Chương 33: Ropes and Buckets

Jordan hadn't been entirely wrong about his prejudices toward the characters in Vesselia. Because, as he soon found out, being a nerd wizard really was a big part of spellcasting. Before that, however, Jordan's first week as a soldier boy settled into a predictable and manageable routine, much faster and smoother than he could've hoped. During the daytimes, Finch Quiverwing had the platoon, impassively and ruthlessly running them through physical exercises, combat training, and military drills.

These sessions were hard on the body but straightforward for the mind. Jordan was sure to get sick of them eventually, but for now, he relished switching off his brain and feeling himself grow stronger. The highlight, no doubt, was the weapons training, all part of a holistic approach to training up spellcasters. Jordan especially had to take it seriously, in view of the very real possibility that he would have to rely on these skills more than most.

This week, they focused on drilling and sparring with wooden polearms—something the LARP-ers back home might pay a pretty penny for. Well, Jordan got to enjoy it for free, if you counted getting slapped around by a joyless mute as 'free'. Then, in the afternoons and evenings, Heron Catchgrain would take the group for an hour or two of classroom sessions. The recruits would file into a literal 'classroom', a stuffy rectangular situation with bare walls and a floor of uneven stone bricks.

They would then sit uncomfortably on straw mats while Ranger Catchgrain droned on about this historical battle or that tactical principle. Calling these lessons 'engaging' would be a lie, but Jordan still tried his best to retain as much information as possible. No easy task for a brain fried and atrophied by all the trappings of 21st-century Earth. He of course couldn't ask Heron to record the lectures nor put them up on a shared drive.

It was like being back in elementary school, minus the bloated binders, the colorful pens, and the SpongeBob lunch box. The biggest challenge, however, was simply to stay awake. These lessons invariably followed a hard day's training on the drill square, which led to many a drooping eyelid and slack posture—and Jordan wasn't even the worst offender. The consequences of falling asleep in Heron's class were as dire as one might imagine.

An unspoken code among the recruits was to pinch each other, mercilessly hard, whenever you caught your neighbor nodding off. By the end of the week, both Jordan and Pewter had more bruises from the academic portion of their training than the physical! The hour of the Dog was the only time of the day the recruits had to themselves, sandwiched between dinner and curfew. Most spent the precious 120 minutes or thereabouts either sorting out their personal effects or simply recovering.

But Jordan and Pewter—newly established gym buddies—had other ideas. Finding the energy after an already busy and demanding day was a challenge, to be sure, though surmountable with sufficient motivation. The trickier part was to cobble together the equipment needed for Jordan's rather niche purposes. The 'pole' portion of the carrying pole came from a wooden polearm that had been damaged during training and was about to be discarded anyway.

The buckets were bribed off a crusty quartermaster, exchanged for the copper pieces Jordan had brought all the way from Copper Hill. Whereas the ropes were fashioned by—who else? —Pewter Sapling the Lv. 4 Tetherer, though entirely without the use of magic.

"I like working with my hands," Pewter had explained to a carefully observant Jordan.

"Something my brothers don't really get to do in their line of work. In that sense, I'm proud of my spellcasting class, even if it's…" Pewter had trailed off then, but Jordan more than understood. You're right to be proud, bud. Everyone in Vesselia gets the class they do because it's what they love best. A true enough sentiment, but Jordan had to wonder what that meant for himself and his mysterious 'Gatekeeper' class. In lieu of water, the gym buddies filled their buckets with sand.

Only common sense, perhaps, but it nevertheless proved to be a stroke of genius. It gave them (literally) granular control over the weight they wished to train with, all while never worrying about wasting a precious resource for the rest of the barracks. Just like that, Jordan and Pewter had themselves an adjustable squat rack. If they wanted to do conventional squats with the heaviest weights possible, they shortened the ropes for a higher center of gravity.

If they instead wanted to work their stabilizer muscles and build some 'mountain strength', they lengthened the ropes for a proper yoke walk. Neither Jordan nor Pewter was remotely ready to start jumping and pirouetting like Heron the CrossFit freak, but still… these were some of the most substantial baby steps in Jordan's adult life. The pair went at it, every night during the hour of the Dog. They did so in the empty courtyard, out in the open for all to see.

This proved to be Jordan's second significant hurdle—namely the need to get over his self-consciousness. Just do your thing, lordlet, and let the peasants gawk if they wish. Charisma DC 10 Roll: 16 Final: 18 Result: success By Friday night, or Shennong's Day by the local customs, two more guys from the platoon asked to join in. They'd even brought their own makeshift carrying pole, though Pewter had to fix up the ropes to make them more gym-safe.

Jordan, for his part, was both surprised and delighted by the humble groundswell. This time last week, who would've foreseen his starting a new workout fad in Featherift City? All that to say, Days 2 to 6 of the soldier life passed in a sweat-soaked blur. Like a training montage, as it were. Jordan unironically used 'Eye of the Tiger' as the soundtrack to this portion of his life. It even managed to catch on among the group, such that his new workout friends began humming it too.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. At the end of Day 6, as Nüwa passed their baton to all of Heaven, Jordan received another new notification. It was one that no longer surprised him. If anything, he'd been wondering when it might pop up. Feat enhanced. [Zhurong's Blessing (Lv. 2 -> Lv. 3)]: In recognition of your labor of the flesh, you've gained a permanent [3]-point upgrade to Strength. STR 15 -> 16 (modifier: +2 -> +3) Encumbrance: 1. 0/225 -> 1.

