WW Chapter 83: Resettling (Patreon)

Aura flooded through Ezra’s body, continuing to push him towards understanding a shroud. Instead of being able to focus on that glimpse of understanding, though, he dodged out of the way of the sword slicing for his stomach. As soon as the strike passed by him, he settled his stance and swung his axe at his enemy’s ankle. The weapon whistled through the air, clanging to a stop against Michel’s shield.

He expected that, even as the haft of the weapon burned through his gloves and into his hand. That mild burning was something he could pay attention to later; for now, he had to continue the fight. Dominick put Ezra through his paces, and Michel did the same.

Both sides exchanged a flurry of blows, Ezra’s axe and Michel’s sword meeting the other’s shield time and time again. The ringing of steel echoed out through the evening, and as Ezra’s sweat stung his eyes, he roared. His feet slid through the sand, fighting to find a good stance. Michel didn’t struggle to do the same, standing as an implacable wall. Ezra’s inner world had been strengthened time and time again by his continuous meditations, and he deliberately opened his left side and back up to Michel, as he tried to lock shields with the Pseudo-Knight.

Though he wasn’t using his shroud, Michel’s shield glowed with light, scalding heat drying the sweat from Ezra as the more experienced man’s sword whipped at his back. Ezra didn’t give up on the lock, though, using his wind aura to shoot forward, slightly past the edge of Michel’s shield. The sword still clipped Ezra’s left hip, but he trusted in the heavy metal reinforcement there. Even with aura strengthening the attack, Ezra could maintain his stance. More importantly, the risky repositioning gave him enough space to make an attack of his own.

The yooperlite stone head of the axe, a hand span tall and, though tapered, just as long, burned with a bright orange light. Screaming through the air, Ezra’s axe smashed into the small of Michel’s back. Just as his weapon made contact with the Pseudo-Knight’s full set of armor, a flash of light reinforced the armor and repelled Ezra’s attack. With how much aura Ezra had reinforced his attack with, the shroud’s defense only briefly blinded him instead of also burning his hand any further.

“That was a good estimation of what I could strike in the moment,” Michel said as he stepped back. “What made you think I wouldn’t press harder with my shield at that moment? If I’d burst aura through my shield, when you locked, you would have been knocked back.”

“If you’d done that, I wouldn’t have been in any worse of a position and we would just still be fighting,” Ezra replied, blinking rapidly as he carefully placed his shield and axe to the side as he undid the straps under his chin. “It wasn’t particularly risky for me, and you tend to fight more defensively.”

“And if I made my sword’s attack draw more heavily on my aura?”

“Even then, I would’ve been fine,” Ezra shrugged, reaching over and grabbing a ladle and dipping it into the water barrel. He poured half over his head before drinking deeply from the blessedly cool water. Even though the sun had mostly set, the sands had been baking in the summer sun all day long, and it was damn hot. “Your inner world’s affinity is more defensive than offensive, and though it might have burned me a bit, I trust in my armor.”

“It is a difficult lesson to learn,” Michel nodded. He sheathed his sword on his hip and unstrapped his own helmet as he stepped forward. Ezra took another drink before handing over the ladle to his teacher. “Do you think you would be able to have as great of a trust in your armor if you didn’t know me and my inner world as well as you already do?”

“Maybe I could,” Ezra hedged, “but I wouldn’t. If I wasn’t absolutely positive about what somebody’s capabilities were, I’d stick to dodging more than taking the hits. I’m not going to lose a damn leg because I was cocky and thought I was untouchable.”

“And why is that?” Michel asked, his voice as even as always. It was almost as if the man didn’t have any emotions.

“Because my natural affinity isn’t made for defending, but instead for avoiding, and because while this is Pseudo-Knight quality armor, and can hold up against most aural attacks, it’s not infallible,” Ezra said, listing his fingers as he said it. “If it was Quinn I was fighting and I just let him hit me? If I was cocky? If I wasn’t prepared to dodge, he could probably cut right through my armor, if I don’t have a shroud. Which, we know I don’t.”

