The Downpour, Canvas, Frontier Territory, Early Winter, 1596 PTS

  Raindrops fell on Jin’s exposed face, as the world faded in and out of presence. For a moment, he couldn’t even remember where he was, before memory returned in a flash. He had been fighting someone- Cyrus, an older disciple. Jin’s strained mind could not even remember why they were fighting.

  At the bare edges of perception, he heard the heavy stamp of a foot, and Jin knew that his time was running short. Gritting his teeth, Jin tried to rise back to his feet, but he felt his left arm refuse to comply. Had he broken a bone? Using the power of his will, Jin’s other hand slammed into the water-swept surface of the arena’s floor, Jin forcefully shoved himself into a seated position. Almost on instinct, he fell into a roll, avoiding the heavy crash of Cyrus’s wooden blade into the surface he had been resting on just moments before. The move was brutal, but Jin could respect it. It was wise to attack an opponent when they were down. It was a method of avoiding any potential tricks.

  Using the momentum of the roll, Jin rose again to his feet. He could feel the throbbing pulse of his heartbeat from the back of his head, telling of a bleeding wound. But that was something that he could ignore, as it was beaten back by the rain. Jin felt his blood wash away into the endless flow, as if he were becoming one with the endless storm.

  “You should stay down,” snarled Cyrus, swinging wide, but Jin ducked beneath it, the telegraphed blow far too easy to track. The larger boy was like a raging fiend, large and powerful, but in Jin’s eyes, he was almost slow. There was something odd about that fact. It was not just his opponent, but the world itself that seemed to have slowed, a symphony in tune to the staccato rhythm of the rainfall.

  In that moment, Jin’s mind’s eye flashed back to the glance he had once taken of the waterstrider. The grace which it had exhibited despite its enormity. Jin got it now. He understood what his master had been trying to teach him. The steps flowed smooth, drifting across the flowing streams like an insect darting across water.

  In one of his science lessons, Yuenan had taught him that the reason the small waterstriding insects could run on water was due to their wide strides, and a factor known as surface tension- the force which held water droplets together. The water-striding steps were just that- a step which was impossibly wide, and impossibly soft, as if his body was not as heavy as it should be.

  Jin stretched his leg out, and as Cyrus’ sword came in for another blow, he strode past the other body, handily dodging, as a surprised expression filled Cyrus’ face. Jin smiled as he came to a stop on the other side of the arena. This was only the earliest stage of achievement in the technique, but it was enough to put it to use. With this, his odds had multiplied, because unless he made a mistake, Jin was untouchable.

  Cyrus made an admirable effort, but he was simply not quick enough to respond. Moreover, his annoyance grew with every failed slash, and his exertion grew as well. Jin could see the other boy’s bloodshot eyes, and the rage that he failed to contain.

  The other boy’s problem was one that Jin only realized now. He lacked the Water-Striding Steps, and was stuck with only the balancing abilities his body naturally had. On such a smooth surface, covered in flowing water, it took effort for him to keep his balance. This left Cyrus forced to take slow, plodding steps as he carefully chose where to place his feet.

  With his newly-mastered technique, Jin had no such restrictions. As Cyrus slashed once again, Jin dodged, taking advantage of his shorter stature to step beneath the blow, and this time, he responded with one of his own. Two swift slashes to Cyrus’s side resulted in twin grunts, and by the time Cyrus slung his sword backward to deal with Jin, Jin had already ducked.

  However, he failed to anticipate the knee that slammed into his gut. Doubling over, Jin laughed, ignoring the splatter of blood that emerged from his throat.

  “That was good,” he burbled, enjoying himself more than he realized he had since he had adjusted to sect life. Few things could make one feel alive like combat.

  The throbbing in his head and his chest continued, but Jin ignored it as he slammed his sword into Cyrus’ ankles with a sharp crack. Cyrus slipped, but did not fall, his stance far too stable.

  Despite Cyrus’ effective counter-attack, Jin still had the advantage. As the swifter and more mobile of the two, he was able to choose when to engage and disengage, an advantage which far surpassed Cyrus’ reach advantage, or even his more developed stage in the realm.

  In Jin’s experience, fights rarely lasted for more than a minute, but soon, this one had gone on for several. Cyrus was simply too durable, and the wooden sword he was wielding found it difficult to do more than bruise the other boy’s ribs.

  It took some time to take Cyrus down. As time passed, both of them grew wearier and wearier, and had Jin been any weaker, he might have simply slipped and forced Cyrus into a wrestling match on the ground. However, due to Cyrus’ advantage in physical strength, Jin knew that he had to play it safe. So instead, he continued to engage in cowardly tactics, dashing freely across the watery surface, feeling joyful as he did so.

  Jin felt as if he were the storm itself, relentless and oppressive. He judged the length of Cyrus’ arms and blade, and knew precisely how far to stay out of range. If Cyrus wished to even the odds, he would need to do something to throw Jin off guard, to shift the flow of battle, but he did not do so. He merely continued following the same patterns, the same stances that both of them had trained in.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  And for that reason above all else, Jin was able to beat him.

  Ultimately, Cyrus fell to the ground, defeated, and just like his opponent had, Jin took one final strike, slamming the sword into the larger boy’s side. Cyrus grunted, but made no further sound as Jin raised his sword high in exhilaration, his breaths heavy and chilled in the cold of the rain.

