Path of Dragons

Book 6: Chapter 85: Strides

Miguel leaped from the branch, bringing his weapon down in a vicious hack that should have split Birk in two. Instead, the huge man shifted only slightly, and Miguel’s attack found only air. He thudded into the loamy turf, immediately launching himself forward into a roll that ended with him on his feet and sprinting away. n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Birk followed, his feet slamming into the ground with the inevitable gait of a man who knew he didn’t need to rush. It reminded Miguel of all those slasher movies he wasn’t supposed to have watched – the ones where the big, bad, and often supernatural killer just kept coming. Though he knew Birk could move with incredible quickness if he chose to do so, he also knew that would have broken the rules of engagement. Birk was supposed to confine himself to a level of power Miguel could theoretically match.

To date, he’d never managed to accomplish that feat, but he knew he was getting close to beating the man. He had to be.

Plus, he had a plan to topple the giant.

It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to use cleverness to take his tormenter down, but he hoped it would be the last. For almost six months, he’d been put through his paces. The first few weeks were the worst, at least in terms of stress and strain, but every day since he’d agreed to the training had left him exhausted, both mentally and physically. He wasn’t just expected to do the work, he also had to understand why.

To that end, he’d endured hundreds of hours of weapons training that made his time with Colt seem like a game. On top of that, he’d been forced to learn more woodlore than he ever could have with someone like Kurik. And most of all, he’d learned to connect with the forest in a way that he hoped would make his uncle proud. For that, he’d been forced to spend time with his other teacher – the old woman who’d claimed to be a drake.

When he’d said that last bit aloud, the old woman had laughed, telling him that he had a long, long way to go before he’d ever match Elijah. “That man isn’t normal, even for a Druid,” she’d said. “Aim lower.”

Then, she’d hit him with a stick and told him to concentrate on the forest. Despite her primitive methods, Miguel had made incredible progress in that arena, and he felt more in tune with nature than ever before. It wasn’t outright awareness of his surroundings – aside from normal sensory input – but he did vaguely feel the world around him. He knew when danger was afoot, and he could tell when he was in friendly territory. It was kind of like his very own spider-sense, and he used it to great effect when Birk somehow caught up to him.

The giant aimed a wicked slash at his hamstrings, but because of his improved senses, Miguel sensed it coming. He altered his own gait, high-stepping like a celebratory football player, to avoid the practice blade. It missed by barely more than half an inch.

That was the most important lesson he’d learned. He didn’t need long, dramatic movements to win a fight. Instead, he focused on control, on doing just enough to avoid otherwise debilitating blows. Birk was stronger and faster than him by a mile, but if he stayed in control, he could close that gap considerably.

By now, it was almost instinctive, the way he’d begun to move. The way he’d started to fight. He didn’t even have to think about it, which freed his mind to focus on other things. Like his plan.

He led Birk through the forest, dodging between trees in order to foul the man’s excessive reach. More than once, he was nearly hit, but on every occasion, he narrowly managed to dodge the faux blade. He used the environment to his advantage, and a couple of times, he was rewarded with the sound of Birk’s blade clacking against a tree trunk.

Miguel ignored it.

He was too focused on the task at hand. To that end, he raced through the forest, aiming for a particular area. He reached it after only a minute, and though he didn’t alter his stride at all, he managed to avoid the dozens of tripwires he’d laid in advance. Despite their near invisibility and the fact that he’d given no indication that they were there, his pursuer didn’t trip a single one.

Birk didn’t change his own gait. Instead, his feet just seemed to fall in all the right places. Miguel was ready for that, too, and after a few more seconds, he heard the sound he’d been waiting for.

Just past the latest tripwire, he’d dug a shallow trench, placed a few wooden spikes, and covered the whole thing with leaves. Birk either didn’t see it, or by the time he did, he couldn’t avoid it. So, his foot fell upon those spikes – which really wouldn’t do any damage to the man, but that wasn’t the point.

