Path of Dragons 16 - Chapter 14 - Tensions (Patreon)

“Idiots,” muttered Okar, glancing across the training yard to see a pair of combatants who’d already ventured past practice to engage in a real fight. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Elijah said, twirling his axe.  Since leaving Mano behind in She’evoth, Elijah had all but forgotten the training aid-in-weapon-form.  But when Okar asked him to spar, he’d seized upon the opportunity to put it to use. 

He’d immediately begun to regret it.

Even in ideal circumstances, he had difficulty keeping up with Okar.  In a real fight, he could take the halfling, but in a test of martial skill?  Okar had a distinct advantage. 

Elijah comforted himself by thinking that he was in good company.  If there was anyone on the Vengeance who could rival Okar in fighting technique, Elijah had yet to meet them.  The fact was that Okar had spent his entire life honing himself into a weapon.  Technique was his focus.  So, it made sense that someone like Elijah, who had so much else to juggle, failed to keep up.

But it was still annoying.

Especially when he was using the axe, which served to widen the gap until it looked insurmountable.  The only reason Elijah continued to use it was because the weapon’s unique properties had already resulted in a gain of a couple points of strength.  Alone, those weren’t terribly impactful, but Elijah hoped that consistent training would one day give him enough gains to cross that threshold into mattering.

Every little bit helped, even if he couldn’t immediately feel it.

Seeing that Elijah was ready, Okar rushed in.  He’d restrained himself via shackles on his wrists and ankles, but he still moved faster than Elijah could easily track.  His dull training swords lanced in, and Elijah danced back, slapping them aside with an off-balance parry.

Okar didn’t let up.

He turned his initial trust into a leaping spin, his sword scraping against Elijah’s shoulder.  Elijah wheeled around, swinging the axe in a heavy-handed horizontal strike.  Okar ducked under it, then thrust again.  Elijah tried to twist out of the way, but the blunted tip took him directly in the stomach.

Elijah regained his balance and brought the weapon down in a herculean strike that harnessed the heft of the heavy weapon.  It screamed through the air, but Okar dodged it easily.  The blade bit into the ground, kicking up a cloud of glittering sand and sending a crack arcing across the training ground until it hit the wall.  The reinforced barrier absorbed the impact, dispersing it throughout the entire chamber.

Still, it was enough to get quite a lot of attention.

Most of the other training combatants stepped back as a shockwave of air swept across the room.

It didn’t die until it hit the other walls almost a hundred yards away.

Okar’s slight body rode that wave, but he hit the ground a second later.  He made Elijah pay for his off-balance strike, ramming both his swords into his ribs.  He hit Elijah a dozen times in the space of a second, and by the time Elijah wheeled around, he was already gone.

“You’re dead.  Again.”

“You think that’s enough to stop me?” Elijah asked, his teeth grinding together in frustration.

“Obviously not.  But I’m fighting without my abilities.  The rules of engagement aren’t about overcoming your bullshit spells,” Okar reminded him.  “Or did you forget?”

Elijah gripped the axe handle a little more tightly.  Okar was right.  Their training sessions weren’t governed by real combat rules, which would always favor him.  Instead, it was about technique, and they kept score based on the number of times their attacks connected.

Which meant that Elijah never scored a single point, even when he exchanged the training axe for Thorn.

His only hope came from when he’d used his various bestial forms.  Shape of Spores was hopeless in that kind of fight, and even shackled, Okar could dance circles around the lumbering fungal giant.  Shape of Mastery was a lot better, but that was mostly because of how much it enhanced Elijah’s reaction speed.  Somewhere in between was Shape of Withering, which combined a sinuous grace with high attributes to make him truly difficult to pin down.

Okar still managed it, though.

That was just proof that Elijah had a long way to go if he wanted to make the most out of his forms.  Sure – he could destroy fleets, but in single combat, he would need to lean hard on his regenerative capabilities. 

Maybe that was just how he was meant to fight.

What truly worried him was that, as his power grew and he advanced to deity, he knew he would encounter people with classes meant to cripple healing and regeneration.  If he fought someone like that, he would be at a distinct disadvantage.  For all his power, he was not omnipotent.

He could lose.

The orc chieftan that was still out there was proof enough of that.  Okar just confirmed what he already knew – that he needed to get better.  Not necessarily stronger.  Just better.

But he needed to get stronger, too.

Constant growth was the mandate, both in terms of his survival as well as his instinctive drive. 

Maybe he was more like the World Tree or his baby mushroom than he wanted to admit.  Perhaps he had more in common with Treebie than was readily apparent, and that was why he’d found it so easy to connect.

Elijah sighed, letting the head of the axe fall to the ground.  It hit with an audible thump and a slight tremor that swept across the training ground. 

“Finished already?” Okar asked, balancing on the balls of his feet.  “I thought you’d keep going for a while yet, but if you’re too tired to go on…”

The halfling let the taunt hang in the air, and it elicited exactly the intended response.  The fires of competitiveness within Elijah’s chest reignited, and he threw himself at Okar.  He was no more successful with that impromptu charge than he had been in his previous attacks.

But he was making some progress.  He came a little closer to landing a blow than he had in the past, which was all he could really hope to accomplish.  Baby steps. 

He couldn’t become a master combatant in the space of a single training session.  Okar had spent his entire life to reach his level of expertise, and every part of his identity revolved around swordfighting.  Elijah wouldn’t attain that degree of mastery for years yet, and that was if he focused on it.

