Chapter Two

Pictura

Fatumoyira Shapak learned how to read symbols by the age of three. By the age of four, he had already read his first book, “Saberacats,” by Egir Pontika. He hated the scary portrayal of the saberacats.

Although Fermboi was not a fan of how the saberacats were bound to only one master, he did find them defining the word “regal” in his mind. Everyone else around him had compared the creatures as eternal partners of the nobility. He hated to admit it, but his notion of the Eterian people did not leave out the ferocious creature that even towered the tallest man. The image of the beasts weaved in and out of the culture with objects, food, and even gods named after them.

He had seen the famed, tall nomadic men of the north when he clashed forces with the king and they stood taller than the king himself. Fermboi wondered why such men bowed their heads to a figure who was at least a head shorter than most of them.

He tried to liken it to the same way the saberacats permeated the south before. His parents, and even the other people in Sitchan kept mentioning how it was to great regret that their ancestors had hunted the saberacats in the plains to extinction. As the people from the Crownlands had demonstrated their ability to use the long-fanged creature with the conquest of the expansive southern wilderness, the people of the south, kin of whomever holds the title of tribe chief, soon began adorning the creatures in many pieces. It was even said that Eteria, the capital city, adopted the practice within its gigantic walls with great fervor. Had it come, Fermboi had even wanted to prevent a sieging of Eteria’s western walls, as it was said to have boasted the most detailed imagery of a saberacat in existence. This was attested by his conversation with the Baron of Fero a day before his only battle with the king.

Fermboi had dreamed of marching onto the capital once. He was not sure why he felt no motive to do so again. “There’s a different capital here this time, and if I’m reading this right, even the king’s capital is a lower one than that of the Basileus’ and that’s way too far to the east.”

“Okay, but picture it like this,” Alyana began, “I’m walking down the street, and I get kidnapped by the local king.”

Fermboi sighed. “There’d be no need to save you,” he replied. “I don’t need to conquer a city just to get you back.”

“Why not?” she asked in an offended tone.

“Because they’d have died from heart attack the moment they saw your face,” he stated.

“Heart attack?” she asked in an incredulous tone. “They’d have a cardiac arrest, not a heart attack.”

“They’re the same level of pain to the heart!” he complained. He had access to medicals books, and so did Alyana. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m too beautiful to merely have such effects on people.”

Fermboi closed his eyes. “Right.”

When Fatumoriya Shapak was five, he was assigned a tutor.

“Why is he wearing iron armor?” Fermboi asked Fasa. They were in the foyer of the Shapak Estate. Sara and a tall, husky old man were conversing several dozen steps away. Sara and the older man were protected by the noon’s rays through the intricate metal roofing of the wooden front door. The roof bore the Shapak family’s sigil: a thamin’s face and antlers.

Fermboi and Fasa waited for the adults’ conversation. Fasa was already an adult but she still had childlike tendencies from time to time. Fermboi was once an adult, and seven years from now he would be considered also an adult.

Fasa pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I thought he was rich,” Fermboi said. “Why is he wearing iron armor?”

“What’s bad about wearing iron armor?” Fasa asked. “Do you know the difference?” Fermboi nodded. Fasa widened her eyes. “Chinosh, have you been reading those war books again?” she questioned Fermboi as she pointed her right index finger at him. “I told you not to read those. They’ll make you think bad.”

“Relax sister,” Fermboi said. “I’m only asking because one of my bookies say that bronze is better than iron.”

Fasa paused for a moment. “Hmm,” she said. “I think while Sir Kahayte is indeed rich, he is also modest.”

“Huh,” Fermboi stated. He had a fleeting suspicion that bronze was rarer than iron. The books he had read so far mentioned the scarcity of tin and copper. “Mama told me he has a pet nasalis, have you seen it? Is it really like orange?”

“Ah, you mean Naranka,” Fasa said with a smile. “He’s a goofy one. Usually he’d be on Sir Kahayte’s shoulder, but he’s probably at home right now.”

“Hmm,” Fermboi said. He had seen illustrations of common animals in Basilyarhemain and he found the nasalis as quite interesting. He swore he saw one lunging between the mangrove branches in his spiritual domain.

Sara and Sir Kahayte walked towards Fermboi and Fasa. The marbled floor clacked at Sara’s heels and Sir Kahayte’s iron boots. “Fatu, this is Sir Kahayte,” Sara introduced. “He’ll be your tutor from now on.”

