Chương 22: The only one worth winning

The spear thrust came at him fast, too fast for a morning drill. Caleb shifted his weight, letting Narbok's practice weapon slide past his ribs, the attack read three moves ago.

"Watch your footwork, dull-ear!" Narbok's eyes glittered menacingly.

"Or maybe half-breeds can't manage proper forms?" Caleb stumbled back, making it look uncoordinated. The packed earth of the garrison training yard bit into his knees as he fell. Good. Let the psycho think he'd scored a victory. Nevermind the fact I could skewer you like a pig… A soft chime registered in his mind, quietly acknowledging his ongoing performance. [Your proficiency with Deception (F) has increased to Adept] Right, he thought with a spark of amusement.

Even pretending to be bad is a Skill you have to practice.

"Sorry," Caleb wheezed, pushing himself up with deliberate effort.

"I'm still new to all of this, oh wise and powerful one." Across the yard, Captain Hatch barked out an order.

"Blackbriar! Less talking, more drilling!" The green-skinned Mycari glared at Caleb before returning to his assigned position. His cronies, Finn and Durk, snickered from their spots in the formation. Leo materialized at Caleb's elbow, steadying him on his feet. The boy's soft face was pinched with worry.

"Th-thanks for taking the hit, Thal," Leo whispered.

"I think… he was aiming for me."

"Just stay close, buddy." Caleb's words were a murmur meant only for Leo, while his eyes tracked Hatch's position. The Captain stood at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed, watching everything like a hawk.

"And remember what I taught you about your stance. You're getting better, but you need to stay wide and balanced. Don't make their job easy for them, right?" Hatch barked the next command as they fell back into formation. [Iron Root Stance] into [Breaching Thrust]. Caleb moved, fighting his own instincts. [Savant of the Body] flooded his limbs with the knowledge of the ideal angle and the precise force required. Too fast, man, you've gotta slow it down.

He purposely introduced a wobble into his stance for the next rotation. Good, Hatch saw that whiff! Let's make the next shot off-angle… He executed the thrust with just enough error to pass as a struggling novice. Aurum climbed higher in the morning sky, baking the autumn air. Sweat beaded on Caleb's forehead as they transitioned to paired drills, and, of course, Narbok positioned himself and his crew nearby.

"Switch partners every five exchanges!" Hatch commanded. The first rotation went smoothly. Caleb paired with Leo and walked him through the basics of how to block. The kid was improving. Marginally. His grip was less tenuous and his stance more grounded. Small victories. We'll whip this little guy into a fighter yet! The second rotation brought him Finn. The wiry Mycari teen had mean eyes and meaner habits.

Their wooden spears clacked together in the prescribed pattern, but Finn kept edging closer, trying to crowd Caleb's space.

"I heard you joined the Adventurer's Guild, didn't yuh," Finn said between strikes.

"Think that makes you special, mutt?" Caleb narrowed his attention to the pattern. Strike, block, counter, repeat. Don't rise to the bait, Foster.

"The Greenshade boys are talking about teaching you proper respect, you know." Finn's next thrust hit harder, aiming for Caleb's bruised ribs.

"Maybe it'll be tonight? Maybe… tomorrow? You'll never know, will ya? Not 'til it's too late." Of course these punks recruited more help. Caleb added it to his mental checklist of problems. Right now he had a more immediate goal than worrying about getting jumped by idiot delinquents.

"Next rotation!" This time Caleb found himself facing Narbok directly. The Mycari casually spun his practice spear in his hands, likely trying to look intimidating. He had trained longer and obviously carried himself with the confidence of someone who'd grown up with weapons.

"Let's see what the kitchen boy's learned," Narbok said, loud enough for others to hear. They engaged, and Narbok didn't hold back, his strikes coming fast and heavy. Caleb gave ground, deflecting each strike and letting the force slide away. His body wanted to counter, to strike into the openings Narbok's aggression created but he suppressed the urge. He let a thrust slip through, catching his shoulder, and a hot spike of pain drove into the muscle.

He leaned on [Ignore Pain] to bite back the curse and reset his stance.

"Pathetic," Narbok sneered.

"Your whore mother should have—" The words cut off as Captain Hatch's shadow fell across them.

"Blackbriar. Explain to me why your form looks like a drunk goblin's mating dance." Narbok's green skin flushed.

"Sir, I was just—""Overextending on every thrust is what you were just doing. And dropping your guard after each attack. Lad, you announce your intentions like a town crier to anyone with a pair of eyes. If this were actual combat you'd be dead three times over."

"But he's so slow—""Caldorn maintained proper form throughout, slow or not. You abandoned yours chasing easy hits." Hatch stepped back.

"Twenty laps around the yard. Your entire squad. Move!" A muscle jumped in Narbok's neck as his lips pulled back from his teeth, but he couldn't disobey a direct order. He and his cronies tossed their spears and started running. As they passed, Durk made a throat-cutting gesture at Caleb. Caleb rolled his eyes. The remaining drills proceeded without incident. Caleb continued his balancing act, improving enough to show dedication and stumbling enough to seem harmless.