  If he were still a mortal, perhaps he might have fallen sick after this. On the streets, many had died of such illnesses.

  The training room had gone silent save for the pounding rain, but moments after, the disciples erupted into a fervor, shouting and speaking loudly to one another. The sounds hurt Jin’s brain, and he, too, collapsed to his knees on the stone of the arena. He could not help but smile, and his eyes roamed upwards to the concealed balcony in the corner.

  He wondered whether his master was proud of him.

  The Downpour, Canvas, Frontier Territory, Early Winter, 1596 PTS

  Yuenan smiled as he witnessed his sole disciple’s movements. This was the true reason he had chosen the boy. Regardless of what the tests had claimed as Jin’s remarkable receptivity to formless miasma, his talent for combat was what was truly exceptional.

  For someone like Jin, only when putting their training into practice would he achieve substantial improvement.

  “This Cyrus has turned out to be quite the talent. I’m impressed,” Riese said. “His muscle development technique has progressed faster than one would have anticipated at this stage.

  Yuenan glanced askance towards. Those had not been what he had anticipated her first words to be.

  “I suppose,” he said. He had paid little attention to Cyrus’s abilities. In all honesty, he had difficulty gauging talent among those at such a low stage. It had been far too long since he had been so weak, and unlike Riese, Yuenan was now teaching for the first time.

  “I’m more focused on Jin, as you might imagine. He finally figured out how to use the steps.”

  “Oh?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. He nodded.

  “A real fight is different. It is a lens with which to view one’s abilities in action. It is where the results of training solidify. And for some,” he continued, watching his disciple’s every movement, “it is a place where new things may be learned.”

  Riese smiled.

  “You have quite the good disciple, though I feel you should tell him to be more elegant. He was wielding that sword as if it were a cudgel.”

  She reached out, lightly caressing Yuenan’s cheek.

  “Truly, take care, Yuenan,” she said. “I suspect that boy may be his own worst enemy.” With that said, she clapped him on the shoulder, making her leave from the viewing balcony. Yuenan watched her departing back, and once she was finally gone, he returned his attention to the bleeding, heavily wounded form of his disciple.

  “Just who will you become, I wonder?” he muttered to himself. It was good for a martial artist to enjoy combat- expected, even. But perhaps he would need to intensify Jin’s science and philosophy lessons. Yuenan would certainly not be left with the legacy of a disciple who was a meathead. Nor, he thought, would it do for Jin to be so easily antagonized. He would make the boy rectify that weakness, as well.

  After departing from the balcony, Riese quickly maneuvered through the halls of the sect, winding up by the side of the hall to wait. As anticipated, a wounded Cyrus Aodi soon stepped past. He had sensed her presence, but upon realizing who she was, he started in surprise, before quickly bowing.

  “Disciple greets Elder Hukari,” he said, his awkwardness prompting a chuckle from Riese’s lips. He was a cute child, she thought.

  “Your loss was a surprise,” she said.

  The boy visibly tensed, and she was able to sense an undercurrent of anger within him. That was not a surprising reaction. Few young men could accept becoming a stepping stone in this manner, particularly not when the fight had been initiated by said opponent.

  “I apologize, Elder,” he said, his teeth not-so-secretly gritted.

  “The reason you lost,” she said, shaking her head, “is because you lack experience in real combat. Yuenan’s disciple is lesser than you in most regards. His talent is great, but it has yet to bear fruit. But I believe he has fought before, and put his life on the line. In that,” she continued, “you cannot match up to him. For now, at least.”

  Cyrus looked down at the shorter woman, his sodden hair continuing to glisten in the rain.

  “Am I supposed to just accept this?” he asked.

  Riese smiled, watching the boy carefully.

  “How would you like to become my disciple?”

  Cyrus blinked, clearly not having expected such a response.

  “Are you serious?” he asked. “Why me?”

  She shrugged.

  “I am merely recognizing your potential.”

  “If I accept you as my master,” he said hesitantly, “will I be able to get my revenge?”

  Ah, she thought. This one has heard the rumors. It did not matter, of course. There was truth to them, but Riese was not the type to be defined by her relationships with others. No matter the circumstances, she was her own individual, and she would do as she wished.

  “Of the great martial masters,” Riese said, “the best almost always had a rival. I think that your drive for revenge will be a boon for the sect. Never lose that spark.”

  She admired the spark in Cyrus’s golden eyes. It was an admirable flame, unquenched despite the storm that raged outside. Perhaps these were emotions that could only be found within the young. That was good, though. To Riese, it seemed that both of the young disciples were boys playing at being men, but lacking the maturity to truly understand adulthood. If they had been wiser, none of this would have happened in the first place.

  As an Elder, it was her job to instruct them.

  Canvasian Science and Natural Philosophy: [Even prior to first contact with the Staiven, the Canvasians independently arrived at the concepts of the scientific method, as well as the philosophies of scientific rationalism. To certain factions, such studies were seen as complementary to martial training, and disciples were educated to the best of their force’s capability. It was not until the conflicts with the Reth, where their technological superiority turned the tables on the larger force of Sunlit Hall’s martial artists, that they realized the critical importance of developing their technology base further, however. Until first contact with the Staiven, such efforts had borne little fruit. In the modern era, Canvasian science is almost entirely based around the reverse engineering of smuggled alien technology.]