“He does have an exceptional affinity for armor busting. And you are learning to be less impetuous, at least in practice and in conversation. We can only hope to see that same caution remain when you are in a battle against a stranger.”

“Yes, sir.”

A comfortable quiet settled over them for a few minutes after that, Ezra sweaty and tired while Michel almost seemed like he was only drinking because he was supposed to. He had a faint trail of sweat trickling down his left brow and nothing else. The large man’s thick beard had been squished under the helmet, but slowly expanded out to its usual form as he cooled down.

Days and weeks had blended together as Ezra stepped into his new role. The days were filled with ever-increasing demands for training, and Dominick’s one-on-one trainings were just as brutal as ever. Michel, on his days, just trained dueling like they just had. Both wore all of their equipment and fought until one “won” the fight, then they would talk about why someone won, give Ezra a few pointers on how he could improve, and then repeat. Fortunately, though Michel insisted that he wasn’t even touching on the borders of ascending to Knighthood, his shroud and bodily control were both more than strong enough to keep himself safe while only ever giving Ezra bruises. Dominick, as he had exhibited on their first day of practice, had no such qualms.

Now, with Michel, Ezra experienced a less painful training method. The booming-voiced, almost boisterous man that Ezra had seen as the commander of the extermination expedition leader was nowhere to be seen in these trainings. When he wasn’t in command, Michel was soft-spoken and calm.

“We’re nearly done for the day,” Michel said as the two men stood. “You’ve come a long way since we began this training in earnest.”

“You can say that again,” Ezra smiled.

“Nobody denies that you are talented,” Michel cautioned. “Skills and habits come to you in days when for others it takes weeks or months. To combine that with your natural skill with aura means you are, in all honesty, a man bound to be much stronger than I am. Than Dominick as well. However, that is only where you will be, not where you are. There are things which talent cannot overcome, and if you were to encounter a Pseudo-Knight who wished to kill you, you could only run and pray that your inner world’s reserves last long enough to keep you out of their grasp. Don’t let pride start problems that you can’t resolve. Keep your head down for now.”

That reminder sobered Ezra, and he nodded. Michel, seeing that his warning had been heeded, smiled, reached out, and clapped Ezra on the back. Knowing what was coming, the younger man braced himself and took the heavy hit without stumbling.

“I look forward to seeing what you can become, Ezra. Hopefully, one day, when your name is repeated throughout the country, my name will be remembered as one of those who was lucky enough to teach you.”

A hint of emotion threatened to swell Ezra’s throat closed at that, but before he could think to say anything, Michel simply nodded once and was gone. Ezra knew that Michel, like Dominick, was sacrificing no small amount of time to give Ezra this one-on-one instruction, and when the time for the day’s teachings came to a close, Michel, just like Dominick, didn’t hesitate to move along quickly.

“Thank you!” Ezra called after the retreating man, unsure if Michel heard him. After all, he was already down the hall and gone.

You have found teachers much better than myself, Jormun said, stepping forward into Ezra’s peripherals. I spent so long as a commander instead of a teacher, someone who only really interacted with people at scale or occasionally with more advanced individuals, but I forgot what it takes to be a good mentor.

Not for the first time, Ezra could hear that the old ghost wasn’t about to give an apology more explicit than that, and he didn’t mind it. He grinned at the old ghost, before the cheeky smile became something more genuine.

“I’m lucky to have met you, Jormun. If I hadn’t, I probably still would’ve picked the same fight that I did with those asshole urchins in Villy. Then, I would have still ended up getting pulled into the extermination fight against the goblinoid invasion, but I wouldn’t have had any experience from you to draw on. Without you, I wouldn’t have been spending more time exercising, and I wouldn’t have been spending extra money to eat more. So, even if I chose to try to sign up instead of get drafted, I doubt I would have qualified to be in the elite squad, and I certainly wouldn’t have learned what aura was so quickly. So, even if we can both agree that you’re learning, or maybe relearning, how to be a good mentor, it’s thanks to you that I’m still alive and I’m here.”

Life is a path whose series of coincidences no man can foretell. I’m glad that my imperfect assistance was a positive influence on you.