Sir Kahayte kneeled on his left knee. “Kahayte Nasale, at your service, young master.”

“Oh, oh, oh,” Fermboi said with a playful voice. “Moma told me you have a pet nasalis, could you please bring him next time?”

Sir Kahayte smiled. “Naranka?” he asked. “I do have him here. Just wait a moment, I think he’s in your garden ravishing the fruits.” Sir Kahayte bowed and then left the room.

“Fatumoyira, now, son,” Sara said as she squatted. “Mommy is paying Sir Kahayte lots of coins so you can be a good boy, okay?”

“Mhm,” Fermboi nodded. “Okay, I’ll see Sir Kahayte’s nasalis, I’ll see you guys later!” Fermboi skipped out of the living room and headed towards the garden.

A large orange-furred creature jumped on Fermboi’s face when he opened the gate to the garden.

Kahayte appeared after Naranka and laughed. “Looks like he likes you already.”

Fermboi grabbed Naranka’s sides and lifted him off his face. “Oh you little monkey brat, I’ll get you for that.”

Sensing Fermboi’s malicious intent, the nasalis slipped out of his grip and ran around the labyrinth-like garden. It was filled many green hedges that divided the various exotic plant categories. Vines from the jungles of Indaraya, blossoms from peaks of Dorsia, and berry shrubs from the scrubs of Osmaniya were among the plants that littered the estate’s garden. Fermboi chased after Naranka and went around in circles most of the time. As he attracted the attention and laughter of the family gardeners, Fermboi thought of the familiarity of the creature’s appearance. Without a doubt, he remembered seeing it in his spiritual domain.

“Okay, the word for one in Anetaulian is la,” Kahayte said as Fermboi readied his charcoal on the paper.

“Wait sir,” Fermboi said after he stopped writing the word. “What Anetaulian is this?”

“Ah, you’re one of the observant kids of this century at six years old,” Kahayte remarked. “La is the word for the Anetaulian spoken in Luweya, where the first Anetaulian civilization arose.”

Kahayte walked over to Fermboi’s desk and looked at the paper. “This is the correct spelling in Eterian Script, sir?” Fermboi asked as his teacher arrived by the desk.

“Mhm,” Kahayte said. “Young master, they are indeed very easy to convert to the Eterian Script. Okay, the word two is called te.”

Fermboi brushed it all down.

“My young master, you truly are a master of the brush!” Kahayte exclaimed.

Fermboi had drawn the family estate. He and Kahayte were on the hill overlooking the grand house. It was quiet and perfect for painting. “Thank you, sir,” Fermboi said. He too was surprised by how fast his painting skills had developed. He never knew how to paint and that was just one day ago. The practices in his spiritual domain had been essential for the results of today.

“The shadows and the colors on your canvas image are truly a marvel!” Kahayte declared. “Young master, if I may ask, may I have this painting as a portrait for my estate’s living room?”

“Of course, sir,” Fermboi acquiesced. He had learned a lot from his tutor, it was time to give back. “Is it really that good?”

“It is!” Kahayte said as he traced his fingers along the painting. “At the age of eight, it truly is!”

Fermboi painted animals. Fermboi painted buildings. Fermboi painted Alyana.

“Now master, this is one of the last things I will teach you before you turn ten and you should master it before the age of twelve,” Kahayte said as he led Fermboi to the courtyard. “One of your family guards has given us his spear here for practice, so we best make good use of time.” Kahayte picked up the long, thick, iron-pointed stick leaning against the wooden pillar. He handed it over to Fermboi.

Fermboi felt his hand reflectively clutch. “What do I do, sir?” he asked.

Kahayte frowned. “Do you already know how to use a spear?” he asked Fermboi. “Do those books actually help?”

“Mhm,” Fermboi said as he turned the spear side to side.

Kahayte sighed. “Okay, the first thing we’ll review for you is that a spear is meant to keep your enemy away from you.”

Fermboi grinned, it was the only feat he, without a doubt, had knowledge of. Hundreds had died by his spear. He lowered it, he did not want that life any longer.

“The young master is truly handsome,” a young maid said.

“Are you mad, Tasha?” an older female voice said. “You can’t go saying that out loud in public. People might hear you and think you have the hots for him!”

“But I do!” the young maid stated in a voice Fermboi found as too affectionate for him. They should not have that voice unless they were family. Then again…

Fermboi cringed.

