I enter Zaenith's shop, still a little shaken. But I shrug it off before she notices, untying the sack from my belt.

  Zaenith looks up from the counter, her piercing eyes locking onto me. "You've returned. I didn’t expect you to finish the task in just one day." Her tone is even, but her gaze is appraising. Is she impressed? I can’t tell.

  "Spotting valuables is one of my better skills," I reply, placing the sack of herbs on the counter. Before I can pull my hand back, Zaenith grabs my arm, causing me to wince in pain.

  "You’re injured," she states, her voice firm as her eyes examine my bandaged arm.

  "I was-"

  "Attacked by brigands. I know," she cuts in, her tone flat. She tests the bandages with careful fingers, and after a moment, seems satisfied, letting my arm go.

  "Did the guardsmen tell you too?" I ask. Zaenith shakes her head, sifting through the sack of herbs I handed over. "No, Father Alric," she replies.

  "Killing two cutthroats alone.... not bad," she continues, "for one who abandoned his training."

  I don't reply immediately, still unsure of how I feel about the subject, "There were three, one got away."

  Zaenith nods slowly, her expression turning contemplative. "Hmm... I suppose I bear some responsibility for sending you out there," she says, though her voice carries no hint of regret.

  "Have you ever been attacked on the journey?" I ask, curious. Zaenith shakes her head. "No. But the brigands have only recently become a serious problem. A few moons past, their kind were a rarity here."

  She stops rummaging through the sack for a moment, deep in thought, her expression hardening. "The world has become a more dangerous place of late. Not just brigands either... vermin crawl out of the shadows everywhere," Her voice trails off, and my mind thinks back to that spider.

  "More than brigands? What do you mean? Wolves? Bears? Or... something else?" Her lips press into a thin line as she resumes inspecting the sack of herbs.

  "...Just stick to the road."

  After another minute, Zaenith finishes inspecting the herbs and nods with satisfaction. "You've done well, the herbs are as requested." Zaenith reaches under the counter before placing a neat stack of copper coins on top of it. "Your payment, as promised." I eagerly take them, funneling the coins into my purse.

  "Tell me Seven...." Zaenith pauses, her gaze sharpening as if weighing my worth. "You said you wanted to learn my trade. But you understand what that requires, don't you?"

  I don't reply immediately. She's lying. Teaching me alchemy has nothing to do with what she's talking about. There are plenty of ordinary alchemists in this world.

  "Answer me boy, are you finally ready to rise above mediocrity and complete your training?" Her fist slams the counter, her powerful arm landing with so much force it nearly splinters the wood.

  "I'll consider it...." I say vaguely, my tone noncommittal. She snorts derisively, unimpressed. "Still weak. Just as I thought. You are not worthy of the secrets I hold,"

  I step closer to the counter, glaring. "Keep your secrets, old woman. I came for training in alchemy, nothing more."

  Her contempt is palpable as she responds. "My promise was to teach you my trade, not mere alchemy. You don’t get to pick and choose."

  She leans forward over the counter. "And why would you want to? Look at yourself, wounded, beaten, unable to handle even a handful of pitiful brigands. A simple task of picking herbs has already tested your limits." She extends her scarred hand, a silent challenge in her motion. "Forget the past, Seven. Complete your training. Become the man you were meant to be. My true son."

  I don't move, I don't take her hand... the idea of swallowing those potions down again, feeling them burn my insides and tear apart my body....

  And then... there’s what they’ll take from me. What I’ve already lost to them.

  Rose’s passion may have softened my hatred for the craft, but accepting Zaenith’s full training....?

  Zaenith lowers her hand with a sigh. "Very well. Consider it if you must. But I will at the least, teach you how to use your new weapon." She gestures towards the club hanging at my belt. "In case what happened yesterday happens again.”

  Slowly I nod, recalling my earlier encounter with Brother Two. "Alright. Fine."

  "Good. You have some sense at least. I'd hate for my secrets to be handed down to yet another witless fool." Her hand moves almost unconsciously to a ring on her finger, gold and intricately carved with an array of symbols. A large red gem sits at its center. It looks like it’s worth a fortune, and yet there’s something more to it... something almost alive in the way it seems to pulse faintly. I find myself unable to look away.

  "Come. There is no sense in waiting."

  I blink, the ring disappearing from my sight. I look up, Zaenith has already turned away.

  Without waiting for my response, she strides away from the counter and vanishes through the door behind her. Combat training... it’s been a while. I remember the brutal beatings, the shattered bones, and the process of forcing them to mend before the next punishing lesson. I grit my teeth and clench my fist, shaking off the memories. I'm a man now, there's nothing to fear.

