Guardian's Farm 10

“What do you think, Sage,” I asked, watching the young man leave the clearing. “Am I doing the right thing, offering to train the kid?”

Sage looked at my eyes, a question clear in his bright grey eyes.

“Why did I accept to train him?” I asked, and Sage nodded. “He’s a good kid, if a bit reckless,” I explained. “Despite thinking that I was in a desperate situation, he reacted to your howls and rushed here. If it was a real attack, there was a good chance that I would have been too injured to help him once he arrived, making him a target, yet he risked himself.”

Sage whimpered dismissively.

“I know, it’s a stupid risk,” I said with a chuckle, amused by Sage’s haughty attitude. The last two weeks had taught me that Sage could be very prickly when it came to pride, so I didn’t mention just how close the young man’s behavior was to his reckless defense against the boar. Ironically, it was also why I accepted his offer to pay. I didn’t need the money, not exactly, but if I offered it for free, the kid would have thought that he owed me, and tried to pay me back.

It was better to let him think he was paying a fair price for my training … even though I had more than one offer to pay me in my weight in gold to take one of the snotty noble scions as an apprentice.

And, I wasn’t exactly a lightweight.

“He reminds me of my youth, when I was just as reckless.”

Sage raised his head proudly.

“Yes, you’re smarter than us puny humans,” I said. Sage was smart enough to communicate with me, but he was still young enough to be brash and arrogant, which made his attitude even more amusing.

He nodded, then pointed at the discarded spear, which the kid had forgotten in his excitement, and then tried to make a complicated pattern with his paw.

“No, I won’t teach him any techniques, just work on his foundation. Basic conditioning and awareness are more than enough. I don’t want my retreat filled with overeager young men begging for training. Reckless as he was, the kid earned it. The others, not so much.”

The last thing I needed was a leak indicating that I knew any advanced fighter techniques.

“But, that’s enough,” I said. “Attack me. We still have half an hour before we are due for a break.”

Sage rushed at me before I even took a stance, trying to catch me flat-footed. His intent was obvious, but still, he was almost successful. I barely dodged out of his way with a staggering step, raising my hands to deflect his next attack.

Two weeks in, I was still having trouble adapting to Whispering Breeze, which had been an annoying experience for me. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I believed I had earned the right to be called a genius when it came to fighting techniques. Not only had I mastered Indomitable Blade to a degree that wasn’t achieved previously, but I had also dissected hundreds of other techniques.

Guardian might be a defense-oriented position, but it required a strong sense of anticipation and positioning to keep the mages safe as they cast their spells. Which, in turn, required a deep understanding of the enemy techniques, even if I didn’t practice them.

Serene Leaf was quickly proving to be the exception. With any other technique, adapting to the opening stance would take mere hours, but Serene Leaf was proving to be a challenge. Two weeks in, and I was still having trouble with the first stance, Whispering Breeze. Even now, the movement didn’t flow naturally, and naturally, the internal energy failed to match my movement.

It was a frustrating experience, which hadn't been made any easier by Sage’s mocking snickers whenever I stumbled halfway through the movement for no reason. “Manage to tag me first, then laugh, you overgrown puppy,” I called, which earned another angry howl before he launched at me.

I snickered even as I dodged again, then took the default stance: feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, arms raised with palms open. A simple stance, which made my failures even more frustrating.

At this point, the practice had long ceased to be about the benefits of the technique, and become a representation of my stubbornness. While hand-to-hand techniques were rare, they weren’t unheard of. I could have found another one focused on evasion, but I didn’t want to admit defeat.

Also, it was a good way to pass the time. I caught Sage’s gaze as he watched from a short distance away, cocking his head as he prepared to launch himself forward, trying to read my direction … which was another reason to practice. Sage was smart, but he was also barely an adolescent with poor hunting capabilities, which had been reflected in his semi-starved state when we had first met.

While staying with me for two weeks solved the worst of his malnutrition, the constant practice helped him develop his sense of anticipation and dodging, a good preparation for the times when he grows up some more and decides to travel.

