During the following weekends, I was given a break from all the physical or mental training. Yet I was not free from any sort of assignments. I was given a routine that Esshiek couldn't stress enough that I had to strictly follow. In the morning, push ups were in order. Despite my natural strength, Esshiek mentions that a proper warrior should not skip out on honing the body, unless they planned to lose every battle.
Once I had hit the right amount of repetitions, I had to follow it up with a few squats and a jog from the entrance of Solus to the outskirts of the city. At my first attempt at this, I had underestimated the weight of the task. I was left breathless -- heaving with pains across my chest -- and utterly defeated. I had to take multiple stops along the way before I could finally touch the gates that lead outside and by then, I was already ready to give up. However after what seemed to be three more weekends, I had gotten enough stamina to make the journey, yet it still left quite the painful impression to my legs after.
Esshiek's morning routine did not stop there, yet the next was the last of the bunch. Once at the forests, I was tasked to find and strike the thickest tree until the sun sits at the highest peak. Yet again, I was confused at the objective at hand. In my first attempt, I spent the better part of the day searching for the aforementioned tree.
Some were thick enough in my eyes but I kept finding thicker and thicker wood deeper within the forest. That was until I had found a singular tree with bark covered with dark moss. It stood quite taller among the rest and the trunk was as thick as one of the towers back at the academy. The roots were as large as the other trees that surrounded it, and even they were considerably large.
Feeling confident that this was the tree I had to use, I began my work. This boost in self-esteem was cut short however as I struck the base of the trunk with Obsidian with all the strength I could muster in a swing and the pickaxe barely dug an inch into the wood. The recoil of the strike itself had left quite a mark on my hands, causing them to throb with searing hot pain. Despite this, I pulled my weapon from the bark and tried again. Attempting to progress, no matter how small it was.
Now, I had dug quite a hole into the wood. It was deep enough to stick my whole length of my hand into it, but the deeper I went into the wood, the harder it was to progress. It almost felt like striking metallic ore when reaching the denser core of this tree. My hands had grown accustomed to the recoil now and with each swing, I learned more about my technique and in turn, adjusted the mistakes I had made to make my swings more powerful -- in turn, more efficient.
I stood by the tree once more, Obsidian in both my hands. As I clutched on to the handle, I turned side ways, pointing the head of the pickaxe away from where I wished to strike. My feet shifted instinctually to adjust my center and strengthen my core. My arms relaxed, with the exception of my grip clutching firmly against the leather wrappings of my weapon. My eyes focused on the center of the dug out spot. With a quick exhale, I started my swing.
With a stride forward, my body starts to twist in turn, my arms following this momentum and as I reached the point where I felt comfortable with the distance, I tensed my arm. The swing now starting to flow forward as I supported the strike with my free hand, eyes still focused on the target and not my weapon.
As the strike hits, the pickaxe head digs deep into the wood, followed by a very loud thud that shook the whole tree, and admittedly my whole being as well. Once the shaking had settled, I looked over at the damage, seeing the head sink a couple inches in with some of the past damage broken off in splinters. I nodded, considering this strike as a success before wedging the weapon out of the bark with the sound of broken wood clattering along the roots and ground echoing along. With my weapon back in my hand, I continued to practice my swings.
Once the afternoon heat rolled in, that was my time to stop. However, instead of immediately heading back to the city, I took this chance to use the quiet of the forest to study. Pulling a book from my bag, I slumped down the bark of the tree and relaxed. Resting as I continued my magical studies.
During what rare time I had in between the exercises and work at the blacksmith, I started studying more about starting magic, or at least the history of it.
In my studies, I had discovered that Enesial magic, despite the first among the Primal Sources, was the last to be studied among the researchers. It was said that in order to learn and study Enesial, they required the knowledge of those who were connected. These were the Dwarves, Goliaths, and the Enesian Bulwarks. However they were only able to gain insight from the Dwarves, as they -- despite their lack in knowledge and low affinity -- were the only ones willing to share what they knew. The Goliaths remained closed off to anyone who weren't kin, and they were tougher to find and lastly; The Enesian Bulwarks, dragons who carried mountains on their backs and create earthquakes with a step.
However learning from these majestic beasts was said to be impossible because-
"None were found during expeditions in the Sky Claw Mountains. This also connects to the other discoveries that some, if not all of the dragons had disappeared?" I muttered to myself as I read out loud. Staring at a drawing of four creatures standing proudly amongst their peers.
One was drawn with a shell on its back, like a turtle. It was significantly larger than the rest, standing at the bottom of this formation. It looked calm and collected.
The one to the east was made in the image of a bird. It spread its wings elegantly, showing off the ornate patterns in its wings. The beak pointed to the sky with the mouth open, as if to express itself as proudly as possible.
The one to the west was drawn with waves resting beneath what looked like the fin of a large fish. Curious how this creature did not have a form like the rest.
