WW Chapter 76: Recovery (Patreon)

I actually edited the first half. Somehow, missed it. Soz.

“Again!”

Dominick’s voice echoed over the walls, and Ezra’s vision swam as he tried to dodge the next strike that came his way. He wasn’t so lucky, and the wooden axehead struck him in the hip. His legs wavered, and he fell. His arms shook. His puke was drying on his chin. And Ezra couldn’t get up anymore. He fell to the ground, panting and desperately trying to regather himself.

“Well, that’s fine. You made it a full two hours,” Dominick said. There was a strange tone to his voice, but Ezra was too tired to even try to understand what it was. “Even though I let you start using aura halfway through there, color me surprised that you made it for so long.”

Ezra didn’t respond. He simply rolled to his back to continue to lay on the ground, panting as he tried to keep from puking for the fourth time. With his eyes closed, he wasn’t prepared for the waterskin that was pressed to his lips.

In his first days of conditioning with the other soldiers back in Villy, Ezra had learned not to guzzle down water when he was exhausted like this. That always made the nausea worse. Instead, he took a mouthful, swished it around, and spat it to the side. The water stuck to the inside of his mouth, his dry throat somehow making the water sticky. It dribbled down the side of his face, and Ezra couldn’t bring himself to care. He was just so tired.

“I know your inner world is exhausted. Best thing you can do right now is to take just a couple minutes to meditate. The sooner you can refill your aura reserves, the faster you’ll feel better. Healthy aura, healthy body.”

Ezra tried to muster the energy to curse out the merciless old man for suggesting he do something, but instead, he decided to take the advice. Laying in a sand pit in an enclosed training ground, even if it was open to the sky, the best aura available to him was the earth underneath him. Over the next few minutes, aura flowed steadily into his inner world, leaving Ezra reveling in the quiet little recovery he experienced as it did so. The gradual change to the aura from untamed, wild earth aura to controlled stormy winds was pleasant, and distracted him from his discomfort.

His heart thundered in his chest, but slowly calmed as he lay there. The deep breaths he took seemed to catch in his throat, and he frequently lost himself in short coughing fits. However, the more he recovered, the less he coughed, the more his brain resumed functioning, and the better he felt. Finally, almost ten minutes after he finished practicing and started meditation, Ezra was of sound enough mind to actually open his eyes. He saw Dominick sitting there, his face as smug as ever, and Ezra didn’t try to hold back the scowl on his own face.

“I had to make sure that you were getting your conditioning in,” Dominick laughed. As Ezra’s face screwed up even further, the old man shook his head as he laughed. “Not really. However, the best way to train for combat is to engage in combat. There’s no exercise more exhausting than fighting for your life, and being the greatest duelist on the face of the planet isn’t worth shit if you can’t last for more than two minutes. Who knows, your wife might thank me someday for that.”

The old man grinned down at Ezra, seeming to think the younger man  might blush or complain about the dirty joke. He didn’t care.

“My mother was a prostitute,” Ezra grunted as he sat up. “Making a dirty joke isn’t going to embarrass me.”

“Well, at least you’re not a stick in the mud,” Dominick said. “This part isn’t a joke. As you receive more responsibilities, there’s going to be a greater chance of you having to fight in duels, or just straight up fighting for your life. Starting tomorrow, beyond just training with Michel and myself, I’m going to start training you in real combat as well as bodyguarding. Neither is like being a soldier, and you’ll have a long way to go to be called a professional.”

“Yes, sir.” Ezra was proud of how he managed to keep any of the sass or frustration that filled him from coloring his tone as he said it. At least, he thought he was able to do so.

“Final thoughts,” Dominick said as he started to walk away. “You’re good. Keep working hard, and you’ll catch up to the others in your cohort. If you’re looking for help with dueling, go to either Tula or Patrice. They’ve been training since they were little girls, and on top of that, they’re damn talented. Before that, though, you’re gonna need to clean your armor.”

“If they’re so talented, why aren’t they here?” Ezra asked, mustering the energy to turn and follow Dominick as he ignored that last tidbit.

