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Cultivating Ink 11
🕑 Added 2025-04-20 21:58:24 +0000 UTCAlaric waited in the line, his body aching.
He had already expected his night to be terrible, with most of the ‘volunteers’ targeting him to deal with their frustration. He had a few ‘offers’ to spar, which was a badly concealed excuse to beat him up. And, after ten such sessions, his body was aching despite the cloth armor. It was bad enough that he wasn’t able to stand up until most of the line already received their food.
Maybe it was a good thing, as it wasn’t like he could protect his position. The moment Lucian and most of his band were selected for special training, the dynamics shifted. It was hard to call what they had camaraderie in the first place, and whatever they had shattered under the weight of jealousy.
Alaric decided to endure rather than doing something stupid like asking for Lucian’s help. Even if he was willing in the first place — which was not a guarantee — depending on where they would be positioned, it might not work.
Not to mention, it was possible for Lucian to refuse to help him in the first place. It wouldn’t be the worst betrayal he experienced.
No, it wouldn’t even make it on the list.
He just needed to endure until the new dynamics settled. He endured far worse than a few beatings and vicious whispers. He wasn’t the only target, but his situation was made even worse by the fact that he wasn’t close to others who had been ignored. They banded together, which gave them a modicum of protection.
But, when his turn finally came, he met with something he didn’t expect. The guard, looked at him angrily.
The slum dwellers weren’t the only ones feeling jealous.
Alaric gulped, suddenly feeling very weak. He could deal with the hostility from the other slum dwellers, but the guards were a completely different breed. The amount of misplaced anger in the eyes of the guard was enough to sign his death warrant if he was still in the town, but they were clearly afraid of the consequences here.
But, not enough to ruin his food. The guard barely filled a quarter of his ladle with the stew before pouring it into his bowl. Though, Alaric had to admit, he was impressed. He had never seen a guard work as hard as the one he faced, doing his best to keep his stew clean.
There was not even a hint of meat in his bowl.
He doubted it was a mercy that he still received a full slice of bread. The guard was probably under the impression that giving him a dried piece of bread with a little mold on the side was punishment.
There were times Alaric had fought for much worse pieces.
Still, he made sure to emote appropriately, first with shock, then with anger. “Is something wrong?” the guard growled.
“N-no, sir,” Alaric stammered, shifting to fear. Since fighting back was not an option, giving the guards the impression they had just delivered a devastating hit was a better idea.
However, once he turned, he noticed that his ordeal was nowhere near finished. Some of the ringleaders of his earlier ’sparring’ were suddenly walking nearby. Alaric knew exactly how it would end, but as a foot hooked around his ankle, he made no move to avoid it. Instead, he fell down and rolled, using the chance to break the bread into two pieces, making sure the moldy part was smaller even as he hid the bigger piece under his armor.
Making sure he didn’t end up stabbing himself was the bigger challenge.
His stew had spilled. Considering it was mostly water, it was not a great loss. “Watch your step, Alaric, or you’ll end up worse,” the one that pushed him down mocked as he stood next to him. “Let me help.”
Alaric raised his hands, acting like he was surprised when instead of being helped to his feet, the bread on his hand was ripped away. Alaric squeezed it deliberately, and the stale bread broke into pieces. That way, no one would realize the most was hidden under his armor.
“What a sad accident,” his assaulter chuckled as he stood up. “But, ask the guards. I’m sure they would be happy to give you another bowl.” With that, he turned back, mumbling about Alaric being a waste of space.
Alaric held his tongue, knowing he wasn’t in a position to afford escalation. Especially since it was likely not the worst of what he was about to experience.
Instead, he stood up, to see if he could find a place he could sleep with minimal disturbance. But, those plans were disturbed when he found one of the guards pointing at him. “Hey, you. Since you finished your dinner, you can hold the first patrol shift. But, stay there until we relieve you.”
Alaric ignored his laughter as he tightened his hold on his spear, and followed the direction. From the way the guard delivered that order, it was clear that there would be no other recruit to relieve him of his duty.
He did his best to hide his smile. In a very unexpected way, the guard helped him, giving him an excuse to stay away from the camp. Even if he stayed at the camp, the other recruits would find a way to keep him awake.
At least, this way, he would be able to study his drawings in peace.
The patrol spot was two hundred paces away from the camp, with no fire to prevent the night patrol from being blinded by the dark.
For Alaric, it meant he could study in peace. Especially since, to punish him properly, they didn’t send another patrolman to accompany him, preventing them from taking turns sleeping.
But, once he arrived at his spot, he didn’t immediately pull out his drawings, as the guards came to visit him often, snickering to his plight, as if it would somehow change the fact that Lucian had likely stepped over them to join a completely new lease on life, one that earned some attention from a royal soldier tasked to defend prince.
Alaric didn’t know where it corresponded to in the hierarchy, but it was multiple steps above a city guard.
However, he stopped thinking about it, and focused on copying what he had seen from the training, particularly the way they breathed. While sketching, he had been too focused on the footwork and the movement of the spear, leading him to neglect what seemed to be another core aspect.
And he needed to make progress. It was a case of survival. He didn’t forget that their reason for existence was more to be sacrifice once they arrived at the Hollow Peaks, and with his current standing, he would end up in the worst of those missions.
He needed to figure the secrets of power as soon as possible.
One of the guards and other recruits stopped coming to enjoy his plight, he first pulled the bread, eating half of it to satiate his hunger, but left the other half to the morning, just in case he failed to get even a small piece.
Only when he finished eating, he pulled the sketches he had done, going through them again and again to get a better sense of the technique. He wasn’t strong enough to repeat the technique endless times like the others to make progress. He needed to work smarter.
Occasionally, he had delivered one, solitary strike, trying to integrate what he had seen from the others, the exhaustion building as he refused to sleep … until, he did something absurd. He focused on copying every single sensation that he detected while painting them, combining it with the breathing and the attack.
A distinctive sound whispered in the opening.
It was nowhere as loud as Lucian’s success, but it didn’t surprise Alaric. Because, the moment he delivered that, he felt a sense of tugging on his body, as if he had been trying to get something from his body. Whatever it was, it was in short supply.
“Still, success,” he muttered even as he sat down, breathing hard. That one strike felt far more exhausting than running a mile, and he wasn’t in good condition in the first place. He breathed in, he breathed out … then his eyes widened, realizing that his exhaustion disappeared with a shocking speed, replaced by a ravenous hunger, enough that he felt compelled to remove the other half of the bread and devour it.
It surprised him, as even when the others succeeded, they didn’t show any signs of it, be it in terms of a sudden rejuvenation, or hunger that followed.
He closed his eyes and he took another breath, only for his eyes to widen when he realized the reason. The glowing stone, one that he had been carrying with him for the last few days, its presence familiar enough to be ignored.
Alaric’s eyes widened. He had always assumed it to be a pretty trinket, one that was expensive enough to mobilize the guards. But, it seemed to be not the case.
All that remained was to understand exactly what it could do.
