Guardian's Farm 12

I was midway through my morning exercises when Sage lifted his head, ears perked toward the forest trail, but his face only showed frustration. Almost jealousy. “So, Eli is about to arrive,” I said. “He’s fast.”

Not that it surprised me. I could understand his excitement very well. I was the same back in the day. However, his imminent arrival wasn’t a good reason to stop exercising, so I continued to move through the first stance, which refused to click, and my eyes closed.

I only stopped when I heard the crunch of boots on dry leaves. I opened, only to see Eli already moving closer than the tree line, carrying a packed bundle under one arm and a linen-wrapped loaf of bread in the other.

Fresh enough to carry a heavenly smell. Sage whimpered in excitement as well, ready to launch forward. He was turning into quite the gourmet for human food. “Calm down, boy,” I said as I patted his head. I didn’t miss the hesitant glances he was throwing on Sage’s way, which I understood.

For a hunter, a lone wolf was a dangerous threat.

“I’m here as I promised, sir,” Eli declared, a bit breathless. His posture showed a mix of eagerness and unease, like he wasn’t quite sure if he should bow or salute.

“Morning,” I replied. “You can put everything there,” I said, pointing at a corner. He did so, and the moment he did, Sage approached the fresh bread. “You can smell, but no eating,” I warned Sage. He whimpered in protest. “Either wait for the breakfast proper, or I won’t make your favorite,” I warned.

That earned a frustrated glare, but he didn’t touch the bread, at this point well aware that I would follow my threats. Instead, he turned and dashed into the forest.

Eli looked hesitant after my interaction with Sage. On his face, I could see his desire to comment, but he decided to pass. Instead, he opened the bundle. “It’s all you asked, sir, the nails, the tools… and, well, some bread. It’s fresh.” He looked hesitant, then continued even faster. “I thought that, since you haven’t built an oven yet, you would appreciate it. But maybe —”

“Thank you,” I said, interrupting his panicked declaration that ruined his otherwise calm facade. Not that it surprised me. I could see the signs of insomnia, likely due to excitement. “And the material you bring will surely come in handy. Now, are you ready for your training?” I asked.

When I looked at his eyes, he straightened as if to prove his readiness. “Yes, master.”

“Good. Have you had breakfast?” I asked.

He nodded vigorously. “Yes, master,” he said. A lie, I caught on, wondering if he skipped it on excitement, or the cost of material had strained him that much.

Either way, it didn’t matter. I had an abundance of meat, which was what he needed for training. I just needed to find a way to not hurt his pride. “Not a big one, I hope,” I said, then paused. “I warned you about not having a big breakfast before, right? With a full stomach, you can’t move properly.”

“Yes, master,” he said.

I shook my head in amusement, but said nothing. The habit of lying to one’s trainer was a dangerous one, especially to look tough. The last thing I needed was for him to hide a strain or injury to look tough.

But, I also knew that, unfortunately, the first few days of the training were hardly the time to challenge that. He was young, excited, and desperate to prove himself. I just needed to be careful. “Show me what you got,” I said as I pointed at his spear.

He immediately raised his spear, making a stabbing move as he lunged. He was fast, reasonably strong … and most importantly, completely overextended. I suppressed my desire to play the tough drill sergeant by swiping his legs under him.

“Not bad, but be careful about overextending,” I said. “Every second is precious in a fight, and an overextended position is always deadly. Now, show me your stance.”

To his credit, he didn’t complain about the comment as he pulled back, which was a good first step. Many novices would act too confident in their knowledge, sometimes going so far as to argue.

However, my perspective might be distorted by the spoiled noble kids that I had to deal with for the last two years.

His legs parted shoulder length as he raised the spear, the general outline of the stance correct. Unfortunately, that was the only part that was correct. “Your knees are too stiff,” I said while I reached for a broken piece of wood from the ground, and then hit his spear. He maintained his grip, but it was a close thing. “Your grip is too tight as well. Your hold needs to be firm, but just enough slack to absorb the hit.”

“I don’t —” he started, but before he could finish, I hit the spear again, this time ripping it off his fingers.

“Grab it again,” I said.

