How long had it been since they began this training exercise? A young woman had but a few scant moments to ponder such thoughts as she evaded attack after attack, her honed muscles screaming under her dark skin, her ruby eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, and a grimace etched across her scarred face from under her white menpo mask. The left side of her face had been burned by flames long since extinguished but ever-present in her mind. Her long, ashen hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, dripping with sweat and swaying with her every evasive movement. She wore a battle dress not unlike a qipao, but made of a thick, olive-green fabric, the tails of which ended just above her knees, covering her matching combat trousers. Her combat boots were battered and worn, offering but a hint of how extensively she trained. Her stomach clawed at her to be fed. Her only nourishment was the water she had pulled out of the air. Still her legs and right arm pushed her tall body forward, standing at six feet and three inches.
She meticulously dodged the onslaught of her teacher, relentless and unyielding. She was acutely aware that he was under the same conditions as her. She had to seize what precious moments she could to draw the moisture out and hydrate herself before it was robbed from her. She knew better than to struggle against her master’s hold on the water; she couldn’t afford to waste her energy on such exchanges. This must have been the fifth day they were sparring unendingly like this, yet he showed no sign of stopping, no sign of exhaustion or distraction. She couldn’t help but find the prospect terrifying. The strength of the Three Heroes of the Old World was truly incomprehensible.
The man who fought her pressed on, upending earth and rock, dancing on wind and water, and throwing fire with his bare hands. His mighty body was nearly seven feet in height, his powerful arms rippling with muscle under their wrappings. His dark blue hakama flapped in the wind as he kicked at her with legs that trampled Varrus and Kyril for over ten-thousand years, his bare feet calloused and burned from his ancient life of martial mastery. His matching sleeveless gi struggled to contain his broad chest, riddled with the scars of countless battles with creatures and enemies she could barely fathom. His long, silver ponytail and bangs flowed about his grizzled face, and his lips offered no hint of pain or weariness. A white mask covered his face from his cheekbones up, completely covering his eyes and depriving them of light. Such was the image of Raiga no Kyuu, one of the legendary Triumvirate who saved the world from total destruction before the ascension of Kyril.
The only glimpse of his mortality was that he needed to drink water as much as she did. She knew that his body was undergoing the same strain as she was, but he offered no hint of it. Indeed, this was an exercise of the outlander’s endurance, one she had been made to repeat a number of times. “Evade me until I command you to stop.” That was his instruction. For the last five days she obeyed, using everything she had learned from him up to that point. For the last five days she dodged and redirected the attacks that he threw at her. For five days they had nothing but the moisture in the jungle air to satiate them. Five days, and yet he still withheld the command to stop. Five days, and he still persisted, undeterred by the trappings of hunger, strain, or fatigue. Five days, and he continued to force the same conditions on his apprentice. Five days, and she still pushed herself onward, determined not to fail. If he could do it, so must she. She was his apprentice, chosen by him to be his successor, and she was determined to succeed.
Hours slowly passed, each moment, each movement more excruciating than the last. It was virtually impossible to think of anything else but the pain every fiber of her being was experiencing, but she had to focus on her master, on his movements and his body language. Because she was fully aware that this wasn’t a fraction of what he was capable of.
Sure enough, his spirit extended forth from his body in the form of two additional arms, manipulating mana with ghostlike appendages. In her excruciating pain, the outlander countered his phantom limbs with her own, struggling to focus on her mana and maintain her control. She had to ignore the pain. She had to ignore her dread, knowing that after five days he was now intensifying their exercise. She had to push the question that haunted her out of her head; Just how long did he intend to push her?
Another thought hung over her, one she couldn’t help but convey to her mentor.
((Master,)) she spoke to him with her battered mind. ((That orc is still here.)) Indeed, an orcish man had been watching their exercise from the boughs above for the last day.
((What of him?)) he asked her back. ((He’s just another fool pretending to be a warrior. He can sit there for the rest of the month for all I care. He is of zero concern to us, Ieda.))
((I understand,)) the outlander acknowledged, weaving between a barrage of earth, wind, and fire. The air was so damp in the jungle that the foliage was difficult to ignite, allowing them to trade flames with minimal damage to their surroundings. It would have been nice to practice her command of fire more liberally, if her entire body wasn’t screaming at her with every action she made.