“Shush Tasha, you’re fifteen,” the older female said. “Too old for the young master.”

“But he’s already twelve!” the young maid complained.

Fermboi sighed.

“Okay, javelins can pierce through two shields even,” Kahayte stated. “The reason we learned the spear’s way for two years was for you to grow accustomed to this moment. Normally children being raised for soldiering start spearing at the age of five, but for you as a young head of the Shapak family and possibly a martial cultivator in the future, this is enough.”

“Two years for javelining, sir?” Fermboi asked. “Is it really that easy to use a javelin?”

Fermboi’s previous command consisted of archers, spearmen, pikemen, and cavalrymen. No one in Eteria practiced with the javelin; it was only prevalent in war-ridden Ovea. Fermboi had only heard of it.

Kahayte sighed. “I was going to say four years, or until you’re sixteen,” he revealed. “But you’ve already done adequate spearing in exactly two years.”

Fermboi smiled. He held back on showing off his spear abilities as he found drawing to be a much better investment of time.

“Boya, how long do I have to hold this pose?” Alyana asked. She was sitting down, atop a hill overlooking the ocean. Her long grey hair fluttered against the cool wind.

Fermboi had a makeshift canvas made from the bluish purple plant called linum. It was the first time he had seen the linum in a long time. The last time he saw it growing wild and still embedded to the earth was before the Magiar men raided his home.

“Just a little bit more,” Fermboi replied.

Alyana sighed. “And just how many thousand years more is your “a little bit more” supposed to be?” Alyana asked. “I bet it’s still crude like last time. You still cannot encapsulate my beauty on such materials.”

“You know,” Fermboi started, “This year, or these thousand years are my first time drawing. I’ve never drawn before, unlike using the spear.”

Alyana rolled her eyes to her left. “Oh yes, yes,” she said. “We’re gonna talk about how you were a peasant and how instead of farming peacefully until death, instead you were cursed with taking up the spear.”

Fermboi paused his brushing. The brush was made from a yak’s tail. Fermboi had to go up the mountains to the north of the island to find furry animals that would make for good paintbrush. He first saw a chila and thought it would have made for a good brush but Alyana warned against harming such a small furry creature. “It’s true, you know!” Fermboi proclaimed. “If those damned Magiars hadn’t come to my home, I’d have inherited my father’s role for the farm and I’d have lived peacefully until my death.”

“But then you’d have never met me,” Alyana said in a sly tone.

Fermboi sighed and then returned on brushing. “Of course, I was just joking, meeting you is already such a blessing.”

Alyana laughed. “Boya, your sarcasm is from me.”

Fermboi stopped his brushing again. “It’s true, you know,” he said. “All I’ve ever wanted was to not exposed to this world of the strong dominating the weak. It makes me sick. I already knew that the baron of our farm was taking advantage of us, but I needn’t know that even my illustrious king was taking advantage of even more people.”

“Everyone grows up to the reality,” Alyana said. “Well, that’s what I’ve observed anyway.”

“From whom?” Fermboi asked.

“You,” Alyana replied. “Whom else could I observe?”

Fermboi shook his head and resumed making strokes with his paintbrush.

The sun above rose and fell more than a thousand times.

“Boya,” Alyana said, drawing out in impatience. “When are you going to be done.”

Fermboi flipped his canvas. Several strokes of fine and coarse produced an image that had him grinning as wide as he can. Alyana’s eyes broadened. “What do you think?” he asked, flipping the canvas towards Alyana. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Practice does make perfect.”

Alyana left her pose and walked towards the canvas. “Thousands of years of practice,” she muttered. She caressed the linum. “It’s me.”

Fermboi walked to her right. He put his left arm around the left side of her waist. “Most beautiful in the world.”

Alyana turned to face Fermboi and grabbed his chin. She kissed his lips and closed her eyes.

The yellow circle above rose and fell twice the amount of time Fermboi had ever been inside his spiritual domain. He had blocked out every sound aside from Alyana’s heartbeat.

Alyana pulled away and put the back of her hands on her eyes. “I-It’s not like I’m crying or anything,” she said as she placed her head on Fermboi’s chest.

Fermboi placed his right hand on top of her head. He was taller by just a thumb and they were not lying down. Fermboi felt weird and natural at the same time as he ruffled her hair.

“Your sword is hitting my thigh again,” Alyana grumbled.

“Is it ruining the mood?” Fermboi asked in a playful tone.

“Mhm,” Alyana mumbled.