Unfortunately, the old man was gone and refused to give Ezra an answer to his question. Instead, Ezra was left with his armor covered with his dried puke mixed with sand. That was, of course, distinctly unpleasant, but he was too tired to deal with that right away.

You need to deal with it sooner rather than later.

“Jormun, just let me rest for five minutes,” Ezra replied as he settled into a sitting position. 

You’ve had that long and even longer, Jormun disagreed. Your armor is your life. What you’ve got is higher quality than you deserve, so don’t mistreat it. If you don’t maintain the armor, it’ll fail you when you need it most. Plus, I guarantee that you’ll be wearing it tonight once you go to meet Adonis, and you’re not going to do that covered in your own vomit.

“No, I won’t.”

And, if you’re going to talk to the Duke about the demons, then you need to show that you’re someone who can be trusted.

Again, Chloe’s training flashed through his head. So much of how seriously people took someone relied on their appearance. Ezra’d learned part of that his entire life—he could get away with all sorts of things someone else never could simply because he had a pretty face. Then, whenever a guard walked through the slums, everyone ran away simply because they had the armor and uniform. Now, Ezra knew how little training many of those guards had, and that they relied on reputation to control the people in the slums. 

And that was enough.

More than that, even at higher echelons, when people’d been trained to look past the surface, how someone was dressed, carried themself, and cared for their clothing. If Ezra was going to come into his second meeting with the Duke and attempt to convince him and his retainers that the strange creatures that they knew about in the wilds were actually a sign of monsters, he better look his best.

Knowing how this was going to end, Ezra grumbled and stopped his delaying. Instead, he made his way to the edge of the room, where a large barrel of water sat. Taking ladlefuls, Ezra poured the water down his front, where the putrid remnants of his breakfast remained. Now that he was a little bit more in control of himself, the smell was horrendous, and Ezra couldn’t help but let his face screw up in disgust. Fortunately, with the water sluicing down his front, the worst of the drying vomit washed away in a few short seconds. Even so, Ezra was well aware that he was only just starting on the required maintenance for his armor, something that he hadn’t imagined would be necessary when he was just training.

Though he had stopped his arguing, Ezra was far from finished complaining about the work that he had to do. He knew it was petty and childish, but he didn’t mind being a little petty and childish when he’d been pushed until he puked over himself several times. With shaky fingers, he loosened his armor until he could finally pull off each part that remained. It wasn’t too long before, finally, he’d removed every piece of the armor and set it on an armature mannequin that sat in the corner of the training room.

Then, Ezra turned to look at the sun that was beginning to near its zenith in the sky. Nearly lunchtime, then. With a thought, Ezra pulled more of his aura to flow through his body and reinforce himself. He didn’t take long to dry off his armor before applying the oils and everything else that was necessary to continue to maintain it. His shaking hands and exhaustion slowly died away as he continued to minister to himself with his aura. Bit by bit, he recovered and got to the point where, while still exhausted, he could at least walk toward the mess hall without collapsing.

When he arrived, lunch was already underway. His friends sat where they usually did, their food spread out across the table. Telemachus's face started to twist up in a smile until he actually looked at Ezra’s. Then, instead of teasing, he whistled low and asked, “Shit, man. They torturing you?”

He cocked his head to the side. “No. I just had that training I told you I was going to have.”

“Both your eyes are black, and you’ve got some dried blood under your nose. Looks more like a mugging than training.”

Ezra rubbed his finger through the stubble above his lip, and, just like he’d been told, a bit of dried blood flaked away. He grumbled as he hung his head. “I’ll have to take care of that. Thanks.”

“So was the training getting punched in the face or something?” Rose asked. Beside her, Miriam stared just as attentively, while Dirk motioned for Ezra to take a seat while the shorter man went to collect a meal for Ezra.

“Honestly, that would be less painful,” Ezra said as Rose pushed over a tankard of ale. He took a drink, the liquid taking away the worst of the taste of his blood that he barely noticed. “I basically just got beaten up by Dominick for two hours. Me in all my armor, him holding a practice halberd. Popped one of my knees and broke a couple ribs, which were important enough to be healed. I guess he never cared about making me look like a raccoon, though.”