The pain never dulled, each pull and flex of her muscles a searing reminder of the strain her body was undergoing, prolonging each moment into a maddening eternity. She would have been furious if not for the fact that her mentor was suffering the same way, measuring her against him. His silence was a horrifying reminder of his inhuman tolerance for pain, a tolerance she had yet to achieve. His silent resolve was a testament to the gap in their abilities; this exercise took every ounce of her will and stamina to keep pushing forward, and yet such a grueling marathon was nothing to Raiga. It was as if his endurance bordered on infinity.
Time crept slowly by as the orc came and went periodically, serving as Ieda’s only metric for the passage of time besides the light of dawn and dark of dusk. Was she on the seventh day? It was painful to even think about it. When next the orc arrived, however, he howled in frustration and made his presence known.
He stepped out of the brush, just as tall as Raiga and even broader. His olive-green skin peeked out from underneath his leather under armor. Tough, black metal plates were fastened to the leather to offer adequate range of motion, with spikes and claws from past hunts adorning his bracers. The skull of a bear decorated his right pauldron, and the corresponding gauntlet and bracer was augmented with hydraulics. His hair was a green so dark, it was almost black, and it was weaved back into dozens of braids. His armored vest was adorned with snakeskins and leopard pelts, and the tail of a tiger served as a belt. In his left hand was a broadsword, and in his right was a large handaxe with the skull of a python decorating it. Both were made of the same matte black metal.
“Is all you two do is spar?!” he bellowed in frustration.
“This guy…” Ieda moaned, still dodging her master. “This guy has no damned idea!”
“Indeed,” Raiga agreed.
“Enough!” the orc roared. “Grab your sword and face me, Raiga no Kyuu!”
“No,” the ancient warrior answered sharply, still attacking his student. “We aren’t nearly finished with our exercise.” The words loomed over Ieda, the mere idea drawing burning tears from her bloodshot eyes.
“Are you saying your exercise is more important than-!”
“Yes,” Raiga cut him off. “A brat like you is a waste of my pupil’s time, to say nothing of mine.” The orc stood there as the two of them continued to spar without pausing. Insulted, the orc began chasing after Raiga, raising his weapons to attack. Ieda saw this and moved to stop him, but Raiga cut her off.
((I didn’t instruct you to engage him,)) he communicated to her as he threw a wave of fire at her, forcing her to leap upwards.
((But Master-))
((But nothing! I already told you; he is of zero concern to us.)) He pulled a stone from the ground with his bare foot and launched it at her, to which she altered its trajectory with a phantom limb.
((Yes, Master. I understand.)) Ieda observed as her mentor continued to throw attacks at her, all the while deftly dodging the weapons of the orc. Raiga didn’t even retaliate against his assailant or turn to face him; he simply dodged the orc like a leaf on the wind, his massive body eluding the orc with minimal movement or effort, as if he already knew every swing the orc was going to make. His sole focus was his apprentice, dodging the brazen intruder in such a way that it seemed as if his movements were purely to test Ieda, and that evading the orc was mere happenstance. Ieda’s aching body continued to follow suit, still evading Raiga’s onslaught while the orc flailed uselessly about her master. As Raiga had said, the orc’s actions did nothing to impact their exercise, beneath either of their concerns. The orc roared and howled with rage, unable to touch the old warrior. In a matter of mere minutes, the orc’s roars gave way to pants and groans, the task of simply keeping pace with them an exhausting effort.
“You… you cowards,” the orc wheezed. “All you two can do… is run from me like rats. You don’t have… the courage to answer my challenge!”
“Don’t be absurd,” Raiga retorted, lashing at Ieda with a whip of water. “You are as threatening to us as an earthworm to an eagle. You are weak. Powerless. And that’s before I even compare you to my pupil. You are nothing to her, let alone me. There is no merit whatsoever in entertaining such an ego.” Ieda couldn’t help but to snicker in agony as the orc trembled in indignation, before redoubling his vain and weary efforts to strike Raiga.