Ezra smiled and stood up, putting his ax and shield into their carrying positions on his hip and back, respectively. Then, with his stomach rumbling, he started walking towards the mess hall. As was frequently the case when he had practice with Michel, Ezra was slightly early, and he collected his tray right about at the front of the line of soldiers getting their supper.

He made his way down the line, exchanging quick greetings with the people he had made friends with among the staff. Since he was near the front of the line, there was no time for anything more than quick words, but he enjoyed the opportunity to say hello, if nothing else.

Then, going to the same table and benches that he and the rest of the commoners usually sat at, he spread out his tray and waited.

It was only a few minutes before the first pair made their way in, Rose and Dirk. Apparently, they’d been on patrol together today, and they were frustratedly talking about a particular drunk who’d been belligerent almost to the point of having a death wish.

“He kept screaming about how he was the second coming of the Stone, that Pilar would be forgotten before long,” Dirk said, shaking his head.

“A blasphemer?” A female voice interrupted. Telemachus and Miriam sat down, the newest member of the commoner squad between them with righteous indignation obvious on her face.

“It’s nothing serious, Luna, just a drunk idiot,” Ezra said, the words coming out without thinking, and he sighed as he attempted to curb the woman’s enthusiasm.

“There’s no such thing as an unserious heretic,” Luna shook her head.

“So that’s how our patrol was,” Rose said, trying to kill any further conversation. “How about the rest of you?”

“Honestly, nothing noteworthy,” Telemachus said, shutting down something that Luna started to open her mouth to say. When the “leader” of her squad spoke up, Luna immediately fell in line. She was an odd sort, on the older side for a new recruit into the potential Knight trainee squad, but she made no secret of the fact that was. She had potential both for becoming capable of casting divine magic, as well as developing her inner world, so she was coming here now to see if that was possible.

“More than talking about our patrols,” Telemachus said, staring at Ezra, “I wanna know what you think about the change in aural affinity that we were talking about.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Ezra said. “For you, it has a great volatility. For me, the same. Dirk, however, seems to be moving more and more towards having a stone or dirt affinity. For him, that volatility doesn’t seem to matter as much. It’s more a general piece of advice that can be given and potentially followed.”

Telemachus grumbled something under his breath as he ripped a hunk from his bread, dipped it in his stew, and tossed it in his mouth. He was about to say something else when Ezra saw a page walking towards them and gestured for the younger boy to approach.

“I have another letter for you,” the Ezra said, reaching into a pouch on his left hip and holding it out. “As always, take the payment from my pay.”

“This girl is never gonna write you back,” Telemachus shook his head. There was a bit of a teasing grin on his face, but his tone was genuinely concerned. “You’ve been here for what, four, five months? And you’ve never gotten a single letter back? You send one every two weeks without fail, and she’s never sent anything back. She probably just doesn’t care as much as you do.”

“Nah,” Ezra shook his head. “This isn’t some enduring love story, this is just an old friend who wants to keep up with me. And, if it turns out that she doesn’t want any letters, she’ll let me know.”

“That might just be the truth,” Telemachus said as he said it. “I hope so, for your sake.”

The faintest hint of doubt started to color Ezra’s thoughts at that. After all, nothing Telemachus said was untrue. It had been so long, and Tilly hadn’t sent anything back, even through a magic spell, if she was capable of doing it like her master, Mabel, could.

“Is there something you need?” Rose asked the boy, kindly, stirring Ezra from his thoughts. Only as she called his attention to the young teen did Ezra realize that the page was still standing behind him.

“Actually, yes.” He seemed flustered by the beautiful woman smiling at him, as well as excited to have been called upon. “I have a letter for you, Ezra.”

As he said it, the page pulled another envelope out of a small satchel, holding it out to Ezra. The Adept didn’t try to hold back, pulling the envelope towards him and allowing a broad smile to cross his face. There, in a handwriting that he knew extremely well, the handwriting of one of the people who had forced him to improve his own, was his name written.

“Looks like Tilly’s remembered me after all,” he grinned.