As Torysen wrapped up the theatrics of the fight for the audience, Leornal dragged Mason away. “You don’t need to be talking to people about the fight,” was all the explanation he gave. Mason didn’t particularly care for chit-chatting with strangers, and his mind was wrapped up in the fight, so he acceded without much complaint.

Leornal dragged him into a small building without lighting, so Mason had to activate his mana sight and cast it about to see. He didn’t look directly at Leornal though- he was still too bright.

“That was a good fight,” Leornal admitted, glancing out through the door to make sure the crowd was dispersing.

Mason was shocked by the compliment, “Really? You thought so?”

Leornal grunted, “The first two were boring as hell, but you and Faynel make very theatric fighters when you’re given space to move. The half of the audience that don’t know one end of the sword from the other will likely spread very impressed tales. The other half will have written you off as an amateur.”

“Well, I mean, considering I am an amateur, I guess I can’t complain, right? Do you think Torysen was pleased?”

“I was,” Torysen said as she entered the room with a loud thud against the wooden door. Mason couldn’t look at her either. “You never fought half that well against me, but I suppose I had you bloodied and bruised before you got a chance most times.”

“I, well, yeah. Thanks, Torysen. I’ve been trying to get better. That’s why I wanted to join your band.”

Torysen took a deep breath, but she was relaxed for the moment, even though Mason couldn’t tell. “I have to admit, no matter how much abuse you take, you don’t seem easy to shake. Leornal told me about your night last night and I didn’t think you’d be able to stand up for the second round.”

Mason shot a glance at Leornal, and cringed when he remembered that he was a glowing bulb of painfully bright light at the moment. “Yeah, that was a mistake.”

“And yet you fought for an extra round,” Torysen assessed. Then she said in a strange, sad voice, “You remind me of him.”

“Of who?” Mason asked too quickly. “Right. Oh. Um.”

“Don’t dig yourself a grave yet, Mason,” Leornal chimed in unhelpfully.

“I won’t pretend to know anything about him so far, but I,” Mason hesitated and looked at his feet, “I would be glad to live in a way that makes it easier for you to forgive me.”

The room was silent, which in the darkness felt uncomfortable to Mason. He wished his mana sight was better so he knew what expressions were on Leornal and Torysen’s faces.

“Thank you.”

Then the door burst open once more and Mason was blinded yet again as he turned to see Faynel enter excitedly. “That was great, Mason!”

Torysen quietly slipped from the room, and Leornal also headed to the door. Mason switched off mana sight so he could look at Faynel directly in the dim room, “You fought really well, Faynel. You definitely deserved that victory. Your intensity during a fight is really a force to be reckoned with.”

“You flatter me. But I was thinking… the evening is still young. Would you like another round?”

Another round turned into several, and Leornal stuck around for the duration. Though he tried to play it off as if he were just making sure they didn’t harm one another, their eagerness to spar and the energy they put out despite Mason’s supposed fatigue was infectious. In no time Leornal was offering up suggestions for techniques and correcting shoddy footwork.

Soon after that, he was taking turns.

All said, Mason and Faynel fought each other four more times, and Leornal fought Mason once, and Faynel twice. By the time he fought Mason though, the boy’s limbs were trembling and his breath was ragged.

Leornal easily trounced him with a precision based offensive that kept Mason from ever deflecting a strike cleanly. His message was clear: if Mason insisted on fighting in his weakened state, he was going to be defeated summarily. Mason didn’t seem to mind though. Despite the aches and bruises that were forming a warm layer around his body, he smiled through every strike and every step.

He hadn’t been like this in Artorias’s city. He had been grim. Focused and driven, of course, but not exhilarated like he seemed now. Even when he was knocked on his ass and injured, he looked like he would gladly keep swinging his sword from the ground if the rules of the fight permitted it.

The old archer wanted to dismiss it as a trait of his youth, or perhaps a facet of his obvious crush on Faynel, but Mason’s eyes didn’t wander to the parts of the attractive girl that he would have expected. No, the human seemed focused on seeking out weak points, preparing counters. There was something there, some innate joy of fighting which Leornal really had only witnessed before in a few people.

Notably, Faynel had that joy too, just more specifically toward grace and maneuverability. She had been a runner and a dancer on Marra. The former the girl was quite open about, and the latter had been a slip from her mother. It was no wonder she mastered the footwork so quickly, and put up such an excellent fight even with her relatively low strength.

Leornal watched the two in their final match, and caught himself smiling at their enthusiasm. Mason hadn’t won once, and his movements were so weak and slow at this point that even though Faynel was similarly worn out, she could probably have slipped behind him and crushed him in an instant. But there he was, smiling.

This human was going to make a strange new addition to the band.