Fermboi lowered his left hand to move his sword downwards.

“Young master,” Kahayte said, panting. “It is important to master the sword as well. Especially in the left hand.”

Fermboi had been bested several times already by the old instructor. He wanted to give up. He could not practice in his spiritual domain too as he knew not the way of forging swords. A fierce flint and a sturdy stick were easy to find. Melting ores and casting them was never to Fermboi’s liking. He had only seen it done once in Fero, and decided it was too dangerous.

“Sir, can we please take a break,” Fermboi requested in-between pants. “I think I’m about to give up.”

Kahayte responded by raising his sword upwards. Fermboi hurried his sword above his head. “Good, good,” Kahayte said as the metals clashed. “Okay, that’s it for today. It looks like your previous fast learning has slowed down. You’re already approaching the age of sixteen, and they do say old saberacats can’t learn new tricks even with their ever-sharpened swords.” Kahayte laughed.

Fermboi frowned. “Come on now, master,” he complained. “I thought you said swords weren’t even that important.”

“Now, now,” Kahayte said. “I said they were not important in battles among several people. But on one on ones that we have been doing for the past weeks? This is a common sight amongst lords.”

Fermboi took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll definitely practice more,” he said. “Sir Kahayte, you said you were a master swordsman, right?”

“Mhm,” Kahayte replied. “You’re not that bad, if that’s what you’re worried about. Definitely enough to satisfy banters.”

“No sir,” Fermboi said. “I was wondering if you knew how to make your own sword.”

Kahayte raised his eyebrows. “I do,” he stated. “Why?”

Fermboi scratched the back of his head. “Well, I was wondering if you would show me how.”

Kahayte jutted out his lower lip. “You’ve never seen Kovak hammer out the swords for your family’s guards?”

Fermboi shook his head. He did not know who that was. A blacksmith under the employment of his family had not crossed his mind. “I’ve never heard the hammer prangs.”

Kahayte sighed. “Of course you wouldn’t have,” he stated. “Okay, clean yourself. We’ll go to your family’s armory. It’s not too far.”

Fermboi did not know many attributes of the family. He was surprised to find that his family’s blacksmith was said to be the best in the city. The blacksmith even knew how to make the somewhat curved swords of Torea as his ancestors hailed there. Fermboi had first seen the Torean sword usage during his battle with the king and found them too effective against his lighter armored men.

“For the young master,” the blacksmith said as he handed the tempered sword to Fermboi. “My finest iron sword.”

Fermboi gripped the handle and found it better.

“You know, you’re cheating the world by this behavior,” Alyana stated.

Fermboi dipped his brand-new paintbrush onto the coconut bucket. He had made the hairs from a nasalis’ tail. “I already won life when I laid you.”

Alyana clicked her tongue. “But that’s different from actually participating in the world through its normal limits.”

“What?”

“What, did you not understand what I said?”

“You’re saying I should play by the rules of the world when I have such an advantage with my spiritual domain’s unbelievable time bending?”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“So I see you get destroyed by the world again.”

“What?”

“Didn’t I tell you it’s fun watching people get beat down?”

“Yes, but you’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m lying.”

Fermboi put his paintbrush down on a clear space of his makeshift table. He rubbed his chin with his newly freed right hand, the hairs of his chin following his fingers. “Yeah, I’ve thinking it’d be a good idea to pretend to be weak even though I’m not.”

“Oh yes,” Alyana replied. “Just like when a smart person pretends to be stupid.”

Fermboi shook his head. “No,” he said. “I meant actually acting out that I’m weak. Like, even if it costs me shame or whatever. As long as it doesn’t threaten my life too seriously, I think I’ll allow myself some bed time for healing.”

“And you think this will help resolve your fleeing “weak must be protected” ideology?” Alyana asked.

“Mhm,” he replied. “I think it’ll also help with me dealing with humbleness.”

“Are you sure you’re not talking about humility?” Alyana asked. “You keep sleeping naked.”

“Why, what’s wrong with it?” Fermboi asked. “I’m trying to relive at least this part of my former childhood. I won’t be able to sleep naked freely again in the future. People around me will be too judgemental.”

“True,” Alyana replied. “Unless of course you get your own secluded room.”

“People will probably still happen upon me,” Fermboi replied.

“And what makes you say that?” Alyana asked with raised eyebrows.

