After the shortbow lesson, Andy practiced a while longer. The motions began to come more naturally, as did his knack for finding the right arc to shoot at. He concentrated on shooting from the edge of the gym floor, the range at which he would be tested, but he also experimented with different ranges, walking a bit closer to the targets and shooting from further away. Of the dozens of shots he took, only a few were complete misses, but he still wasn’t hitting the center with regularity.

  Taking a break from the shortbow, Andy picked up the longsword again, practicing his form. He was comfortable with the blocks and attacks, but something still bugged him about the roll and jump attack. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it… it was that he enjoyed it almost too much.

  He took pleasure in leaping through the air, in bringing the sword down. Gerran’s words echoed in his head, “only take big swings when you absolutely must…” But Andy knew damn well that it was going to be hard to restrain himself.

  After a bit of practice, Andy felt comfortable with the longsword form. He had repeated the leap attack enough that it had, at least for now, lost its lustre. He’d be able to exercise appropriate form without too much enthusiasm during his test.

  As Andy exited the gym, he thought about how far he’d come. He was much, much stronger now thanks to his [athletics] training. He could jump upwards of five feet in the air without too much effort. If he was pressed, he could probably clear ten.

  He had learned how to track opponents during combat, how to think in three dimensions, and how to use his environment during a fight. He had learned how to wield a staff and a shortsword, and he was almost done training on the longsword and shortbow.

  And he had acquired not just an elegant shortsword, but one enchanted with powerful magic. Soon enough, he’d be filling out more of his equipment, adding a longsword and perhaps a shortbow to his loadout.

  His progression was coming along nicely.

  But beyond even his skill progression, Andy felt especially thankful that he had been trained by Morwen and introduced to the Order of the Behemoth. He didn’t know what the future held, but he did know that he preferred the Order’s basic philosophy to that of the upper classes, and he could certainly see himself fighting for their cause one day.

  He was thankful for his friendship with Morwen, Yarel, Noel, and Pliny, and now with Gerran and Quinn. Even Patesh, with his temper and skewed worldview, was growing on him.

  Andy was excited for the job that lay ahead. He’d be able to explore more of the world and meet more of its people. The places he’d been so far had been deeply fascinating, but he knew he’d barely seen anything. He had seen only one city of one continent on one planet of this world.

  The Scholar’s retreat on top of Mount Aurora, Dawnspring Cottage, had been his introduction to the world. Lilly and Rowan had oriented him to the System and its paths of progression.

  Morwen’s Grove had been a beautiful, quiet refuge for him to train, even with the annoying presence of ratfolk spies.

  And, despite his allergy to the worldview of the nobility, the inner city had been an incredible sight to behold. The game of Thrakka had caught his eye, a kind of in-world magical trading card game that people in the city seemed to obsess over. Perhaps when he got a break from training, he’d build a deck. But even more impressive was the Enchanter’s College, where he had gotten Percival to install and test the martial talisman on his shortsword using a kind of magical simulation machine… the egregorium, they had called it.

  He had been having the adventure of his life. Or, rather, the adventure of his afterlife.

  And now, with Gerran, he had made more progress in just a couple of days than he had made his entire time training with Morwen. He didn’t necessarily prefer Gerran’s style, he had enjoyed the periods of downtime he had at the grove, but he had to appreciate its effectiveness.

  Andy finished up with his longsword forms and joined everyone at the tables for dinner. As he sat down, Gerran handed him a plate of chickpea curry.

  “So, I was thinking,” Gerran said. “I want to add something to your training. We can complete it tonight.”

  “You’re getting the full curriculum, looks like,” Quinn said.

  Patesh chuckled.

  “Yeah?” Andy said.

  How much more could they cram into the training schedule?

  “Yes,” said Gerran, “It’s much easier than [athletics], [combat], or [martial weapons], so don’t worry.”

  “What is it?” Andy asked.

  “I want you to take a level of the [armor] skill,” he said. “That will prepare you to use light armor comfortably, and it will keep you at least a bit safer during your dungeon job. I can’t send you on a dungeon mission in a tunic, now, can I?”

