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Cultivating Ink 8
🕑 Added 2025-04-13 06:39:20 +0000 UTC“Gather around, it’s time to get armed,” the guard leading the group shouted, and the large group of scouts that Alaric found himself as a part of had stopped. A rough count showed about three hundred ‘volunteers’ from the slums. They lined up in front of a cart. Alaric wanted to sit down as his body still ached from the encounter with the mad jackal, but since none of the others sat down, Alaric endured as well.
Never being the first one to do something without a good reason was a motto that served him well.
One by one, they were given an armor and a spear. Once he put it on, he pulled the neck of his new armor. It was merely a thick, layered cloth, but it was still strong enough to deal with the claws and bites of the weaker monsters, which was leagues better than their tattered clothing.
While he patted his armor to make sure it covered his body well enough, most of the others were already practicing with their spears, suddenly looking hopeful about their chances. Alaric shook his head. He suspected that their equipment was less about making them a credible fighting force, and more about looking the part.
After all, it would impugn their honor to walk with a bunch of slum rats.
But, there was no benefit to anyone saying that, so he kept his mouth shut. He ignored the wild swings of the others, and instead started repeating a simple, two-handed stab, trying to get used to the weight. He had no illusions about his strength, and a two-handed stab where he could put his full weight was the only thing that could be successful against a beast.
It would be a lie to say he wasn’t jealous of the effortless manner Lucian was twirling his spear.
While the assignment continued, the guards barked orders around them, their presence ignored, and several more carts joined the group. Soon, the dawn had turned into morning, but they were yet to move.
Lucian walked to him once the fascination with his new weapon lost its luster. “Any idea why are we waiting?” he asked.
“Either because we’re waiting for the commander, or critical supplies,” Alaric replied. He was almost certainly sure that it was the first one, but he wasn’t ready to explain why he was sure of it. They waited for an hour, until the guards started shouting everyone to stand to attention.
“Anyone that speaks out of turn will be executed. Respect the imperial family,” they shouted.
Alaric tensed at the shout. He didn’t know much about the empire, other than the fact that they ruled every city that was around them. But, anyone who deserved to be called from an imperial family came from a world that he couldn’t imagine.
Did he paint a member of the imperial family the day before?
But, after a moment, he relaxed. Did it really matter? Yes, a member of the imperial family could seal his fate with one word, but he was a slum rat. Any random guard could torture and kill him for no reason, and receive a slap on the wrist as punishment … if that.
To someone who couldn’t swim, it didn’t matter how deep the water was. Ultimately, he would still drown the same.
The others from the slums lined up with him, tenser than he was. He would have been like that if it wasn’t for the earlier encounter. Alaric did his best to replicate their enthusiasm, as it was a good way to avoid the beating of the guards.
Once they lined up, one of the soldiers wearing the unknown armor moved toward them. “No looking at the imperial prince. Don’t ever raise your gaze to even to his carriage. No speaking unless spoken to,” he ordered in quick succession.
Alaric felt that he wanted to add more, but kept himself back. No, Alaric corrected. The disdain on his face told that he loathed even breathing the same air as them, which probably meant he didn’t trust them to remember the orders.
He was familiar with that attitude, treating people in the slums as vermin.
They waited in silence as the soldier repeated the same three orders a dozen times, waiting for the carriage to appear.
Once it did, the guards rained orders. The carriage passed near them, not even slowing down, moving to the center of the soldiers, while the city guards gathered at the outer line.
One of the guards moved at them, standing nearby. “You’ll follow the carts, and make sure no monster attack touches the supplies,” he ordered. “Line up in the rows of five, and move!”
Alaric and the others hurried to comply, shuffling into rough lines. Their lines were far less ordered than the guards, but it couldn’t be helped.
Luckily, the carts weren’t moving too fast, so Alaric was able to keep up despite his aching body. "Look at us," Lucian muttered beside him. "Proper soldiers now.” Anyone else, their voice would have been filled with sarcasm, but Lucian sounded hopeful.