I liked having him around, but I also knew that eventually, he would prove too much of a free spirit to stay around.

“Try to add some feints,” I reminded him, delivering another direct lunge, getting impatient with his repeated failures. I might be having trouble smoothly practicing the technique, but it didn’t remove my years of experience.

He growled, once again ignoring my advice, once again showing his stubbornness.

“Fine, be that way,” I said while dodging another attack, ignoring the frustration caused by the way my internal energy coiled around my chest, ready to follow my arm before it was interrupted halfway, refusing to follow the movement.

Which meant I was making a mistake in the delivery of the move.

For the last two weeks, I have been doing my best to optimize the exact delivery of the move, the angle of my palms, the timing of my step, my balance… It helped somewhat, but nowhere as much as I had hoped. The flow of the internal energy still felt forced.

Sage attacked once again, this time I slowed down the attack at the cost of risking a direct blow from his teeth, trying to perfect the movement. Another failure, which almost turned into a failure while Sage sniggered, happy with the near miss.

“Good job, buddy,” I called, deciding not to explain the exact nature of his success. The occasional encouragement could be useful. Then, I raised my palms again, ready for another attack, which turned into another hour of practice that left both of us tired.

“That’s it for today,” I called, which earned a protesting growl, taking another lunging stance. “We can continue, but it means I won’t be able to tend to the meal,” I said, which turned his protest into an urgent whimper as he immediately pulled back.

I chuckled while I walked toward the fire pit, where I had a small, bubbling pot of stew, which had a combination of meat, some root vegetables, and healing herbs that I had scavenged from the wilderness.

One thing I had learned about Sage: he liked training, but not enough to compromise the quality of his food, and he hated consuming purified healing herbs. He was quite a gourmet. Which made it a challenge to experiment with different herbs and natural spices that were available in the forest.

It was lucky that I had spent two decades putting together meals for some of the pickiest people in the world in some of the most inhospitable locations. Not because I was forced to, but because it helped to have a pleasant break between dangerous fights and torturous treks.

Keeping them satisfied had always been a point of pride for me. I sighed.

Maybe I should have forced them to have a meal together every day even after our victory. Would that have prevented us from drifting away?

“Probably not,” I said as I tasted the current state of the stew. “Too sharp,” I said with a frown. One challenge of using local herbs was that it was a challenge to predict how they would react in various cooking combinations. The experience helped, but not as much as experimentation.

Luckily, I wasn’t baking, which had never been a strength of mine in the first place. Also, baking was always more unforgiving toward mistakes. There was no way to fix a cake halfway, which was not true for cooking.

I added a few leaves that worked well to absorb the bitterness, then added a few flower petals to give an earthy aroma to add some layers. I mixed a few times before I left the stew to simmer. When I pulled back, Sage looked at me expectantly. “We still have an hour until it’s ready,” I said. He took the attack position. “No,” I said while I moved toward the plow. “I still have work to do. I want to tame at least two acres of land before it’s too late for growing wheat. I’m already taking a gamble with early frost.”

Sage whimpered in protest.

“You can always explore the mountain and find us some different plants that we can experiment with. A rabbit or two wouldn’t be amiss either,” I said.

He tried to maintain eye contact, trying to wear me down. He managed to look surprisingly cute and vulnerable to such a dangerous animal.

“No, buddy. There’s no chance it’ll work for me. I’m immunized,” I said, but my chuckle died halfway, remembering the source of my resistance was half an empire away, with only a painting as a reminder.

I closed my eyes, sighing sadly before I felt a wet nose pressing against my hand. “Sorry for bringing the mood down, buddy. I miss her,” I said. Sage rubbed against my leg in comfort before he turned and left for the mountain.

I grabbed the plow, readying myself for another pass, my mind already dissecting the Whispering Breeze stance. Focusing on my professional failure was much easier than thinking of what I had lost.

Or who…