Volume 1: Arc 1: Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I hope you like this chapter! Please let me know what you think below.

8 R.E.-11 R.E.

Rajac spent the next few days immersed in the book as he avidly read the contents. Disappointingly, however, the book was rather vague on the exact details of the style and only outlined the basics.

From his understanding, Rajac sensed the Ventric Sword Style was a defensive style that required extreme dexterity and marvelous footwork to be a master at. Due to the lack of an Identity Merchant, he still had no idea what his skills were or how to increase them quickly within this world. Therefore, he had to manually discover the proper way to train in the style, almost an impossible task.

He considered using his military training as a basis to formulate a training regime; however, after careful analysis, put the idea aside. While it would benefit him in the long run, the training regime he was familiar with would increase his strength and stamina not his footwork and dexterity.

After a week of muddled thought, he set the book aside on his shelf. It would do him no good at the movement. If his race remembered their past, he would not have this problem. They, undoubtedly, would have the skill and knowledge to train him in their own style.

For the millionth time, he raged at himself for choosing this race. Only 5 members. What was he thinking! In truth, he had become somewhat nervous over the past few years about the limited number of people within his race.

As he could only belong to the Ventros race, if Rajac died and the Ventros died off, what would happen to Rajac? The problem had intermittently arisen as he understood the apparent weakness of his race within the world.

Outside the valley, monstrous creatures and barbarous races roamed, claiming small chunks of territory for their own, all-the-while having small-scale battles which turned the forests red with blood.

From what his father said, the only reason the Ventros were passably safe within the valley, was due to the extreme height and near unscalability, without knowing the correct paths, of Creva Mountain on which they resided.

While his father seemed content with the situation, Rajac certainly was not. At any time, a lucky raiding party could stumble upon their small residence and butcher his whole family.

He needed to secure his family’s future, his future, and perhaps his entire race’s future. To do that, he needed to learn how to fight in this bloody style. His former training would be no use to him here as it relied upon advanced weaponry not found in this archetypal era.

Without any better direction to head, he began to train using his old military regime even though it was not suited to the Ventros sword style. A morning run, followed by crunches, and after his chores, Rajac began strengthening exercises including pushups, pull-ups, squats, and curls.

The months passed quickly. One month after Rajac began his training, his cousin, Dadaras, was born. Three months after that, his grandfather fell ill. Yorin Rashak was a lively man. Always the first to rise in the morning and the latest to bed. Energy exuded from him in leaps-and-bounds; however, after he fell ill, he spent an ever increasing amount of time within his rooms, too sick or too tired to rise.

Even with little Dadras’ birth, the mood within the valley had dampened considerably that year. The farming was done with apathetic demeanors, the animals fed with listless behavior, and Dadras heartily ignored by all except his parents.

The years passed in this way. His mother and father kept to themselves while his aunt and uncle did the same. It seemed as if the only thing holding the family together anymore was his grandfather. Ironic perhaps, the relationship Rajac had with his extended family was much like the one he had with his ex-wife. Carolyne was the branch between them and when she left the house, their marriage disintegrated faster than the changing seasons.

It felt as if there was a force attempting to ground his race into the dust. One month, little baby Dadras was born. His family had never been closer during that singular time; however, almost instantly, that bond was destroyed. Much like the scattering of leaves, his family separated, rarely speaking or interacting in any notable way. Rajac feared that when Yorin died, his race would cease along with his family. His mother and father whispered about it when they thought he was asleep. They earnestly believed his aunt and uncle would take Dadaras and move away to a safer location in one of the larger kingdoms like Azor or Gerosh and farm there.

To Rajac, that was as good as destroying the last vestiges of his future. If they moved away, anything could happen to them. From the few travelers who passed through the valley, Rajac learned that war had come to the lands to the south recently and would not abate for some time. It was entirely possible they could become involved in the war in some tangential way and perish because of it.

It only made Rajac train even harder. To protect his future, he needed to become strong. Over the next few years, Rajac’s stamina increased dramatically. While he had begun by running only two miles a day, by the second year of his training, he had increased the distance to four miles. His strength, however, lagged behind his stamina. He knew, from the characteristics sheet he read in Mrs. Edwards’ office that Ventros grow stronger only one-fourth as fast as the average race on Thantos. To offset the discrepancy, Rajac began to climb the rocky hillside after his run each morning. While not particularly steep, he had found, in the past, that climbing used a wide variety of muscles in the body, making for an excellent exercise. During his third year training, he increased in strength dramatically. Muscles formed in his arms and his hands grip-strength increased ten-fold.

By the age of nine, Rajac was already well over 5 feet tall and had a refined, almost sculpted look. He no longer complained about the chores he had to complete each day. They were trivialities to his other tasks each day. What was milking the cows compared to five-hundred crunches?

One misty morning after his morning workout, Rajac found himself sitting in a damp patch of grass, leaning against the wall of the chicken coop, casually flipping through his book. It had become something of a ritual for him as he found very few insights into the style as he mechanically read each page and memorized each picture.

He had attempted to practice the forms, of course. But it was useless. The footwork was so complicated for even the simplest maneuvers. The first form, the Cadence of Jin, was supposedly the simplest form; however, even with the outlay of the twenty-eight movements, Rajac was never able to complete more than the first eight in a row before stumbling or swinging the tree-branch, he used in place of a sword, incorrectly.