”Maybe,“ Alaric replied, not wanting to ruin his mood. He knew that they were worse than expendable. Though, Lucian probably knew that as well. He just let the dreams overwhelm it momentarily.
To his surprise, they actually stopped in the middle of the day to camp, and the guards set up several large pots, boiling stew … with actual, recognizable pieces of meat. “Line up,” the guard shouted. Only the fear of the guards prevented a stampede, but it was a close thing.
Alaric made sure to stick near Lucian, meaning he ended up somewhere in the middle rather than being pushed to the end of the line. They ended up in a large bowl of stew, and a thick slice of a bread.
Together, it might just be the best meal Alaric had ever eaten. He knew that he should have eaten it slowly since he hadn’t eaten anything since the day before, but his hands chose to rebel. “Delicious,” Lucian said.
“Don’t get too used to it,” Alaric whispered. “The guards would probably start cutting corners soon. They just don’t want to risk it.”
“Always the thinker,” Lucian chuckled. “Can’t you just enjoy the day?”
“Not everyone has the arms to beat down any threat that came their way,” Alaric responded, while Lucian raised his arms, showing off his muscles that were still apparent despite the cloth armor. Alaric looked like he was wearing a dress.
Once they finished the food, most of them stood up, practicing with their spears. Alaric was glad that it wasn’t all of them, allowing him to sit down. His body was already aching.
But, his hopes were dashed when he saw one of the prince’s soldiers walk toward them with a determined gait. Alaric stood up to join the rest, practicing the two-handed stab just in case.
“Line up,” he snapped, his tone showing utter loathing. “I’m Sergeant Barit of the Fifth Royal Guard. The honorable prince decided to reward you all for your bravery, and decided you deserve to be imparted the martial arts of our soldiers.”
Alaric fell his mouth open, surprised. While the guard sergeant mentioned during their ‘voluntary recruitment’, he had just assumed that it was just an empty promise. Unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely happy. Martial techniques were precious. Even the guards had to serve several years before they qualified to learn it, and leaking it was punished by execution.
He heard that some of the rich families also had their own martial arts, but it was just idle gossip. It wasn’t like they were lining up to confirm that to a slum rat.
Alaric wondered if it was another thoughtless gift. It likely was, but considering where they were going, Alaric much preferred to learn it first before dealing with the consequences.
“Watch carefully as I perform the first strike of Storm Spear,” he shouted. “Pass me a spear,” he ordered, which implied that it wasn’t the technique he commonly used, but that wasn’t too surprising.
The soldier pulled his arm back, his body tense before he lashed forward. The air crackled, exploding like a true storm, one that threatened to drown him. Alaric kept his eyes open, doing his best to capture every little detail. It was the single most impressive thing he had watched, one that made a part of him ache for his brush.
Painting it would have been a glorious achievement.
However, just because his fateful brush was gone didn’t mean Alaric had forgotten how to paint. And, he used every single trick he had discovered years he spent figuring how to paint to memorize the way he moved.
“Of course, none of you could hope to match the true mastery, nor you would have the blood essence it requires. Still, it’ll give you the ability to strike with tenfold strength! Now, watch as I demonstrate every step slowly,” he said, moving forward slightly before he started moving in a series of fluid steps, his movements swift yet controlled as his spear moved.
Everyone watched the way the spear moved. Alaric was tempted to do the same, but his habits of a painter told him the otherwise. He had painted the way the occasional traveling dancers and acrobats moved whenever he was able to, and he had seen that key to every movement was the footwork.
The sergeant moved in the same exact pattern, his foot and balance landing the exact same way. He noticed that Lucien was watching the spear like the others. He leaned to him and whispered. “If you trust me, focus on the way his feet move,” he whispered.
Lucian looked at him questioningly, but Alaric shrugged. He had already given his warning. The rest was on him.
He turned his attention back to the sergeant, his sharp eyes absorbing every detail even as the sergeant showed the move for another minute. “Alright, this is the Storm Strike, learn it,” he said as he turned back, his interest in not staying to teach more obvious.
Not that it mattered for Alaric. All he needed was a flat surface he could draw.