By the time Hatch called the session to an end sweat had soaked through his shirt and his bruise collection had grown. He had an interesting one on the back of his right hand that looked like the state of Michigan…

"DISMISSED!" Hatch barked.

"Same time tomorrow. Do not be late." The recruits scattered, most heading for the village proper. Leo was lingering though, clearly wanting to talk, but Caleb had a narrow window. He watched Narbok's crew finish their punishment laps and saw them trudge toward the gate. Now or never. Caleb straightened his aching spine and approached Captain Hatch. The man was inspecting the practice weapons, separating damaged ones for repair.

Up close, the Captain's impressive presence seemed to stem from the way his physique commanded the space around him.

"Sir?" Caleb pitched his voice carefully. Respectful but eager.

"May I speak with you?" Hatch glanced up, one eyebrow raised.

"Caldorn. What is it?"

"I wanted to thank you for the instruction today. And..." Caleb let energy color his words.

"I was wondering if I might borrow a practice spear. You know, to train on my own time? I know I'm behind the others, sir, and I want to catch up quickly." If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The Captain studied him for a long moment. Caleb felt the scrutiny of that assessment and fought the urge to fidget. This was just another networking event, another manager to impress.

"You work at the Hearthsong, don't you Caldorn?"

"Yes, sir. Kitchen duty."

"Those are long hours, lad."

"I'll make time, sir! Between breaks, after my shift. Whatever it takes." Caleb injected just the right amount of determination into his voice.

"I don't want to be the weakest link in the formation... I won't be the weakest link. Sir." Hatch nodded slowly.

"Initiative. I respect that in a soldier." He gestured to the equipment shed.

"You may take one from storage, but understand this: I'll be watching your progress. If I don't see improvement you'll return it immediately."

"Understood, sir! Thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet," Hatch smiled faintly.

"Extra training means I expect extra results. Dismissed." Caleb placed his right fist over his heart and offered a short salute before turning away. As he headed for the garrison gate after collecting his training spear, a voice called out behind him.

"Th-Thal! Wait up!" Leo hurried to catch him, clutching a small, grease-stained paper bag. His round face was flushed from exertion and something else. Nervousness?

"Hey Leo." Caleb slowed his pace.

"Good work today. Your blocks are getting stronger."

"Only thanks to you." Leo fell into step beside him, rotating the bag in his hands.

"I, um, I wanted to give you this. As a thank you. You know… for everything." He thrust the bag at Caleb like it might explode. Inside was a golden-brown sweet roll, the twisting pastry glazed with what looked like honey and cinnamon.

"Leo, you didn't have to—""Please." The boy swallowed.

"Just take it. I made it myself this morning. Be-before training." Caleb accepted the gift, recognizing the gesture for what it was. In his old life, Jack had done similar things: small offerings when words weren't enough. The well-known ache squeezed at his heart.

"It looks delicious," Caleb said honestly.

"Thank you." The words seemed to unlock something in Leo. They walked along the garrison walls now, into a quiet area behind the armory where crates created impromptu seating. Leo sat heavily on one, and Caleb joined him.

"My father's going to kill me," Leo whispered suddenly.

"He says... he says'a Tanner never yields.' But when he finds out how badly I'm doing with the spear..." He trailed off, misery etched into his youthful features. Caleb took a bite of the sweet roll, buying time. It was excellent: light, flaky, with just the right balance of sweet and buttery.

"Tell me about your father."

"Sergeant Torric Tanner, of the Eleventh Legion's Delving Corps," Leo recited it like a prayer and a curse.

"Decorated three times for valor! Reached D-tier before his thirtieth birthday!" The young man sighed as he let the feigned excitement drop.

"Every morning at breakfast he tells me about his exploits. How he cleared the Gossamer Depths. How he held the line at Karron's Pass."

"That must be a lot to live up to."

"I can't!" The words burst from Leo, full of frustration.

"M-my hands shake every time I hold a spear! All that practice does nothing. For others, the forms are a recipe they already know. For me... it's like I'm trying to bake a cake with vinegar instead of sugar. It just comes out wrong, no matter what I do. I-I'm not a warrior… I'll never be one…" Caleb recognized the self-defeating pattern. He had seen it in Jack when the boy struggled with sports, trying desperately to be something he wasn't.

"Leo… What do you want to be?" The question seemed to surprise the boy.

"What?"

"Forget your father for a moment. Forget the Legion, the spear, and any other expectations people have put on you. If you could do anything, be anything, what would you choose?" Leo fidgeted, hands squirming in his lap. When he spoke, Caleb had to lean in to hear him.

"A baker." The admission felt like a confession of heresy. In a world of warriors and adventurers, choosing flour over steel was almost unthinkable.

"Tell me about baking, buddy." Leo's entire demeanor transformed. The nervous stutter vanished as he launched into an explanation of proofing times and hydration ratios. He gestured enthusiastically as he described forming dough, creating the ideal spiral for sweet rolls. He lit up talking about the satisfaction of feeding people, of making something that brought joy instead of death.