The last, standing at the top of the formation. Scales as red as crimson and wings spread out along its back. The creature roars with its head up high, as if to show strength and integrity. Claws raised upwards to support this claim. This one looked exactly how storytellers would describe dragons.
Staring at the last one, my mind remembers that girl. She had the same features as this perfect example of a dragon. Down from the horns, to the scales, to the tail. Whoever she was, she might have some insight. One thing I was curious about through -- unsure if it was the trick of my memory, or if it was real -- were the fact that the girl's scales shined like silver.
Returning back from the forest, I decided to use this time to turn the street, and instead of heading back to the Academy and into the dormitory, I had decided to head to work today.
In the blacksmith, work is fairly simple. While Boss Kylie worked the forge, I stood at the counter to greet the customers. In the past few days, the blacksmith gained extra foot traffic, unfortunately not because of Boss Kylie's wares. Some, if not most of them came along the shop because they have not seen folks from my kind before. To the people of Coppergate, this was their one and maybe only time to see a Goliath. In a cruel twist of fate, my chance to learn about the city and its people had turned its head on me. Some folks asked about what I was, where I came from, or even some questions about Goliath culture. It was saddening to see their disappointed faces when I couldn't answer them.
However, apart from the need to satisfy their own curiosity, I was able to sell a couple of Boss Kylie's weaponry to those interested. Money rolled in and attention followed soon after, and with attention comes trouble.
Walking up to the shop, I could hear objects being thrown to the floor with voices following suit. Was Boss Kylie in trouble?
Without skipping a beat, I opened the door to see what seemed to be a man, dressed in tight grey tunic and paired with a darker shade for pants. His white sleeves extend along his arms until it was concealed by a pair of thick leather gloves. One apparent accessory he had on though was the scarf wrapped around loosely on his shoulders. The ends of which bore the symbol of a shield, with a bird spreading its wings wide. The Coat of Arms of House Mythril.
He, and a couple of other men were sword fighting inside the blacksmith. Kylie was nowhere to be seen, which did not help in making the subtle sense of anxiety disappear. Approaching the group, I raised my hands high.
"I'm sorry but you cannot fight inside the store." I spoke out, but in a quick flash, the man points his sword close to my face.
"How dare you speak to me that way peasant." He spoke with a proud chuckle. "Do you know who I am?"
"Sir, please I'd like to-"
"I am the son of Duke Willington. Markus Willington, and you should bow before my presence! It is a miracle that I am even talking to one such as yourself!"
I could only let out a breath of frustration. I've heard stories of how nobles treated the common folk, but I did not expect it to be this accurate.
"Sir Wellington-"
"Willington you moron."
"Willington," I corrected myself through gritted teeth. "no matter who you are or where you came from, I would still ask you to please stop-"
Before I could even finish my sentence, I could see one of the men swing his sword wildly in my direction. With its arc, it felt like he wanted to cut my face, but something was strange about this attack. The blade seemed steady but the edge seemed off center, and the strike looked to be half-hearted in strength, lastly it was slow enough to warrant this observation. In contrast to Esshiek's attacks when I would spar with him, this one would compare to a child attacking you with a stick.
I would raise my hand to meet the blade with my arm, blocking the strike with the stone parts of my skin, causing a spark to fly as the blade bounces off; the recoil of such causing the man to attempt to regain his grip.
To my left was the second man, attempting to swipe at my foot, only to be met with a quick step backwards out of his range.
I was left confused as to why they wanted to attack me. I said and did nothing wrong. At least from my perspective. However, I was forced to put those thoughts at rest for the moment as I could see the tip of a sword swiftly approaching. A thrust from Willington, and unlike the others, he was fast. Faster than I had anticipated and so the blade meets my cheek, tearing a small cut into my flesh before the steel slides along the slate part of my cheek.
Feeling the sharp pulse of pain from my cheek, my eyebrows furrow. I had enough. Before he could pull his sword back to attempt another attack, I grabbed the blade and yanked it off his grip before I pulled my whole leg closer to my torso and with a quick exhale, I met Willington's chest with the sole of my shoes. Sending him to the front of the store as the wall shook and dust fell from the impact.
His body slumped to the floor and in a moment of quiet, I snapped out of my rage and soon realized that I might have made a mistake I couldn't recover from. I might have killed someone. I might have killed a Noble. The other two henchmen quickly ran over and checked Willington's body and when he groaned in pain, the chill that crept up my spine soon faded away, albeit just a little. Hurting a noble was still a considerable offense and I was afraid of the punishment that might follow after.
It was here that Boss Kylie kicked the door open from the back and walked around the counter to see the commotion. Seeing the unconscious nobleman being dragged out the door, Kylie turned to me and pat my back.
"Good Job." She nodded with a soft smile as she returned to her workshop.
I nodded in return as I turned back to the man who finally got to his feet as his arms rest behind the neck of the other two. I have a strange feeling I would see him again in the future.