He knew he couldn’t afford to do so.

There were too many things pulling him in way too many directions.  And most of those were far more important than taking marginal steps forward concerning his combat technique.

Still, it was a good way to use his downtime, even if it was more than a little frustrating to deal with constant defeat at Okar’s hands.  Before, he’d endured a similar fate against Mano, but that was excusable.  After all, the transcendent was well-known throughout the empire as a peerless combatant.  Of course Elijah would lose to his adopted brother.

Okar seemed to be on a similar track, though the question of whether or not he would reach that destination was up to good fortune and proper drive.  Most people – even those with potential – ended up losing motivation on the long road to transcendence.  Perhaps Okar would overcome those long odds.

Or maybe he’d settle down as a high deity and be happy.  Perhaps even with Sara.

But for now, he seemed happy to give Elijah all the lessons he required. 

So it was that Elijah ended up with a fresh collection of bruises that he refused to heal right away.  Instead, he sat with the pain, using it as motivation to keep moving forward.  Physically, he walked beside a smug Okar as they headed back to the communal area within the Vengeance.

Upon reaching it, Elijah was once again taken aback.

It didn’t look like they were underground, and if the ceiling hadn’t been visible a hundred yards above them, he would’ve never suspected as much.  Among the newcomers were more than a few talented designers who, along with the K’levehar Builders, had created something truly extraordinary.

It lacked the air of prosperity that came with the Gilded Reach, but the people of the Empire of Scale seemed incapable of building anything without a sense of grandeur.  They’d included sculptures and other decorative details that disguised the reality of their situation.  More importantly, they had included a host of amenities ranging from taverns and restaurants to spa-like set-ups meant for recovery and relaxation. 

And of course, there was an ongoing fight outside, and between no less than seven individuals.

Elijah watched for only a second before he sighed and stepped in to stop it.  Okar came in on his heels, and a few other nearby spectators took the cue and joined him.  Getting in the middle of it meant taking a few stray hits along the way, but Elijah ignored them.  Within a few moments, the combatants had been separated.

Two of them had taken grievous wounds, which Elijah healed without hesitation. 

By the time he’d finished, the others had stormed off, leaving their compatriots behind.  That prompted Elijah to say, “So much for loyalty.”

“No offense, but nobody wants to get poisoned,” said a woman as she clutched her wounded stomach.  She was a drake, with blue-and-white scales that echoed her water attunement.

“I’m not going to poison anyone,” Elijah muttered, still casting his healing spells. 

“Yeah.  We all know that.  But there’s always the possibility, yeah?” 

As she spoke, her wound closed.  When it was completely mended, she quickly followed the others.  By that point, the crowd had dispersed, and only a few people lingered. 

One of them was Alrhok.

He’d been one of the people to step in and pull the combatants apart, and he’d taken a few blows for his trouble.  Elijah cast Wild Resurgence to heal him.

“Thanks,” said the big earth-attuned dragon. 

“Now that that’s taken care of, who wants to get drunk?” asked Okar.

As it turned out, Alrhok had been on his way to one of the taverns when he’d found the in-progress fight.  So, he agreed without hesitation, and Elijah joined his two friends.  Not long after, they all had mugs of strong beer in front of them.

“So, how are things?” Elijah asked.  “You’ve been getting cozy with the K’levehars, right?”

Alrhok shrugged uncomfortably.  “They’re letting me work,” he admitted.  “But they still haven’t quite accepted me.  The Ignaras and the K’levehars aren’t enemies, but we’re not allies, either.  They’re suspicious of me.”

“Just keep your head down and do the work,” Okar advised.  “You’ll get there.”

Alrhok scratched the scales on his arm.  “I’m trying.”

“I could get you in with the Vyrins,” Elijah offered.  “I have a little more influence now.  If I said so, we could –”

Alrhok cut him off, saying, “No thanks.  I can only get turned down so many times before it becomes clear that they consider me useless.  The K’levehars might be suspicious of me, but they see value in me.  If the Vyrins took me in, it would only be because you told them to.  I doubt they would, now that I’ve begun to associate with the K’levehars.  Either way, I won’t get anything out of that.”

That much was true.  The two factions weren’t exactly enemies, but there was significant tension between them.  Some of that came from simple proximity, but most of it originated with the state of politics in the Empire of Scale.  “You’re not useless.”

“That’s what I’m trying to prove,” he said.

“Just stick with it,” Elijah advised, taking a sip from his mug.  “In a few years, you’ll be in a much better position.”

“Or you could keep fighting, earn some money, and buy yourself an apprenticeship,” Okar cut in.  “My great, great-grandfather did something similar when he was just getting started.  That led to the first step in the formation of my family’s status.  There’s a lot of money to be made for a high-demigod with good skills.”

Alrhok gave a barely perceptible tremor of fear.  He tried to hide it, but he couldn’t conceal it from Elijah’s senses.  That said more than anything else.

He was terrified of fighting.

He would do it if forced, but given a choice, he would never pick up another weapon.  It was a great tragedy that he would never have that option.  Even if he accomplished his goals, he would only do so by leaning on his abilities as a combatant.

“Enough about that,” Elijah said, lifting his mug.  “To Alrhok’s quest for a suitable path.”

Okar echoed the sentiment.

Alrhok stared at the mug for a moment, then forced a smile. His mug clinked against the other two, and he said, “Thanks.”