"The secret to a good crust," Leo said, more animated than Caleb had ever seen him, "is steam. You need that moisture in the first few minutes, or the surface sets too quickly and you don't get proper oven spring. It comes down to balance, about knowing exactly when to add things and when to wait. It's like alchemy, but—" He caught himself, the good cheer draining away.

"But it's not fighting…

'A Tanner doesn't b-bake bread, Leo. A Tanner earns his strength.' That's what he always says."

"Your father?"

"My father. The Legion. Everyone says that! The whole Dominion runs on strength above all." Leo slumped, bitterness threading through the words.

"And our family... we're just common stock. No ancient bloodline or special gifts from our ancestors. Father says a Tanner earns his strength because we weren't born with it." He continued in a whisper.

"It's just another thing he can be disappointed in me for." Caleb finished his treat, the pleasure of enjoying the sweet pastry a simple contrast to the painful memory of his own son's difficulties. He remembered Jack quitting the soccer team after a particularly rough game where the other kids had mocked him for being too slow. Jack had tried to hide his tears, but Caleb had seen them. He'd wanted to storm onto that field, to yell at the coach, at the other parents.

Instead, he had taken Jack home and they had built a ridiculously complex Lego starship together in a silent act of solidarity. He looked at Leo, at the spirit of a gentle boy being crushed by a world that only valued force. A powerful protective impulse surged through Caleb, a reflex carved into his being by a decade and a half of fatherhood.

"You know what takes real strength, Leo?" Caleb's words carried a conviction that made the young man look up.

"Holding onto who you are when the entire world is trying to beat it out of you. Creating something good in a world full of destruction. And trust me, when I say good, I mean good. That sweet roll was delicious, buddy." Leo beamed a smile up at him as Caleb continued.

"Look, anyone can learn to swing a spear. But it takes a special person to make something that brings happiness to others."

"My father says cooking is women's work."

"Your father is wrong." The words came out harder than intended, and Caleb moderated his tone.

"I've worked in Gareth Hearthsong's kitchen for weeks now. You think he's weak? That man could probably lift your father with one arm while filleting a fish with the other. Preparing food is a skill, a craft. In some ways, it's even harder than fighting." Leo looked up at him, a fragile hope in his eyes.

"Do you really think so?"

"I know so, Leo. And here's something else: forcing yourself to be good at something you hate will kill you slowly. Trust me on this one. But even being mediocre at something you love will fill your life with purpose." [New Skill Gained: Teaching (F) - Novice] Huh. I didn't realize the system tracked mentoring skills. Neat.

"But the training—""Is mandatory, I know. So here's what you do. You concentrate on survival Skills. Defense. Dodging. Things like that. You don't need to be an epic warrior, just competent enough to avoid dying. Use the rest of your energy on what matters to you. Ok?"

"And when my father finds out?"

"You'll be older. Established. Maybe even running your own bakery." Caleb met his eyes seriously.

"The hardest battle you'll ever fight is for the right to be yourself, Leo. But it's the only one worth winning." The young man sat in silence for a long moment, processing. Then he smiled, a genuine expression that replaced the anxious twitch Caleb was used to seeing.

"Thank you," Leo said.

"F-for listening. For... understanding."

"Anytime, buddy." Neither spoke for a time until Leo broke the silence, his voice thoughtful.

"Oh, I just remembered something! B-be careful if you go out." He glanced around, lowering his voice.

"I was at the Hall yesterday delivering some bread and overheard a couple of adventurers complaining about feral goblins. Said there's been more of them lately, out by the old quarry. The abandoned one, north of the village." Caleb's attention piqued.

"Goblins, you say?"

"F-feral ones. They were grousing about how the bounty isn't worth the danger, said the little b-buggers have been unusually aggressive. One of them mentioned nearly losing a finger…" Leo shuddered.

"Nasty creatures."

"How far is this quarry?"

"Maybe an hour's walk? Follow the north trail until you see the broken millstone, then turn east through the woods. But Thal, why do you—" Leo caught on.

"You're not thinking of hunting them, are you?"

"I'm just gathering information here, no worries."

"Be c-careful. Please. I just made my first real friend. I'd rather not lose you to goblin fangs…" Friend. First Corinne, now Leo, Caleb thought wryly. Holy mackerel, I'm collecting surrogate children. It was absurd. He was supposed to be learning to survive, not building a new family by accident. Crumb. He had to be careful. At this rate, he'd have a whole new set of kids to worry about before he figured out how to protect just himself.

"I'll be careful," Caleb promised.

"And Leo? That sweet roll really was delicious. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." The boy smiled brightly as they parted ways. Instead of heading for the garrison exit, Leo turned and walked back toward the equipment shed with a new, deliberate stride. After a moment's hesitation, he picked his practice spear back up. Shouldering it, he gave Caleb a small, determined nod before setting off toward the training dummies. The sun climbed toward its zenith as Caleb made his way back to the Hearthsong Inn.

He had a kitchen shift to survive, then a spear to practice. Tonight, the real training would begin. The sweet roll filled his stomach comfortably, a signal that strength took many forms beyond just combat. But in this world, violence was still the universal currency. Time to make a deposit.