  “We’ve both got the skill,” Patesh said, gesturing toward himself and Quinn. “It was the simplest skill rank I’ve ever acquired.”

  Quinn nodded in agreement.

  “Alright,” Andy said. “What do I need to do?”

  “I’ll let you use some of my light armor. In order to gain the skill, you’ll just need to complete a form with correct posture while wearing the armor.”

  “Any form?” Andy asked.

  “Sure,” said Gerran. “You can complete the shortsword form if you’d like.”

  “You think I can get that done tonight?” Andy asked. The sun was already beginning to sink low in the sky.

  “I think so,” said Gerran.

  They finished up their dinner and Gerran disappeared into the house, returning with a suit of leather armor. It was an old suit of thick, black leather that had been worn gray in most parts, but it would do the trick for training.

  Andy put it on piece by piece, first the breastplate, followed by pauldrons on the shoulders, bracers on his forearms, a thick belt with two large pieces of leather hanging down to protect his groin and rear, and greaves along the legs. Finally, he put on the thick boots that came with the suit.

  “Good,” said Gerran. “How does it feel?”

  “Not bad,” said Andy. He moved around a bit. The weight of the breastplate and pauldrons did slightly impede his movement, and the heavy skirts protecting his groin and rear pulled him down a bit, but it was manageable.

  “Very good,” said Gerran. “Grab your shortsword and show me your form.”

  Andy went into the bunkhouse and returned with his shortsword. He attached the sheath to his belt as they ascended the steps to the open-air gym.

  Andy drew his shortsword and practiced a few swings. He had to adjust to the pauldrons impinging on his movement, but after a while, he figured out how to regain his full range of motion.

  “Okay,” Andy said, sinking into his athletic stance.

  He recited each movement of the shortsword form, slashing and blocking with relative ease. Finally, though, he came to the final roll of the form. He fell forward, hitting his shoulder to the ground. To his surprise, the heavy leather pauldron and backplates made his roll easier. He could roll more forcefully without worrying about injury. He leapt up, ending the form with an overhead attack.

  “Excellent,” Gerran said. “I told you it would be an easy thing to pass off quickly.”

  Andy relaxed, sheathing his shortsword. “That’s it? Really?”

  “Really,” Gerran said. “Practice for your longsword and shortbow tests with the light armor, it will do you good. Consider it cross-training,” Gerran said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Andy nodded as Gerran departed.

  *

  Level Up!

  Level 6

  Skill Rank Achieved!

  Armor 1

  *

  ***

  Braden twisted the lock and opened the door to his private cottage on his uncle’s property. Formerly, the building was used for storage, so upon his arrival, Neroth had been happy to give Braden use of the house.

  The living space was rather disheveled, robes and dishes scattered on the couches and low tables, ash scattered on the fireplace, and half-empty ale mugs lying about. It had been more than a week since the estate servants had given it a proper cleaning. Braden didn’t allow attendants in his cottage whenever he was working on an experiment.

  A cry came from the basement door.

  “Ah, the experiment has woken up,” Braden said, smirking. The results of the [combat] match had really pissed him off, and he was looking forward to blowing off some steam.

  Stolen story; please report.

  He shed his outer cloak, tossing it haphazardly on the couch, as he approached the basement door, unlocking three padlocks.

  “Hello?” came the weak voice. “Can you help me?”

  “Hello, friend,” Braden said as he descended the stairs. “I’m back.”

  “Oh gods…” the voice groaned, beginning to weep bitterly.

  Braden came to his workshop, a sterile room lined with books and exotic metal instruments, lit by a few magical glass bulbs on the walls. At the center of the room was, for lack of a better term, a series of torture apparatuses: a heavy chair with restraints, an iron maiden, and, Braden’s new favorite toy, a ceiling-mounted suspension device.

  His latest experiment, a male attendant who had been caught stealing from the estate, was suspended horizontally – as if in mid-flight – by a thousand small hooks in his shoulders, back, arms, and legs. The attendant groaned as Braden approached him.