“How dare you!? I am Brazzka, son of Draskul the Drakeslayer! He was the greatest hunter in the world before me! It should be an honor for us both to face each other in battle, but you deny me! You feeble, cowardly, rude old man! There’s no way you’re the one who slew the Progenitor of Demons! I knew the stories were all bullshit!” Ieda felt a change in the air as Raiga turned to face this orc named “Brazzka”.
((Ieda, yield,)) he spoke to her mind. She cursed his choice of words. She knew that this wasn’t an intermission, but a command for her not to interfere. A projection of his aura launched forth from him, keeping his student occupied as if she was still training with him directly. To Brazzka it looked like she was evading a ghost, if that ghost was throwing earth, water, and fire at her. However, the orc would not remain distracted, and he sprinted at Raiga. The ancient warrior remained still and allowed the orc the opportunity to strike him, the ghastly axe connecting with Raiga’s bare neck.
And bouncing off of it.
The orc’s hand trembled, stinging from the impact. It was as if his axe had struck the side of a mountain, not the naked flesh of an old man. Bewildered, he swung once again, striking Raiga’s skull with all his might and the force of his bracer. The blade shattered into splinters, the shaft of the weapon bent and buckled.
“Impossible…” the orc muttered in disbelief. “It’s made of orznium…”
“‘The greatest hunter in the world’? Don’t make me laugh.” Raiga caught the orc’s lower jaw with his thumb and index finger. It was a simple hold, but one that the orc found nonetheless impossible to free himself from. “I met a woman who claimed the same thing, not so terribly long ago,” the old man continued. “However, she had far more clout to make that boast than you could ever hope for. That, and she was refreshingly well-versed in lamian ju-jutsu.”
The orc swung his sword at Raiga, but Raiga caught the blade with his hand and pulled the instrument from the orc’s grasp as a parent would from their infant. “The only credit I can give to you is that you have a remarkably incessant voice,” the ancient warrior growled. “They call me ‘the Taker of Arms’, but I have half a mind to take your jaw instead. Perhaps then I could spare the world from your baying.” The orc kicked and punched at him to no avail, biting in futility at Raiga’s thumb, his body unyielding to the orc's desperate flailing. He tried to break Raiga’s wrist and arm with his augmented gauntlet, but the hydraulic pistons screeched with strain before rupturing uselessly. The orc’s bravado slowly melted away in horror as his knees trembled and buckled. The horror began to spread to Ieda, still dodging the phantom of her master. She had felt this suffocating aura of bloodlust before.
“N-no…” Brazzka whimpered. “They were all just… stories!”
“You poor fool,” Raiga dug into the orc. “I am so much more than the stories.” The orc shrank under Raiga’s grasp, forcing Brazzka to his knees.
“P-please, I-”
“Silence,” Raiga commanded. “You come here to interrupt my student and me with axe and sword, weapons of bloodshed, and now you beg for mercy? How dare you?” The Hero of the Old World continued to bear down ever harder on Brazzka, the terror of death consuming the orc’s eyes. “A true warrior knows that to take the life of another, he must also put his own life on the line. To act with bloody intent without fear of retribution is the height of folly, and cowardice. After all, it is only just that those who seek violence, meet violence.”
Ieda could feel Raiga’s intention to pluck the orc’s jaw clean from his skull. Her heart stuttered at the grisly prospect, calling out with her mind for him to stop. Time slowed to a crawl as the air around them slowly lightened, until Raiga released the orc and slapped him to the ground. The whimpering creature picked himself up off the dirt in utter shock, clutching at his mouth as if to make sure it was still there.
“Get out of my forest,” Raiga commanded, causing Brazzka to frantically turn to him. “Take your weapons, if you wish, but you will not find a trace of my blood or oil on their edges. You are, after all, incapable of drawing such things from me. The only meager proof of our encounter is your broken axe and gauntlet, and the urine in your trousers. All else are but empty words from a small man. Now leave, and do not return for another hundred years. If I so much as smell you here before then, I will tear your body in half at the waist with my hands.” Brazzka sheepishly gathered his effects and fled from the jungle, daring not even to look over his shoulder. The ancient warrior turned back to his student, still dodging his phantom.
((Now,)) he reached out to her with his mind. ((Where were we?)) Ieda braced herself as Raiga rushed her, now having to fend both him and his phantom off with all of her limbs, blood, and spirit.
