of them all over the perimeter that look to be constantly attacking targets.>  Grant squinted, and saw a few other groups that Sarge was talking about.  <It must be a logistical nightmare to handle supplying those things all the time.>  Grant looked over at Doug and pointed to the walls.

“How are they able to keep using the ballista all the time?  Wouldn’t they eventually run out of bolts?”  They were moving downhill now, and both picked up to a light jog to keep pace with the front ranks.  Their leader, in his fancy armor and oversized shield, was shouting unintelligible remarks to motivate the men around him.  “I imagine the area would run out of wood straight enough to make them with.”

“You must be one of those people that just ignores politics.”  Doug pointed at the pennants at the corners of the gatehouses.  The green triangles of cloth denoted the affiliation with House Thursday.  “Supplying things is the specialty of House Thursday.  That’s why they are in charge around here.  You know what they say.”  He nodded toward the front ranks.  “House Thursday tips the balance.”

“Tips the balance of what?”  Grant hadn’t dealt with House Thursday very much.  They were mostly merchants, who were primarily in charge of taking supplies through the barriers when the Lord or Lady of the Month allowed it.

“The balance of everything.”