0/240 lbs It'd been a good week or more since the last enhancement. Which only made sense, Jordan supposed. The attribute upgrades likely proc'd in some non-linear fashion: just another of the many black boxes that governed life in Vesselia. Either way, he was happy with his own progress—and happy with the system's recognition of it. Out of the six attributes, [Strength] was the only one he had direct control over, which aligned just fine with one of his high-priority goals.

Namely, to pump up his [Strength] and therefore Encumbrance limit until he could simply carry the Heavenly Cauldron everywhere he went. He'd already done the math. To get to an upper limit of at least 496 lbs, I need my STR to be at 34. Now, I don't know if that's achievable purely through [Zhurong's Blessing], nor how many years (decades? Centuries?) it would take to get there, but I do fully intend to find out. And so, it was with a contented heart and hopeful attitude that he went to bed on Nüwa's Day night… …

only to be woken on Heaven's Day morning with some of the worst news imaginable.

"Gatekeeper Yu." This from the platoon's most senior recruit, a fellow by the name of Taison who shared Finch Quiverwing's everyman features and about the same emotional range.

"You are to report to Ranger Catchgrain this morning for private tutelage. He'll be waiting in his quarters. Go there directly after breakfast and do not delay."

"What? Just me? By myself?"

"That is what 'private tutelage' generally means, yes."

"Why, what did I do?" Taison gave a dismissive wave of the hand—about the closest thing Stormvasters had to a shrug of the shoulders. That morning, Jordan could barely taste his breakfast as he wondered what fresh hell Heron had in store for him. It was Heaven's Day, and he'd been looking forward to what had been promised to be a lighter schedule. Instead, he now had a date with a hated boss to look forward to.

Heron's quarters were situated in the back of the barracks, down a quiet breezeway between two buildings and far removed from the hubbub of the courtyard. As Jordan slid the door open, he was instantly met by the smell of incense and the hint of something that reminded him of aftershave.

"Is that Recruit Yu? Come in." The man himself was dressed in the same 'Sunday best' with which he'd visited Jordan in jail. The Ranger sat at a desk of red sandalwood, in the back of what doubled as a foyer and an office. He was in the middle of some writing, posture and brushstrokes nearly as precise and elegant as a certain Chronicler known to Jordan. He looked up as his pupil walked in, upon which he immediately adopted his trademark sneer."

Nüwa lend you light," Heron swore lightly, tone more mocking than accusatory, "have you not seen yourself in a mirror all week? How do you expect to pass the inspection tomorrow looking like that?"

"Can't say I have, Ranger," Jordan answered in a deliberate monotone, opting for the formal address rather than his preferred 'Fuckface'.

"Maybe I would have, if I had a mirror to look at." If Heron thought anything of Jordan's rather pointed insolence, he didn't show it. Instead, he nodded toward the doorway of an adjoining room.

"Go into my chamber and clean yourself up. I trust you Westerners at least know how to use a soap and razor?" Jordan nodded, though more out of stubbornness than actual honesty. As he turned to obey the Ranger's direct command, he fervently wished that the 'soap' in this world functioned more or less like shaving cream. Only after he'd stepped into Heron's chamber did it occur to him just how… intrusive this all felt.

He tried his best not to gawk at the Ranger's personal effects, though it was hard not to take in the general sleeping arrangement (must be nice to have your own bed). The smell of incense and aftershave grew stronger as he made a beeline for the metallic stand that housed a wash basin and a… … mirror? Jordan couldn't be sure at first, as the thing didn't look like any mirror he knew. If anything, the round disc had features more in common with his cauldron, including an outer frame of faded bronze.

The middle portion, however, had been polished and buffed until a beholder could more or less make out his own reflection. That was how Jordan had his first real shock of the day. The stranger staring back at him had the slightly hollowed out cheeks of someone who'd lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. His once faint stubble now approached a full-on beard, though still rather patchy owing to his East Asian genes.

His hair, once a vaguely K-pop-y curtain cut, now crowded his eyes, ears, and neck—perhaps not long before he too needed to tie it up in the local fashion. Damn, it's only been two weeks and change, but I've really let myself go.

"I don't have all day to waste," Heron instructed from the other room.

"Rid yourself of the unsightly stubble, and I'll allow that abomination you would pass off as a beard. I wager that, in time, it'll grow into something halfway presentable." Jordan did as he was bid. As it turned out, the soap did generate enough foam to ease the razoring. It also gave off a weirdly smoky scent, which he now realized was the 'incense' he'd been smelling all this time. As for the hygienic considerations of using another man's razor and wash basin… well, when in Rome.

"I've seen what you and your little friends have been up to, Recruit Yu," Heron now said without preamble, even before Jordan had sat down across the desk from him.

"Those exercises with the ropes and buckets. It shows good initiative, I'll grant you that. But… I do wonder where you got the idea." Jordan chose not to respond, staring back at Heron's sneer with as much quiet defiance as he could muster. By now, he was familiar enough with this Ranger's antics that the veiled threats no longer had him running for the hills. Better the devil you know, etc. Presently, Heron put down his brush, straightening in his seat as if to signal a formal lesson.

"If you possess even a lick of self-awareness," the man continued, evidently content to let the matter of ropes and buckets lie, "it should be obvious why I've called you in today. For despite your inflated levels… and despite your bearing the largest, deepest Vessel known to man, you clearly don't know the first thing about spellcasting. Be grateful, Gatekeeper Yu. For I've taken the time out of my day to correct your glaring deficiencies." Jordan raised his eyebrows.

Was Heron saying what he thought he was saying?

"Today, we begin your private lessons in the Fundamentals of Spellcraft."