Mason groaned when he heard knocking. There was no such thing as sleep anymore. He was sore with his eyes open. Sore with his eyes closed. Sore when he laid down. Sore when he stood up. Sore as he turned the doorknob and a familiar face made him smile reflexively. Sore when he smiled, too, apparently.

“Tea?” Faynel asked, walking past the zombie-like figure whose bruised skin was beginning to make him resemble a Darkest Night more and more each day.

He just groaned, and she smiled quietly to herself as she set down a package of powder and began rummaging through his shelves to make tea. His eyes followed her as she moved, but he just leaned against the door, too tired to move.

“This is like your trademark or something, huh?” she asked as she started the fire in the corner of the room.

“What?”

“This whole, working yourself to the point of near-death thing. Every time Torysen wraps up the training for the day, you challenge me to spar. I beat you silly for a few hours, and then you come home and run yourself ragged trying to train up your runecraft,” she talked while moving around the room, not even bothering to look at him to confirm he was listening. “I told you before, I am not an amateur, I can see when someone is refining their mana.”

Mason grumbled and collapsed backwards on the couch. He could sleep in the bed in the other room, but it needed new bedding. Plus, he still couldn’t sleep if he was trying. Much easier to work himself into exhaustion and collapse right there.

“You’re the one that told me all about how you learned to use mana in the first place. Frankly, I’d say you were an idiot if you hadn’t managed to get results.”

He would probably have something to say to that, but moving hurt, and lying perfectly still hurt marginally less.

“What are you hoping to accomplish by destroying yourself like this?” She stood over him and he could see the focused look in her eyes. Always with that same look, as if everything mattered and everything was important.

He groaned, and she reached down and slapped one of his bruises. Cringing, he responded, “I’ve gotta get caught up.”

She rolled her eyes, “Give it a couple months, then.”

“You’ve got a whole lifetime of working with runes and a year’s worth of practice fighting in the The Trials,” Mason protested. “Torysen said I had to earn my place on the band, so I’m doing that.”

“So this is for Torysen, huh?” she asked doubtfully as she went to pour the hot water out of the pot on the fire.

Mason grumbled, “You know it’s more than that.”

“You’re right,” Faynel admitted with sudden cheer. “Because I’ve fought to get strong too. New Marra went through some shit when we arrived in The Trials. We didn’t get several months of practice with experienced fighters before we were under attack. So relax. How’s your status?”

Mason pulled his status screen up even though he’d looked at it often enough to almost know it by heart at this point.

Demon of the Darkest Night:

Amateur Magical Slayer

Level 4 (38 FP)

Health: 84/84 (2.7/hr)

Mana: 44/44 (3.3/hr)

Mana (Mardun): 44/44

Stamina: 95/95 (4.7/min)

Strength: 6 (0)

Agility: 7 (0)

Intelligence: 9 (+1)

Willpower: 9 (+2)

Vitality: 6 (0)

Endurance: 8 (+1)

Creativity: 7 (+1)

Active Skills: Focus (21), Mana Vampirism (10), Analyze (14), Life Drain (6), Recovery (19)

Passive Skills: Equip (8), Staff Specialization (21), Blade Specialization (21), Footwork (20)

Mana Arts: Mana Sight (21), Mana Manipulation (23), Mana Tolerance (30), Mana-Blade (7), Shadow Stalk (10), Glamour (14), Stamina Drain (5), Runecraft (8)

Spells: Indiscriminate Force (4)

Soul Arts: Soul Steal, Walker

There had been obvious improvements. But he’d seen similar improvements after a few close encounters, and nothing had crested the proficiency point even after how hard he had pushed himself the past few days. He pointed out the changes to Faynel and she congratulated him excitedly, but he just didn’t feel that impressed with himself.

None of his magic based skills were budging at all. He was forbidden from using spells while drilling and sparring, so that meant he could only practice when he got home in the evenings. Runecraft had budged a little, but hardly enough to matter, especially now that he realized that skill levels meant nothing unless they had crossed one of their thresholds.

And another issue was his footwork challenge. Even though that was what he drilled more often than not, the skill required a ridiculous amount of precision and practice to improve at all. But worse, the description for his challenge wasn’t just to improve his footwork, but to design his own steps, and he hadn’t the faintest idea where to begin with an endeavour like that.

Sore as he was, thinking about all of this just made him feel like he should get back to work. He moved to stand up but Faynel’s watchful eye knew exactly what he meant to do. She pushed him on the chest and knocked him right back down. “No.”

“Fay, don’t be ridiculous. I won’t do anything too difficult. I’m just going to go on a jog and then we can have breakfast before today’s drills.”