Birk stumbled slightly.

And that was when Trevor struck, ramming into him from behind and sending him tipping over. Miguel pivoted, bringing his own practice sword around in a wicked arc that came within an inch of Birk’s face.

And then, the man was gone, leaving only a swirl of wind in his wake. A moment later, Miguel found himself sprawling on the turf, his head spinning with the familiar feeling of a concussion. It faded after a few seconds, and when it did, that brief bout of confusion was replaced with seething anger.

“You cheated!” he shouted, wheeling around to face the man who’d tormented him for the better part of six months. “I had you! You said you wouldn’t use attributes beyond the mortal tier!”

Birk just grunted, “People cheat. They lie. Get used to it.”

“But…”

He had nothing to say to that, largely because with his experiences being what they were, Miguel knew that the big man was right. He only had to remember the hardships his family had been forced to endure in order to recognize the truth of it. “Is that the lesson, then?”

“Playing by the rules only works when everyone’s agreed to follow them,” Birk stated. “And when your enemy’s back is against the wall, they will abandon everything they should have held dear, if only it gives them another moment of survival. Expecting your enemies to be honorable will see you dead. Even your allies will abandon you in your moment of need if they believe it will be beneficial.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“So, what? Don’t trust anyone?”

“Trust your grove. Trust those you consider family. Beyond that, trust others to do what’s in their own best interest,” Birk advised. Then, he added, “Get up. We are not finished.”

Miguel had heard that so often that he didn’t even hesitate before rising to his feet. He got no chance to dust himself off before the fight resumed. This time, there were no tricks. No fancy strategies. Only the clacking of their practice swords and the occasional grunt of pain from Miguel.

He never got close to hitting Birk, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. The man was just too fast for him. His technique was too perfect. Even when Miguel used skills – which he did sparingly – it didn’t matter. That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t improved since his training had begun. He certainly had, and by leaps and bounds. Yet, it wasn’t enough to bring him up to Birk’s level.

It would take decades to get there. Perhaps centuries, if what he suspected about the man’s age was true. Miguel also knew that, like the old woman, Birk wasn’t human. Far from it, in fact.

Over the next few hours, they went back and forth, and Miguel picked up a host of bruises. So did Trevor, who’d been trained just as hard. But despite their clear inferiority to their teacher, they both made incremental progress until, at last, Birk pulled away and announced, “Run back to the cottage.”

He didn’t need to add that there would be consequences for dawdling. They’d both felt that sting, and neither wanted to repeat it. So, without delay, Miguel sprinted away with Trevor by his side. Soon, they reached the cottage to find that Birk was already there. And the old woman was standing next to him, her short arms crossed and with a scowl on her face.

“You took your time, hmm?”

Miguel slowed to a stop. He no longer lost his wind after such a short run, but he’d been going for days without stopping, and he was exhausted.

“Came as quick as I could,” he muttered. That drew a glare from Birk, but the big man remained silent. He didn’t like it when Miguel talked back to the old woman, even when it was warranted.

“So you did,” she said. “Here. Eat.”

She handed him a bowl of soup. Miguel dug in without hesitation, knowing that it had restorative properties that would help him recover. Without it, he never could have pushed himself so hard.

“Tell me, boy. What do you think of your training?” she asked.

“It’s…difficult, but it’s also effective,” he said. Indeed, he’d gained attribute points in everything but Ethera, which was quite an accomplishment at his level. Even more importantly, he’d sharpened his technique to a fine edge. As the old woman had promised, he was an entirely different fighter now than when he’d begun. The gap between his past self and the current version of him was so wide that Miguel didn’t even feel like the same person. It was as if he’d crammed a decade’s worth of instruction into half a year.

But it went deeper than a mere measure of time. If he’d never been saved by Birk at the old woman’s behest, it would have been nearly impossible for him to improve his understanding of combat to such a degree. He hadn’t gained any levels. Nor had his cultivation improved. But he was twice the fighter he’d been before.