  The man convulsed as he wept silently.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon,” said Braden. He looked at the tome on the bookstand before him, open to the rite he was currently attempting: the {thirty days of malice}, a procedure for ritual torture designed to contact and bind the arch-demon Gil’Rameth. It was his third attempted rite from the Tome of Black Pacts, and the closest he’d ever come to success. He had followed the tome to the tee, all of the ritual ointments and incantations each timed perfectly with the relevant astrological influences.

  His uncle, Neroth, had seen Braden’s sadistic interests and had decided to encourage them, giving him the Black Pacts for his twenty-second birthday earlier that year. It had apparently been against the advice of the court Warlocks, who considered the tome so sadistic as to be impracticable.

  Braden didn’t have any class ranks in Warlock – not yet. But that was the great thing about the rites in the Tome of Black Pacts… they were considered a shortcut into the Warlock class, acting as a spellcasting initiation and fulfilling the prerequisite training necessary for entry. The arduousness, sadism, and expense associated with the Black Pacts kept most aspiring Warlocks from ever attempting them, and as far as Braden knew, no one in recent history had ever claimed success at one of the rites. But Braden had time, money, and more than a few captive subjects. And he had an appetite for torture.

  His uncle didn’t expect him to actually succeed in accessing the Warlock class on his own, but he found the tome interesting and knew that Braden would enjoy attempting some of the rites contained in it. Braden did enjoy it, but for him, this was more than recreation. He wanted to go down in history as one of the few non-spellcasters to ever bind an arch-demon with a black pact.

  “The rite should conclude in a few days,” Braden said, petting the man’s face.

  The man recoiled, causing the chains on which he was suspended to shiver as he attempted to spit.

  “But in the meantime, we’ve got to keep you hydrated.” He poured fresh water into the intravenous tube connected to the man’s arm.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” the man groaned.

  “Should’ve thought about the consequences before you stole all that duck meat from the kitchen, eh? But look at it this way, now that you’ve forfeited your life, it can be used for a glorious purpose…”

  Suddenly, a knock came from upstairs.

  “Wha–” the man began to cry out.

  Braden quickly grabbed a rag, fastening it around the man’s head and gagging him.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon,” he whispered.

  Braden headed upstairs, locking the basement door behind him.

  Another knock came from the front door.

  “Coming!” he called, turning around to see a face in the window.

  It was Brea, his uncle’s favorite attendant. One that Braden had had a crush on since he could remember, even though she was several years older than him.

  Braden cracked the door open, sticking his head out. Eventually, Brea or someone under Brea’s authority would be cleaning his cottage, but for now, he didn’t want her to see the mess. “What is it?”

  Brea bowed, looking at the ground. “I was told to report that your uncle will be taking you along on a job in Towermeade.”

  “You can look at me when you talk,” Braden said, chuckling.

  Brea looked up, making eye contact with him briefly. “It’s not… proper,” she said, looking back to the ground. “You should begin preparing for departure soon.”

  “Does my uncle not know that I am tied up with an important experiment? It’ll be a few more days before–”

  “I was told to stress that it isn’t optional,” Brea said.

  “Ugh,” Brade said. He thought about arguing, but one thing he had learned about his Uncle: when he demanded something, it was better to cooperate than not. Neroth wouldn’t consider Braden’s amateur attempts at botched rituals to be a valid excuse. There would be other thieving attendants to attempt the rite on in the future. He sighed heavily. “What a waste.”

  Brea remained motionless, staring at the ground before him.

  “Is that all?” Braden asked.

  “Yes my lord,” said Brea.

  “Alright, well, thank you for informing me.”

  She bowed and departed.

  Braden sighed again, slouching as he returned to his basement. He was deflated, yes… but he was also more than a little intrigued about this job in Towermeade.

  “Well, unfortunately, our rite has been cut short,” he said, walking over to the bench by the suspended man. He pulled out a vile of potent poison, shaking it.

  The man groaned, muffled by the gag.

  “But I thank you for being a cooperative test subject. You’ve given me a lot of good practice. So I’m going to reward you with a very quick death.”

  ***

  The next day, Andy rose a bit later than he intended. He had trained late into the night, wearing the suit of leather armor as he practiced his longsword form and his shortbow skills. The armor had required him to make some slight adjustments to his form, both for the longsword and the shortbow.