“And waste perfectly good tea?” Faynel asked as she held his mug above him.

Fearing that she’d pour it on him if he challenged her, he sighed. “I’ll cool down once I start winning at least a fight or two a day. I haven’t been able to beat anyone in the band yet. I’m pretty sure Clearsay could take me in a fight with a ladle.”

“No training today. You and I have the day off, captain’s orders. So I’m going to help you apply a salve to your wounds and then we’re going to have a relaxing day together.”

“Oh, a date, huh?” he asked as he slowly sat up.

“Push your luck and I’ll have Leornal come with us. Now drink your tea and shut up for a minute.”

Mason noticed that she didn’t throw anything at him for that, so he really couldn’t complain.

They drank their tea in silence. Faynel believed in thinking, especially when she was drinking tea, and that meant that sometimes she just wanted to stare into her mug and say absolutely nothing. It didn’t bother Mason, but it did intrigue him. As much time as they had spent together lately, he had no idea what she’d think about.

Would she be walking herself through combat maneuvers in her mind? Remembering life on Marra? He’d almost asked her a dozen times, but the time they spent silently together was the only time she didn’t look ready to shoot laser beams from her eyes, so he respected the simplicity of the moment. Without any doubt, the woman deserved her relaxation.

Finally, the long silence was over when Faynel began to sip out the dregs of her overturned tea mug. Mason asked, “You said something about a salve?”

Faynel blushed immediately, but he couldn’t understand why. She covered it up by explaining, “You never really talked terms with Torysen or the council, but working for a Roving Band does come with pay of sorts. That includes drills and training. But since you’re getting free room and board at the moment, most of that’s tied up.”

Mason waited for her to get to the point. It wasn’t really like her to meander. “So Leornal suggested that we cover the rest of your first payment by getting you a healing salve. Potions are great for bleeding wounds and such, but if you’re going to try and recover fully from training injuries and exertion, you need something a little more subtle.”

“Okay, free healing salve. That’s the package on the counter?” Mason asked, still unsure why she was blushing.

“Yeah, well with your level of injuries Leornal kindly reminded me that you would likely need help applying it to your entire body.” The blush deepened even as she began speaking faster. “Not that I obviously need to put it on your entire body. You can keep your pants on. I mean you’ll have to roll up the legs but…”

Mason was blushing too now as he realized where she was going with this. “Oh, god, okay. Salves are applied to skin.” Pointing to his bare chest he added, “You’ve seen me shirtless, Fay. And I mean, you’re not exactly gentle but you’ve hit just about every inch of my body by now. I think we can survive an awkward massage, right?”

She wasn’t even looking directly at him. Mason had the distinct feeling that Leornal had done more than just suggest this course of action. Had he forced her hand somehow?

“Look, Fay, if you’re too embarrassed, I can manage the salve on my own. I appreciate that you’re willing, but…” he chuckled.

Suddenly though, Fay’s eyes were right on his with their full intensity restored. “I’m not too embarrassed to do anything. Stand up.”

He gulped. What was with her today?

In a large bowl, Faynel mixed the powder with the rest of the warm water from the tea as Mason stood and rolled up the legs of his pants. His bruises were fairly serious at this point. He was a mottled patchwork of blues, purples, yellows, and greens from having been bruised and re-bruised without any time to heal. The salve was necessary. Faynel helping apply it seemed… forced.

But having been challenged, she took it seriously. She scooped a large glob of the warm paste from the bowl and began spreading it along his skin. It was the texture and thickness of mixed plaster, but the warmth from it soaked into his muscles and almost seemed to numb them a little. He wondered what the concoction was. Dried, powdered herbs of course, but was it mana-infused like a healing potion?

He used his improving mana sight to tell that it was. Then he realized he was being an idiot.

There was an attractive woman rubbing him down and he was wondering about the medicinal qualities of the salve. Granted, she was being fairly aggressive about it, and that took away a good measure of the intimate nature, but still.

What did Leornal have on her anyways? And was he doing this to cause trouble or because he actually was hoping to cause something between them? Maybe Leornal had actually thought making sure Mason’s body wasn’t worn to death was important. That had to be it. Fay was just sent to help because she was responsible for most of the injuries.

Mason watched her closely as she knelt in front of him and rubbed the salve onto his legs. He was honestly tired just standing there, but he’d stay standing for as long as Faynel kept doing what she was doing. He started to feel guilty for some of the other thoughts he was having.

But what really nagged at him was a sense of distrust. Something was going on here that he couldn’t quite identify. Despite the intimate motions, Faynel’s expression was determined and fixed in such a way that it began to feel like she was being forced to do this against her will. He wanted to ask her what it was, but… he had to trust her. There was no way she’d betray him.