At least.

“Hmm. Effective, he says,” the old woman grunted. “Do you know how many young ones would kill to be trained by Birk?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Hmm,” she said. Then, she uncrossed her arms and grabbed his upper arm. Her grip was like iron, but it wasn’t threatening. Rather, it was exploratory. As if she was testing him. After she released him, she circled him. Once that revolution was complete, she did the same to Trevor. Finally, when she was done, she announced, “Acceptable. Not good, mind you, but acceptable given the constraints.”

Planting herself in front of him, she went on, “My name is Tura, and in a way, you are my nephew. If you ever come to the Empire of Scale, find me, and we will continue your training. In the meantime, I expect you to do our family proud, hmm.”

Then, before Miguel could respond, she snapped her fingers, and the world shifted. Miguel almost lost his balance, but luckily, it was over in the space of an instant. And when he recovered, the cottage was gone. So were Birk and Tura. In fact, any evidence that the small glade had ever held anything but animals and vegetation had disappeared.

It took him a few minutes to get his bearings, but when he did, he accepted that his training was over. He’d have preferred a proper goodbye – and more soup – but he chalked the rude departure up to system constraints. Or maybe Tura was just rude. Whatever the case, he felt that the time bubble had become inactive. So, he didn’t have time to linger. He still had a job to do.

So, without further hesitation, he gathered his things – Tura had left his armor and weapons in a bundle at his feet – Miguel set off in the direction of Argos. As he went, he was shocked at how easily he managed to move through the forest. It was like, without even thinking, he knew precisely where to put his feet. That manifested in a speed of travel he never could have matched before. On top of that, he could move far more stealthily, which was how he snuck up on the first group of dark elves.

“I don’t like this,” said one of the five. “Two groups have gone missing already.”

“It doesn’t matter. If we fail, D’vix will kill us,” another responded, her eyes darting all around. “If we don’t –”

Miguel struck, severing her head in a single stroke. He killed another with a backhanded blow that ripped his enemy’s throat out, then kicked the legs out from under a third. That one was further incapacitated by a stomp that crushed his neck. In the space of only a few seconds, he’d taken out three of the five enemies.

But to their credit, the remaining two didn’t run. They attacked, but after fighting Birk for the past few months, the dark elves were like children playing with sharp implements. Miguel dispatched the first in only a few seconds, but the last persisted for half a minute before he managed to spear her through the chest.

And just like that, he’d killed the group. He hadn’t needed Trevor’s help. Nor was a clever trap necessary. He’d simply overwhelmed them with skill.

He only stopped long enough to take anything of value he could find. There wasn’t much – just a few ethereum – so it was only a few moments before he was once again on his way.

The next few days told Miguel that his success hadn’t been an aberration. The dark elves were still stronger and faster – though the gap had closed a little with the attributes he’d gained from his training – but his skill more than made up for it. However, it did not make him invincible, and all dark elves were not created equal. So, on a few occasions, he was forced to retreat.

Maybe he could have won those fights, but not without cost. And his job wasn’t to kill dark elves. It was to get to Argos. So, he kept that firmly at the front of his mind as he carved his way through the wilderness.

He did pause when he saw a group of dark elves running in the wrong direction, though. They didn’t see him at all, so he and Trevor followed them for a mile or two before they finally ran out of steam. The three dropped to their knees, with one gasping, “What was that thing?”

“It…it moved so quickly.”

“I think there was more than one.”

“I…I don’t –”

At that moment, a blurry shape dashed into the small clearing, eviscerating one of the kneeling elves. A second later, another fell. The last managed a scream before he, too, died.

But Miguel saw the attacker well enough to recognize her. “Artemis,” he breathed.

The cat – which had grown to the size of a rottweiler – looked up from where she was licking her claws and let out a purr. Miguel couldn’t help but smile, and not just because he’d found a friendly face. If Artemis was here, that meant he was very close to Argos. He’d finally reached his destination.