  Zaenith's back is still broad as it ever was, powerfully muscled, I follow her through the back door and down into what I assume is her cellar. The air is cool and damp, crates and shelves line the walls, filled with more potion bottles and a large number of empty flasks.

  She begins pushing aside several crates, clearing the stone floor until there’s a wide, open space. "The club is a simple weapon, but it’s effective. It’s a good tool for you to learn."

  I look at the wooden weapon at my belt. "If you had not fled," she grunts, shoving another heavy cask aside, "You'd have already mastered it and several other weapons." She pauses for a moment, as if debating how much to say. "But for now....." Zaenith stops, glancing around the now-cleared space before continuing, "It is a good place to resume your training."

  She picks up a warped wooden stick, inspecting it for a moment before giving it a quick swing through the air. "Alright, take out your club," she says, her tone commanding. I lift the weapon from my belt, gripping it firmly.

  Zaenith nods her head. "Good, you need a strong grip. You'll feel the impact with a weapon like this, if you're not careful it'll fly out of your hand." She steps in, adjusts my grip only just slightly, and nods. "There. Your stance is fine. You remember that at least."

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  Zaenith steps back and raises her stick. "Watch. Blunt weapons are different to your knife. They aren’t about finesse. They’re about power and precision." She swings at an imaginary target, striking low and fast. "You aim for the soft spots. Knees, wrists, the head. Places that can't absorb much force."

  I attempt to mimic her strike. There’s nothing complicated about it. Her stance, the way she moves her body, my eyes have taken it all in. It’s not unlike how she trained me to use a knife. I step forward and swing, my weapon arcing through the air with a sharp, satisfying sound. Zaenith raises an eyebrow, a flicker of approval crossing her face before she nods.

  “Good. But use more of your body. Fortify your arms with your core,” she says, her voice commanding.

  I reset, step forward, and swing again, this time with even more force. The impact of the club against nothing sends a tremor through my arms, and Zaenith's nods, watching me.

  "You've used this weapon before.." She says so, matter of factly.

  I lower the club, turning to face her. "No. I just copied what you did," I admit, demonstrating the strike again, in all its simplicity.

  Zaenith studies me for a moment, skeptical. "You want me to underestimate you."

  I shrug, shifting my weight onto the club in my hand. "It’s the truth."

  Her eyes narrow, boring into mine with unsettling intensity. "Have you killed a man before the two last night?"

  I hesitate, before finally answering, "Just one."

  She nods slowly, though what it is I see in her eyes, I can't tell. Approval maybe? Or suspicion? I truly can't tell.

  "The life of a looter. I understand."

  She takes a step back, raising her makeshift weapon. "But I’ll need to see for myself.... what you’re really made of." Her eyes flick to my club.

  "Raise your weapon. Let us fight."

  Fight.... Zaenith?

  I stare at her, unsure. The idea of fighting this monster of a woman has been unthinkable, ever since I was a child.

  She’s never shown me the true limits of her strength, but even of what little I’ve seen...

  “Gnngh-“

  But her sudden attack leaves me no room for hesitation. The broken chair leg swings towards me. I step back on instinct and retaliate with my club, but she bats it aside with ease. "Is that all, boy? Surely you have more aggression in you than that." Her movements are controlled and refined, forcing me to back away and circle her, staying out of her range.

  She’s not as fast as I remember... has she gotten old? Or am I just better?

  No... more likely, she’s just testing me.

  "Come now. After all these years, this is your chance. Strike me. I'm sure you've been wanting to," she taunts.

  I ignore her, maintaining my distance. It’s a practice match; I should attack and let her show me my flaws.

  But no... I want to win.

  I step closer, both my hands gripping the club and swinging it above my head, ready to deliver a huge blow. My face contorts in anger as I glare at my target, two decades of resentment aimed at the mother I abandoned.

  Zaenith falters slightly at the expression on my face but quickly regains her composure, shifting her stance to sidestep the incoming strike.

  Got her-

  But instead of completing my swing, I swing my leg low, catching her off guard. My enraged face melts into a satisfied smirk as my long leg sweeps both of hers out from under her.

  The large woman falls, shocked, but with an agility that defies her size and age, she lands on a single hand, using the momentum to flip back onto her feet. I blink, momentarily stunned.

  "What the fuck...." I murmur, unable to finish the thought as she straightens, taking the same position as before. "Not bad, boy. You remember. Guile is a tool that can be used together with any weapon. But it will take more than just that."