The crunching of grass made Rajac perk his head up from the book. “Rajac? Is that you?” Yorin, his grandfather asked. He was stooped in the shoulders, a twisted and worn cane gripped in a thin and wispy hand. Rajac blinked in surprise as he saw the old man, hurriedly putting the book down on a dry piece of dirt. “Grandfather,” Rajac said respectively. “What are you doing up?”

It had been a long time since Rajac had seen his grandfather emerge from his rooms any earlier than the noonday meal. “Haha.” Yorin chuckled as he bent down to peer at Rajac, his long supple horns barely skimmed over the grass as he did so. “Your grandfather is feeling the need for a walk this morning. Time to stretch out these aching muscles.”

There were hardly any muscles left on the Yorin’s old frame. In the past few years, Yorin’s robust girth had become an emaciated wasteland eaten by the disease that consumed him. “Grandfather, may I accompany you?” Rajac asked. He had been close to his grandfather ever since he could talk. While his mother and father were agitated about his Client status, his grandfather took it in stride. Furthermore, his grandfather knew much more of the world than both his father and mother, thus, Rajac could talk to him about interesting topics rather than farming every day.

“Of course!” Yorin said with a tooth grin. “Why do you think I went out to find you?”

Rajac rose, collected his book, and with a laugh followed his grandfather through the damp grass.

For a time, they spoke of trivialities that family often do. The coming of summer. The chores that needed to be completed before then. How Dadras was doing. How his grandfather’s health was doing.

But after a time, they fell silent as they had worn through the common topics. “Rajac,” his grandfather said while they stood under a ripening orange tree, “I see you still carry that book around everywhere.” Rajac, never feeling the need to defend himself with his grandfather said honestly, “I wish to protect our race grandfather. With this book, I believe it will be possible to do so.”

“Such brevity.” Yorin said as he plucked off an orange from the tree. A cascade of raindrops sprayed them with cool water. A refreshing treat after their long walk. “You would have fit in well with the Ventros of old. They told the honest truth and defended it with the sword.”

Rajac doubted he would have fit in but he did not say so to his grandfather. After all, too much honesty could be a curse to all who heard it. “Grandfather, you are too kind.” “Rajac.” His grandfather paused as he peeled the orange with one shaking hand. “Our people were not meant to be farmers no matter what your parents say.” “They are content in their position.” Rajac knew he had no chance to convince them otherwise.

Yorin sighed. “As you say, but you are different. You have the spark that made our race what it once was. I don’t know if you received that spark in your past life or from our ancestors, but it is in you like it once was in me.”

“Grandfather,” Rajac said in surprise, “You wanted to be a warrior?” “Aye.” Yorin said as he greedily chomped down on the whole orange as juice squirted from his hand in all directions. “But that was long in the past. I never had any talent with it nor the patience and endurance I’ve seen you display. When my father still lived, I had the same idea as you. If I trained hard enough, then I could master the forms in the blasted book, finally becoming a Ventros warrior of old, making our race rise once again. But it was not to be. I had little talent to begin with and when my results were lacking, I gave up on the idea all together. Soon after though, your grandmother and I were married, uniting the last two clans of Ventros within the valley.”

“Grandfather,” Rajac said respectfully, “I have had difficulties with the training as well. My dexterity and footwork have paled in comparison to the gains I have made in strength and stamina. It is my bad luck I have trouble in the two areas in which the Ventros sword forms require mastery.”

“Ha. And you think you lack understanding.” Yorin said, taking another bite of his orange. “I did not even understand that much. But dexterity and footwork are not too difficult to train, I think.” His grandfather said with a ponderous expression.

“You think?” Rajac said as excitement began to course through him. Would his grandfather give him the way to break the block he had struggled with for years? “Naturally. Practice.” His grandfather let out a belly-laugh and Rajac groaned inwardly. He knew it would have been too easy otherwise.

“Grandfather, that was too cruel.” Rajac said, somewhat annoyed. “I know, dear boy. But the look on your face, I just had to. You understand.” His grandfather laughed once again. Rajac took an orange down from the tree, carefully plucking one that showed no hint of green.

“Grandfather, do you think there are any other Ventros out there, somewhere?” Rajac asked absently as he peeled his orange. He always hoped there were, no matter what the characteristics sheet said. “It’s entirely possible.” His grandfather shrugged. “I don’t know. My grandfather was the last of the open Ventros on the continent. He was the one to come the valley with his three sons and their wives. However, whatever happened to the rest of the Ventros, I don’t know. At that time, many died due to assassinations and the various wars raging across the continent. Only the small remnants of our Rahsak clan came here.”

So there is hope, Rajac thought, his unease receding somewhat. If all the Ventros were dead with certainty, that would be one thing, but there was hope. A slim hope to be sure, but a hope all the same. When he became stronger, he would have to go look for them, even if it took his whole life. He had no choice. All his other lives mattered on the result.

“Ahhh.” Yorin stretched and yawned widely. “I think your grandfather needs to go lay down once again. Come Rajac. Let us head back to the farm.” Rajac silently followed his grandfather, his head lost in thought.

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