Path of Dragons

Book 7: Chapter 65: Weighty Decisions

Book 7: Chapter 65: Weighty Decisions

The muffled clash of wrapped swords echoed across the training grounds as Miguel and Colt struggled for supremacy. For Miguel’s part, he had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t there to win. Not primarily, at least. The training session was instead intended to help him work on some nagging bad habits. However, his every instinct screamed at him to finish his mentor off.

Because he could have.

Colt was still higher leveled, but so close to the grove, Miguel’s attributes were similar. And despite the Samurai’s obvious dedication to swordsmanship, he’d long since reached a plateau. He had begun to stagnate – at least in terms of his technique. Meanwhile, Miguel’s training with Birk had unlocked his mind to an entirely new way to look at combat.

The simple fact was that Colt was an old dog trying to learn new tricks. He’d spent decades practicing his swordsmanship even before the world’s transformation, and he struggled to incorporate his increased attributes into his fighting style. Miguel didn’t have that problem, as his own technique wasn’t as firmly etched into muscle memory. As a result, he had no issues adjusting to his growing attributes, which gave him a small but distinct advantage against his first mentor.

He didn’t press that advantage, though. Instead, he had resolved to use the training session to shore up some of his most glaring weaknesses. Colt was the best swordsman in town, so he was the only real choice as a training partner. Soon, though, Miguel would need to range further afield if he wanted to continue to improve.

But that was true on other levels, as well. He hadn’t gained any appreciable experience in weeks, and as such, he was beginning to grow a little uncomfortable with his complacency. Sure, he’d made strides with his cultivation, but he hadn’t quite pushed himself to the point where he could take the next steps in any of the aspects. He was closest on his Body, though, which according to Nerthus, wasn’t unsurprising for someone with a martial class.

In fact, once they reached a certain point, many fighters chose to forego certain aspects of cultivation, focusing entirely on their physical capabilities. Largely, this was because cultivating the Body came far more naturally to them, but it was also because it offered the largest increases in their capabilities. When Miguel had asked if that was a mistake, Nerthus had declined to answer, saying that a person’s path through cultivation was something they needed to determine on their own.

It was personal, and outside influences tended to foul all but the first steps along the path.

Regardless, Miguel had his uncle as an example, and he knew that Elijah had spent just as much time working on his Mind and Soul as he did on his Core and Body. Miguel had resolved to emulate that strategy, even if it turned out to be a more difficult path. If that was the case, he would just work harder.

He channeled that same attitude into his training, forcing himself to focus on tiny details that most swordsmen would ignore entirely. As he did, he sank into something of a trance where he automatically guided ethera through his body. It wasn’t efficient. At the first stage of Soul cultivation, he lacked channels through which ethera was meant to travel. But his muscles drank what ethera they were given, pushing him closer to the peak of the Wood Body. It would take more than that to tip him over the edge, though. An influx of ethera and a much more rigorous training session.

Still, sweat poured down his bare torso as he dedicated every ounce of his concentration to the task at hand.

Finally, after some indeterminate amount of time, Colt danced backward, saying, “Enough. I can’t keep up with you anymore.”

Miguel blinked. The sun had already begun to dip below the horizon, meaning they’d been at it for hours without break. His muscles screamed in protest as the trance faded, and exhaustion settled onto his shoulders. In the moment, none of that had mattered, but now that combat had ended, he felt the full weight of the consequences of the day’s training.

His shoulders sagged, and he took a deep breath. Just as he was about to speak, Colt said, “You’re gettin’ much better.”

He forced a tired grin as he said, “I’ve had a good teacher.”

“That Birk fella musta been somethin’ else.”

“I was talking about you, old man.”

“I ain’t that old,” Colt insisted, though his graying hair and beard said something else entirely. Miguel wasn’t sure how old the Samurai actually was, but he suspected the man was at least in his sixties. And he’d lived a hard life. Miguel was ignorant of the details, but he knew enough to recognize the consequences of a host of bad choices. Hopefully, cultivation, levels, and attributes would help with that, though he suspected that much of the damage had already been done. The results of age and hard living couldn’t be reversed – not entirely, at least.

“Sure,” Miguel said, following Colt to the edge of the training grounds where a couple of barrels of fresh water awaited. He dipped a ladle into the one meant for drinking, then sated his thirst. Letting out a sigh of relief, he passed the ladle to Colt, who repeated the action. In the meantime, Miguel cupped his hands, dipped them into the other barrel, and splashed the water against his face.

As a result, Hope was incredibly vulnerable, and more than just about anything else, Miguel wanted to protect her.

“Then get stronger. The only thing holdin’ you back is you. You know where the enemy is. Go get ‘em.”

Miguel frowned. He knew Colt was right. The dark elves were still out there, and his efforts could go a long way toward hampering their progress. He’d already proven that he could kill them in droves. He was the obvious candidate to venture out into the wilderness and take the fight to them.

Yet, he hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” Colt asked. “It’s the girl, ain’t it?”

“What? How do you –”

Colt chuckled. “I ain’t blind, kid. None of us are. I ain’t so old that I don’t remember what it was like,” he said. Then, with a slight sigh, he continued, “Young love is a powerful thing. But you want some advice I wish someone had given me when I wasn’t much older’n you?”

Miguel nodded.

“Talk to her. Tell her what’s goin’ on. Give her the opportunity to tell you what she thinks. I don’t know much about relationships. I’ve screwed up every one I’ve ever had. But I know a thing or two about a thing or two. And one of those things is that people want the chance to offer input. Maybe you take it into account and maybe you don’t. That ain’t the point,” Colt explained. “So, go tell your girl what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, and listen to what she’s got to say about it. Trust me.”

For a couple of minutes, Miguel remained silent. To distract himself from his thoughts, he glanced to the other side of the training ground, where a bunch of children were playing with practice swords and other weapons.

No – they weren’t playing. They were trying to mimic his training. He even recognized many of them from his practice sessions in Druid’s Park. Specifically, there was a tiny gnome girl who fought like a berserker, battering anyone who stood against her into submission. The contrast between her size and the beatings she dished out would have been comical if not for the fact that she actually displayed decent technique. A long way from good, but a considerable distance from bad as well.

“Trainees?” asked Miguel, nodding in their direction.

“S’posed to be. They’re enthusiastic, at least. Most of ‘em idolize you, by the way. Wouldn’t be surprised if a few end up makin’ a pilgrimage to the island. Might want to warn Nerthus ‘bout that.”

Miguel resolved to do just that.

But more, he decided to heed Colt’s advice and talk to Hope about what was on his mind. Maybe she could help point him in the right direction.

“Thanks,” he said. “For the advice and the training.”

“No need to thank me, kid. I’ll always be here for ya. Now go on and git yourself to that girl. I imagine she’s waitin’ on you.”

Miguel grinned in spite of his nerves, slipped his shirt back on, then went in search of Hope.