“Your mention of martial cultivation has me interested,” Fermboi stated. “Nobody even bothers with the fifteen year availability. Those are mostly for the ones not willing to learn but just refine. Sir Kahayte has even said so. The age of coming hasn’t changed, and so I might aim for the unofficial actual start at sixteen. Surely there’d be celebrations across the city.”

“Eight years of schooling,” Alyana remarked. “Huh, I wasn’t even going to mention schooling at all since it will only hamper your progress due to the taken time from cultivating. But I guess it’ll be more fun if you get beat up more.”

Fermboi sighed. “I’m not even going to go to school to learn cultivation,” he replied. “I’ll just be there for the social interaction, something I didn’t have the opportunity to do so. To think I’d have rather stayed in my tight-knit community.”

“But schools are tight-knight,” Alyana stated.

“Ugh,” Fermboi said. “You know what I mean.”

“Making connections with the nobles so you forget about your previous peasant origins?” Alyana asked.

“Yes,” Fermboi replied. “And also banging the female nobles. They’re the only pretty ones.”

“Isn’t that a bit unfair?” Alyana questioned.

“See, you’re not even a noble though, you’re above them,” Fermboi stated. “You’re divine. An angel.”

“But what about the most beautiful girl in the peasant village,” Alyana said. “Is she not pretty too?”

“No one else is pretty compared to you,” Fermboi declared.

“Damn it, Boya,” Alyana said with an irritated tone. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What?” Fermboi asked. “You keep shoving on my face about how beautiful you are.”

“Because it’s true,” Alyana said. “Picture a bright red rosa amongst a field of linum, will it stand out or blend in with the other bluish-purple flowers?”

“They call it wara here,” Fermboi corrected. “Besides, I completely agree.”

“Then what are we arguing about?” Alyana asked.

“I don’t know,” Fermboi replied.

Alyana sighed. “So you’re just going to give up what you spent most of your previous life doing?”

“What?” Fermboi said before squinting. “You really think I’ll do that shit again?”

“What’s the problem?” Alyana asked. “Isn’t it the right cause?”

“It’s been thousands of years since my time and nothing has changed,” Fermboi stated. “I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s pointless.”

Alyana put her right palm over her face.

“Sorry Master Fatumoyira, I’m a Budai, we don’t use weapons for spiritual advancement.”

“But why does your father make my family’s weapons?”

“He’s not using the weapons though, Master Fatumoyira,” the boy replied. His long black hair whistled against the wind. “Merely shaping it.”

“Then how are you going to hope to make it to the upcoming martial test?” Fermboi asked. “There’s forty-two months until the month of Aterius. And a half more by tomorrow.”

“That’s half a year, Master Fatumoyira,” the black-haired boy replied. “That’s enough for me to meditate through the Guwerior Dominion.”

“Wait, what rank are you right now?” Fermboi asked.

“Rang Eleven,” the black-haired boy said. “I’m at the peak, so it should be smooth sailing from now.”

“Huh,” Fermboi muttered.

“Why, Master Fatumoyira, what rank are you?” the boy looked at Fermboi with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, I’m just Rang One,” Fermboi replied. “I just started yesterday.” The black-haired boy opened his mouth and did not shut it. “Why, is there something wrong?”

“A-And Master Fatumoyira seeks to get into the martial test in under half a year?” the boy had his lips not touching each other as each time they would come close to meeting the gap would widen once again.

“Relax,” Fermboi began, “I heard Rang can be conquered in under a year.”

“U-Under a year?” the boy asked in an disbelieving tone. “M-Most people start at four years. W-Who said that?”

“Oh,” Fermboi said with a smile. “Just some thick-headed girl.”

Fermboi heard a groan inside him.

“Master Fatumoyira, do you need more food?” the young maid asked. Fermboi remembered her as Tasha. Her long brown hair was distinctive enough. He thought about fooling around with her but decided against it. She was already serving him.

In the dinner table Fermboi seated, there were three other people: his mother, and an old man with his daughter. The food adorning the table were the most exquisite Fermboi had seen so far. It had more food than when the new Tyrant of Bayla visited.

“Lady Sara, my daughter and my line are well connected to the Erean royal family,” the old man stated, plunging himself on the roasted boardawn belly. That was the old man’s second serving. “Your father and I are second cousins, this is only further strengthening our royal connections.”

Fermboi frowned. His current mother had been married to his new, dead father because her line had fallen out of power in Erea. The man in front of them and his daughter were the cousin and niece of the current King of Erea. They had left Erea to start over in Basilyarhemain. This meant marrying into whatever local family had influence. The Shapak family had become nobility by his late father’s extension as Tyrant of Bayla.