  For the longsword, he had to make several minor adjustments to his technique to achieve the same range of motion he’d had without the leather armor, being a little more forceful with his movements to ensure that the pauldrons didn’t restrict him, but after a couple of hours, he felt comfortable once again with the longsword forms.

  For the shortbow, he noticed a slight decrease in his dexterity, but, as with the longsword, after about an hour, he had become accustomed to the armor and it no longer interfered with his aim. At least not too much.

  His shortbow technique was good enough for passing off his next [martial weapons] skill rank, at least that’s what he had been led to believe by Gerran’s comments, but it was coming less naturally to him than the melee weapons had.

  He had fallen asleep the night before picturing the arc he needed to shoot to get a perfect bullseye on each archery target. He had dreamt about it. And now, waking up, he found himself still visualizing what it would feel like to hit perfect bullseyes each time.

  Now he arose, stretched out, and went out back for a piss. The sun was up much higher than he had expected. Typically, he had risen to morning mists and a sun barely breaking the eastern horizon. Now, it was already a quarter of the way up into the sky.

  He returned to the bunk and put on the leather armor piece by piece before heading to the picnic table for coffee.

  “You’re up late,” Gerran said with a grin. “There’s some cold coffee left for you, I suppose.”

  Andy poured himself a cup. Without any warmth, it was revoltingly bitter, but he drank it anyway.

  “Are you ready for your test?” Gerran said.

  “Yes,” said Andy, nodding. “I spent a while preparing for it last night.”

  “I noticed,” Gerran said. “That’s why I didn’t wake you two hours ago.”

  “I appreciate that,” Andy said, shocked that he had slept in so late.

  They ascended to the gym floor and Andy drew his longsword.

  “Longsword form,” Gerran said, getting right to business. “Begin.”

  Andy took a breath and brandished his sword. He executed his form with the adjustments he had made to accommodate the light armor. He made the movements confidently, working in harmony with his leather armor rather than fighting against it, achieving perfect form for each attack and block. He ended the form with a roll, leaping into the air and bringing his sword down as he knelt to the ground.

  “Excellent!” Gerran said. “Great form, especially since you only donned the light armor for the first time yesterday.”

  “Thank you,” Andy said, smiling and standing up, breathing heavily as he sheathed the longsword.

  They rehearsed the longsword drills, Gerran offering a few attacks which Andy blocked and vice versa. Nothing surprising. It all went smoothly, even in the armor.

  “Now, the archery,” Gerran said as they moved across the gym floor.

  Andy approached the edge of the gym with the targets stationed about fifty feet away.

  He was confident that he could pass the test by hitting at least the edge of each target. It hadn’t taken him too long to understand the basics of archery the night before. But he didn’t just want to pass… he wanted perfection. And he knew Gerran wanted perfection from him too.

  He picked up a shortbow and nocked an arrow, breathing in as he brought the arrow backward. He visualized what it felt like to overshoot the target, and instinctively adjusted the arc downward a tad.

  He closed his eyes and envisioned the arrow’s arc, just as he had replayed countless times in his imagination the night before.

  He released it into the air.

  The arrow buried itself in the target with a loud thud. Bullseye.

  Andy exhaled.

  “Astonishing,” Gerran said under his breath, but he showed no further emotion.

  It could have been a fluke. Andy didn’t let himself get excited. He couldn’t break his concentration. He still had two targets to hit.

  Andy nocked another arrow, visualizing the arc before releasing it, letting the bowstring snap forward and propel the projectile toward the target.

  Bullseye.

  Gerran remained silent.

  Andy nocked a final arrow, repeating his movements on the third target.

  … Bullseye.

  It was exactly what Andy had hoped for, three perfect bullseyes, back to back.

  “I suppose all that practice really did pay off,” Gerran said. “Well done.”

  Andy stood there, speechless at his own performance. “I suppose so,” he said, finally.

  *

  Level Up!

  Level 7

  Skill Rank Achieved!

  Martial Weapons 2

  *

  Patreon to read 20 chapters ahead!