The next day of training was awfully similar to his first. As well as all those that followed over the next nonats. Myrkas spent his mornings running in alternation with going through the obstacle course and plain old strength exercises. All the while being pelted by not-peanuts. It was a never-ending race between the boy's improvements in his ability to dodge and the guards’ creativity in throwing their projectiles. Myrkas had insisted his name and Snow's be added to the scoreboard. They gained points by dodging and parrying, obviously, with extra if they were able to hit back the original assailant with their own not-peanut caught in mid-air—or deflected by a nimble paw.

  Without any surprises, Myrkas' senior Sister won more often than not. Only the officers were able to hit her with any consistency. The others usually received a soft-shelled fruit to the face for their efforts. She was the favoured disciple for a reason. No one dared to question her undeniable talent anymore. Especially not in an earshot of Master Ranil.

  The two were improving by leaps and bounds. Though progress came with a price. A price paid in pain and muscle aches. Myrkas came back bruised every training day. Unfortunately, the teal pool was indeed reserved for officers. His prolonged soak on his first day had been an exception. Any further inquiries to partake in its healing power were quickly shut down. Something about Myrkas using up all the Qi on that first day. The boy received no further explanation from his Master, only a mumbled "should have known with this kid" as an answer to his questions.

  Instead, they used the varied pools available for all guards to use according to the whims of Master Ranil. The big one in the middle, with its placid dark-yellow Qi, remained the most frequent one. In addition, Myrkas was only allowed a quick wash and a short dip in that same biggest pool at the end of his training days. The boy looked on with envy at the officers enjoying the superior healing of the Teal one. The earth-based Qi of the middle one simply did not resonate as well with his new starfish concept. It was a little harder to integrate. It had to be coaxed and corralled into his middle dantian. Compared to the Teal energies rushing in on that first day, it simply was not as satisfying an experience.

  Still, Myrkas trained and meditated diligently. As Master Ranil said, self-discipline was the best-guarded secret of higher Realms cultivators. Well, not really a secret. More of an annoying advice most people didn't want to believe in. It was much easier to blame fate for one's lack of power instead of acknowledging their own inadequacies...

  Not that Myrkas ever did that, of course not. It was not the boy's fault if complaining about a certain imperial princeling felt so great, so liberating. The benign spite helped foister his self-discipline and hurt absolutely no one. He had no reason to stop. No reason to analyze his random bouts of anger and redirect them elsewhere. The original main character stayed the perfect emotional punching bag. Myrkas saw no cause to change his favoured coping mechanism. It was the mature way to deal with feelings. A great way to keep on advancing.

  Keep calm and chew the prince to your heart's content.

  Especially since the boy tended to accumulate a lot of such unwanted feelings on "equilibrium" days. During those dreaded afternoons, the usual katas were replaced by an exercise so horrible, it had to have been devised by a truly vile and sadistic mind – "cough Suna Ranil cough."

  Myrkas gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as he stood once again in front of those damn bamboo poles. They towered over him, nagging him with their superior height. These were devious training implements. The precise combination of rigidity to flexibility they were kept at did not allow for any mistakes. The fact that his fluffy bunny bested him every single time they had to do this equilibrium exercise in no way helped the boy develop any benevolent sentiments towards the whole set-up.

  The curated vegetal lengths were carefully arrayed in the muddy pool at the end of the athletic field. The pool itself was about two meters deep, with some sort of reddish-brown algae growing from the bottom to provide a little cushioning for the frequent falls. It was the bare minimum in terms of safety measures.

  The boy stood there, almost ready to start. His midday bath had done wonders again. He had not bothered with getting dressed post, preferring to exit the bathhouse wearing spare pants and shoes only. He had known what the afternoon would bring. Master Ranil loved to tell him before his bath, to make sure his human disciple could stew in trepidation when he should be relaxing. The action of an evil, evil man indeed.

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  In the month since Myrkas had started his discipleship, he had completed all but one tiny cylindrical Qi reservoirs in his fingertips and knuckles. While the boy had initially planned to move up to his wrists next, this particular exercise he was about to start was making him rethink it. Maybe he should do his toe tips next. It should help his grip, prevent some falls. One could dream. And experiment. Better the dream one could transform into reality. With Qi, anything was possible, or so Myrkas hoped.