Rose grinned at what Ezra said, one of her hands reaching out tentatively to see how tender he was. He shook his head and gestured for her to stay back. Just then, Dirk arrived and handed over a tray full of food. Ezra gratefully nodded and took it as he looked down.

“Now that I realize it’s there, I’ll focus on circulating my mana there. I’ll still look a little worse for wear by tonight, but come tomorrow, the bruises should have mostly faded.”

“So you just, what, fought the old man for two hours?” Telemachus asked, his excitement no longer dimmed by the state of Ezra’s face.

“I said I got beaten up by Dominick for two hours. That’s exactly what I meant to say.”

After he said that, Ezra started scooping the food into his mouth. He found that, with how bruised his face was, every bite was uncomfortable, and he started to prioritize healing his head instead of the rest of his body. Circulating the aura there specifically helped him to realize that he had definitely taken more of a beating than he thought, just in his head. The rest of him was achy, but a couple of Dominick’s hits in particular, “bellringers,” as the old Knight called them, had done a number on him.

A series of other questions came his way over the course of the rest of lunch, but seeing how rundown he was, the other commoners, thankfully, were merciful enough to give Ezra time to just relax. Then, as the meal finished, Telemachus wrapped an arm around Ezra as the two walked to drop off their trays.

“Are you ready for the rest of training this afternoon?”

***

Ezra had, decidedly, not wanted to do any more training. Fortunately, none of it was nearly so brutal as what he had just experienced at Dominick’s hands, and he was able to catch his breath, and, more importantly, continue to refill his inner world. He had engaged in plenty of duels and fights, using his aura over the past weeks and months. Oftentimes, he’d allowed his reserves to get pretty low, but once his inner world was starting to, even a little bit, run dry, he got plenty of time to recover quite a bit. Now, instead, he was injured and forced to continue doing things while his body screamed for the relief that even half an hour of focused meditation could largely solve.

Now, he could only draw in the dregs of aura possible while going through the motions of training with the spear with Artemis.

“You look like you got run over by a carriage,” she said, staring.

“I think that would be less painful,” he shook his head. “Had a training session with Dominick. He doesn’t pull his punches.”

Artemis had been stiff since she saw the state of his face, but when he mentioned who had done it to him, she relaxed and shrugged helplessly.

“I’m told he does that with everybody he trains. You’re in good company.”

She didn’t ask him any further questions, instead going much slower as they trained. In fact, it was much like the training he had undergone with Chloe that morning, opting for controlled movements instead of a full spar. That gave Ezra enough time to split his attention somewhat, just enough to continue recovering his aura reserves. It wasn’t long before he was largely recovered, and the bells for dinner were ringing.

Unsure of what exactly the timeline for him getting to the Duke’s mansion was, Ezra hustled to the mess hall, devoured his meal as fast as he could stuff it into his mouth, and then bid good night to his friends. A part of him mentally cursed Dominick, remembering the old man saying that Ezra’s days would remain much the same, but the rest of him instead hoped that the guard captain at the other end of the corridor to the Duke’s, Elijah Tanner, would be just as patient today as he had been the day before.

Ezra stored his axe on his hip and his shield on a strap over his shoulder to hang on his back, and then made his way through the Garrison to the storage room that led to the passage to the Duke’s Manor. At the door waited Chloe, who smiled and held out a key.

“This is yours. Don’t lose it. This is how you’re getting in here, with the guards at the other end of the corridor being the ones who will let you into the manor or not.”

“Yes, thank you, sir.” He bowed as he said it and took the key. Sticking it in the lock, he twisted it easily, the thunk of a bar shifting out of the way taking him by surprise because of how easy it had been to open.

“Don’t forget to lock it when you’re on the other side,” Chloe commanded as he closed the door behind himself.

“Yes, sir.”

The sound of her feet was all that responded to him, the Pseudo-Knight retreating to whatever her own duties were.

“All right, then. I’ve got to get going,” Ezra said to himself as he turned and looked down the long hallway. A few of the major lights had turned on with his appearance, and, looking at the long darkness ahead of himself, he shrugged.

Now, it was time for the actual bodyguarding part of this new bodyguard role.