“My daughter is extremely gifted and has already been guaranteed to enter the Foka School,” the old man continued. “She’s no mere princess of the crown.”

As a cultivator at Rang One, Fermboi had felt a strong aura emanating from the girl in front of him. The two adults to their respective lefts contained not even any aura at all. They did not cultivate. “And my son is no mere son of a tyrant,” Sara rebutted. “He’s already practicing to inherit his father’s position as overlord of this city. This whole martial cultivation thing for him is nothing but a side gig. How will a fist beat a flying hast?”

“Milady,” the old man began, “I also know the spear’s triumph over such silly things, but this cultivation strength is being more sought as time progresses. It lets people know what type of person one may become.”

Fermboi looked to his top left. The daughter looked pretty and welcoming. For a royal, her long black hair did not look well done to the point of exhaustion and her white silk tunic also did not evoke any sense of difference. She was unlike the daughter of the new tyrant.

The girl gripped the emerald glass cup on her right and took a sip. “Lady Sara,” the black-haired girl spoke for the first time. “My father only wants for my younger brother to have a partner in the Medeve School. He fears my younger brother may not survive in his road to becoming one of the school’s top disciple.”

Sara sighed. She turned towards Fermboi. “Okay, Fatu, what do you think?” she asked. “This all rests on you. You’ll be a grown man in a month.”

Fermboi contemplated on what the responsibility may be. If the younger boy needed constant protection, then Fermboi would not be able to do his own thing. Fermboi predicted he could go through all of the martial levels inside his spiritual domain without worry. So if the young boy angered higher students or some sort, then Fermboi could take them on. He still had no idea what the personality of what his new brother would be. “Sure, when’s the wedding?”

The old man put down his fork and stood up, causing his glass cup to spill over the grape extracts. The glass cup’s emerald color did not shine brighter than the aged man’s eyes. “Young Master Fatumoyira, I truly thank the gods for your acceptance,” the old man said as he picked up the spilled cup and repositioned it to stop pouring. Some of the dark purple fluids had already dripped over the white cloth of the table and onto the wooden floor. The young maid named Tasha had already left Fermboi’s right side and began scrubbing the wet floor. “It is to my regret that, for my daughter to fully realize her potential, she needs at least a decade to become at the top.”

“Lady Sara,” the daughter of the old man said as she stood up. “I assure you my womanhood will be preserved in wait for your son.”

“I like her, Fatu,” Sara said with a wide smile at Fermboi. “You’ve agreed?”

Fermboi nodded his head. “So what’s my new brother’s name and where is he right now?”

Tasha had finished scrubbing the floor and went to the kitchen for a new jug. She had just returned to pour the newly freshened wine on the old man’s raised cup. The old man raised it up to the ceiling after being filled and nodded. “Bostros doesn’t like using our name, so he’ll probably be using some other family name,” the old man stated. “To shame me and the Bedo branch of Erea … I truly think that boy is reckless and that’s why I need someone to watch over him during his schooling. As the head of my family, even I can’t control him when he isn’t willing to listen.” The old man paused and took another swig. “He’s currently starting his practice in the Otari School in Likibri, but he will definitely be in the Medeve School next year for the entrance.”

“You hear that Fatu?” Sara said in an impressed voice. “Your new brother-in-law has gone all the way past the Hayer Mountains to pursue this way of life. You better not disappoint us.”

Fermboi nodded his head.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. Sara and the daughter of the old man had switched places so that they can further develop their new relationships.

“So, Parisatas,” Fermboi said. “How exactly do you cultivate? I’ve just repeatedly punch a down leather dummy so far.”

The long black-haired girl parted her bangs with her hands. “It’s Parisatis, young Master Fatumoyira,” the girl said with a smile. “I’m at Rang Twelve at the moment and I’ll surely have a breakthrough next month to Guwerior. You can try sitting outside in the forests and listening to the wild animals’ calls. It’s what I do.”

“That works?” Fermboi asked in disbelief.

The girl nodded as Fermboi watched Tasha follow the head of the Bedo family out of the dinner room and to the hallway of guest bedrooms. The old man had the decency to ask Fermboi’s mother for the permission for the maid. Sara then asked the young maid for the next action. It was the expected. Fermboi raised his chin up. “Huh.”