  Plans for later. Resigned but determined, Myrkas climbed onto the first pole. Another afternoon of misery lay before him. Snow quickly climbed ahead, happy to display her superior jumping power and athletic skills. She almost never fell or got hit by not-peanuts. Myrkas still refused to learn the dark orange soft-shelled fruit's name from pure pettiness.

  To the boy's great disappointment, equilibrium training was not exempt from "target practice." Master Ranil considered the "dodging, blocking, parrying" game to be a wonderful feature more than anything. Especially since it helped to make his disciples fall down their perch more often. A most wonderful entertainment.

  The mean Master had even started to give notes on Myrkas' landings into the pool. On how the boy should maintain awareness in mid-air and reposition to ensure he entered the water feet first. Or at least buttocks first. Master Ranil had made a grading chart for his splashes, deducing points if Myrkas' skin became red after the boy hit the water. The scarred man had even added a bonus if Myrkas was ever able to grab a pole while falling and climb back up. A feat not yet achieved.

  Torture. Pure and simple torture all around.

  Myrkas could not wait for winter. For when it would be too cold and the water would freeze over. Snow fell here—the actual snow, not the rabbit. She was far too skilled to fall. She only fell when she attempted exquisitely difficult manoeuvres.

  Unlike her clumsy human junior brother, she delighted in this particular hellish exercise. She ran literal circles around anyone up there unfortunate enough to train at the same time as her. It was usually Myrkas. Pretty much always Myrkas.

  At least, the boy was spared from sparring up there. That was something done by officers, or officers to be. Aspiring corporals and sergeants looking to show off. The lieutenants and the captain did not spar often, but when they did, it was always atop the bamboo poles. Not so much to show off but to give them a degree of difficulty without needing to leak killing intent everywhere. It would not do to kill their weaker colleagues inadvertently.

  But Myrkas was still quite far from that level. The simplified stances he practiced high in the air were more than enough of a challenge for him. No need to look any further yet. He was only starting to breach the mystical state of body meditation. No need to add actual "play fight" to his plate. He had enough to work on as it was. He had barely any time to work on his basic meditation technique. Only a few afternoons here and there between martial training, formal education, alchemy apprenticeship, and working on his secret projects—like his revolutionary soap formula and how to improve the infect "horse piss" elixir. That taste was a sheer abomination.

  The afternoon went on, with the boy "making splashes" again and again. A whole month of this had not diminished his anger when confronted with his failures. Each hit scored against him, each fall, each slip only strengthened Myrkas' resolve to improve. His spite against his Master, the princeling, and himself only grew, fueling his determination. The red dot in his belly pulsed each time he was knocked down, urging the boy to stand back up. To gather power and get revenge. Revenge against... against... against whatever the Hells he wanted. When the time was appropriate. He didn't have a clear target yet. Mostly a general simmering anger when stuff did not unfold as he wanted. No need to think too deeply about any of this though. Myrkas was fine. Of course, he was. No trauma there. Animal therapy was all he needed...

  Strength needed sacrifices. Myrkas would pay its price in pain and grits. That was what all good protagonists did. And today, Myrkas had one more thing to keep him going. One more reason to stand back up and give it his all. Tomorrow was the day. The day he finally allowed himself to verify his progress. The boy had already received his uncle's permission to take out the Assessor in the morning.

  Over a month had lapsed since his last assessment. Myrkas had waited patiently, afraid not to see any change if he looked at it too early. His poor heart would not have survived that. His sufferings at the hands of his Master had to mean something. This ongoing cycle of exertion, bruising, and recovery had to bear fruits. The boy needed to see a significant improvement. His motivation depended on it. His faith in his sadistic Martial Master had limits. Limits reached a long while ago. Master Ranil was lucky fantasy novels were full of somewhat quirky teachers with unconventional methods. That fact had sustained Myrkas' faith in his Master more than once. That and his monetary debt. He did not want to know what Master Ranil would do if Myrkas gave up on being his disciple. Outright stealing Snow was not too far-fetched.

  Myrkas could wait no longer. One more night and the boy would know. Did his numbers go up?