“Yes, master,” he said, following my order without a complaint. I couldn’t fault his enthusiasm, but his lack of fundamentals was something else, his knuckles white around the shaft.

I hit again, once again ripping it from his fingers. “Again.”

He grabbed it again. This time, I didn’t hit his spear once again but walked around him. “Relax your knees,” I said. He tried, but a gentle push to his shoulder was enough to show his instability. “Slide your foot slightly for better balance,” I added.

“Yes, sir,” he said, doing his best to replicate the stance, but even as I displayed it, he was having trouble copying it, his gaze showing that he didn’t truly understand what I was asking.

“Better,” I said. The improvement wasn’t considerable, but he was paying attention, which was the best I could hope for from a random student. I circled around once more. “Loosen your grip, and be more careful about your elbows. Spear isn’t a club you swing wildly, it’s an extension of your arm. If your hands are clenched too tight, you’ll tire faster and lose precision.”

“Yes, master,” he repeated.

“Good, now the next training. Any guesses about what it’s going to be?”

Eli tried to relax, though I could sense his anticipation. “Blocking drills? Proper stabbing techniques?”

“No, footwork,” I said. His disappointment was obvious. “Stance and movement are the basis of any combat,” I started, feeling frustrated that I didn’t have another student who could spar with him to drive the lesson home.

I would have sparred with him myself … but I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t kill him by accident. It was too risky to test.

“How so, master?” he asked, which was a credit to him. The noble kids that I tried to teach at the capital would have started complaining about learning boring stuff like “footwork”. As for training the ordinary citizens, I tried to teach them once. Before I learned the nobles took it personally, targeting them until they were forced out of the capital. To this day, I still have no idea which noble took exception to their presence.

Like I didn’t have enough reasons to abandon that cesspool.

“Think of your body as a tree. Your legs are your roots,” I said as I took a standard defensive stance, and raised my hand. “Do your best to push me.” He looked hesitant, but under my gaze, he did so hesitantly. “Harder,” I ordered. He did, but even putting his full strength behind him, he wasn’t able to move me in the slightest. “As long as you shift your center of weight, you can exert your full strength.”

He looked confused. “Isn’t it the job of internal energy?”

“Yes and no,” I replied. “Yes, internal energy can elevate your potential, but that doesn’t mean your balance is useless. The more perfect your technique, the more effective your technique will be. It’s like the difference between a sharp axe and a dull one.”

“Yes, master,” he said, convinced, though whether that lesson would stick or not would be determined in the future.

A long, yet monotonous training followed where we did nothing but step back and forth as I did my best to remove the worst of his habits. “Enough,” I called, but only when his legs started to tremble. Moving back and forth without looking at one's knees was surprisingly exhausting. “It’s time for breakfast.”

“I can go on, master,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for that,” I said. “Come on.”

“I … I didn’t bring any breakfast,” he replied, ashamed. “I thought you would only teach for an hour, just like the other trainers at the town.”

“Doesn’t matter, I cooked enough for the three of us,” I said.

“Three of us?” he asked, only to look at the trees with surprise as Sage appeared as if summoned with magic, though, knowing Sage, it was possible. Since he made a home here, he hadn’t missed even one meal, always appearing like he was summoned.

I chuckled, moving to the open fire, and dug out the clay pot I had buried overnight to cook slowly. “I hope you like venison,” I said.

“W-we will eat meat?” he said, looking scandalized. “But …”

I could understand his concerns. While the border region meant that hunting was not forbidden — which was the case for forests near the capital, monopolized by nobles — it didn’t mean it was common. Bringing down anything larger than a hare required both skill and proper arrows.

“You will be doing me a favor. Sage took it down, and I’m struggling to finish it. And, I’m too tired to carry a whole carcass to the town to sell. Either eat, or it’ll spoil,” I said, trying to assuage his pride. I knew his perspective too well, tempted to refuse anything he didn’t earn by his own power. Luckily, he didn’t know some of the herbs I mixed would be sold for several silver coins at a minimum, perfect for boosting internal power.

“I don’t —”

“Sit down,” I ordered, my tone sharp, and before he could realize it, he was already sitting. “Good, you’ll need the energy.”