  "....Fine. You old bitch. Let's see those brittle joints try that again." I act aggressively, but not without thought. She responds in much the same way.

  Our wooden weapons clash several times. Mine is longer, thicker, stronger. On the other hand, she’s clearly better with hers, moving with an ease that speaks to years of practice.

  Her strikes are purposeful, exploiting my defensive gaps, and her positioning keeps me constantly on the back foot. Blunt weapons demand a different kind of skill compared to swords or knives. The focus shifts from finesse and speed to power, leverage, and control. Every swing is a calculated effort to exploit the weaknesses of the human body.

  I swing wide, my grip tightening as the club arcs toward her, but she capitalizes on the opening. Her chair leg crashes into my stomach with a heavy thud, knocking the wind out of me. I stagger back, gasping, but force myself to lunge forward, aiming a downward strike at her shoulder. Zaenith ducks smoothly, stepping into my swing and retaliating with a hard blow to my thigh. Pain shoots up my leg, nearly buckling me, it takes all I have to stagger away, clutching the tender meat.

  Like always, she is brutal, both attacks landing with enough force to break bone if aimed at a weaker spot. And even as they are, they leave me grimacing in pain.

  "You old fucking...." I wheeze out. Zaenith shrugs, stretching her shoulders.

  It's clear where this fight is going. She intentionally chose to strike parts of my body that could endure it. She's fucking with me. I don't have a chance, yesterdays injuries are already starting to reopen.

  Even so, I focus up. I'm not ready to give in just yet.

  I recall what she told me: forget finesse, this isn’t a weapon for elegant strikes. And precision can come later, once I’ve mastered the basics. For now, power is what I have, and it’s what this weapon excels at.

  I take a step back, steadying my breathing as I recover from her brutal onslaught. Zaenith advances quickly, giving no time to regroup. She’s testing me, forcing me into a corner. I keep retreating, until my back presses against the cool, unyielding wall.

  With nowhere left to run, Zaenith closes in, raising her makeshift weapon for the finishing blow. Her movement is deliberate, her posture steady.

  But I'm not looking at any of that.

  My eyes lock on her weapon and her weapon only, focusing every ounce of my will on that blurred chunk of wood.

  "HrrrrrgHHH!!" With a roar, I swing to meet her strike, channeling all my strength into the arc of my club.

  Wood splinters under the force, her inferior weapon obliterated in a single, decisive blow.

  For a moment, silence hangs in the air, broken only by Zaenith’s muttered, "Hmph." I lower my club, pointing it at her as she stands, weaponless, frowning at the broken stump in her hand.

  "I win, old woman."

  Zaenith looks up, dropping the useless wood. "Don't be a fool boy, I could crush you with a single hand."

  She picks up another chair leg, testing its weight. "But, it appears that you haven't forgotten what I taught you. Pitiful though your skills are, your mind retains its edge. Perhaps you do have the aptitude of your brothers.

  Turning back to me, she raises her new weapon. "But that alone is not enough. It is time, to craft your body into the weapon it was always meant to be."

  For the next few hours she drills into me strategy, awareness, conserving energy. It's little more than a brief overview of each topic, but still, it feels overwhelming. The physical strain is grueling, my arms feel like heavy weights. Actually... my whole body hurts.

  Mentally, it sickens me knowing that I'm giving her what she wants. Though it's just one aspect of the training she once demanded of me, I can see the glee in her eye as she watches me swing this club. The smirk on her face as she watches how quickly I progress.

  Even so, I continue. She's right, I need to be stronger if I'm going to venture outside of town again. And strength is something that Zaenith is more than happy to impart.

  "That's enough. You learn well, as expected of one of my blood," Zaenith remarks, a note of pride in her voice. "Perhaps it is not too late for you." Without waiting for a response, she tosses a small bottle containing a bright red liquid towards me. "Here, it will repair your body."

  "No, thank you." She rolls her eyes. "Take it, boy. I won't ask you to drink it in front of me, but take the bottle."

  I look at it for a long moment. It's probably worth a good bit of coin, and if she doesn't demand I drink it now...

  "Fine." I put it in the bag on my belt.

  "Good. You've done well today, Seven. Take some time to rest, spend some of that coin." Zaenith points towards the door. "Tomorrow, we begin again."

  Results

  + 1 Strength

  + 1 Health

  + 2 Skill

  + 20 Copper

  + 1 Small Healing Potion

  Stats