A Soldier's Life - 351 - Groundhog Day (edited 2-25-25 +200 words)

Chapter 351: Groundhog Day

The door to my room in the Adventurer’s Hall pounded, waking me. It soon pounded impatiently again. I pulled the griffin-down pillow around my ears to block it out. Every damn morning, an hour before sunrise, Konstantin came to wake me up. Why did I suggest he get a room next to mine?

Honestly, this was my own fault. I had swapped the ring of sustenance for the ring of surefootedness two weeks ago. This was partly because I wanted to understand the effects, and partly to gain a slight edge when practicing with the best weapon masters in Godok. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would need more than eight hours of rest for my mind and body to recover every night after removing the ring.

Konstantin hadn’t stopped his eager pounding, so I sighed and made to rise. We needed to be at the sect’s entrance at sunrise to challenge it. Groaning, I rolled out of bed and made the griffin down pillow disappear. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the maids in the Adventurer’s Hall, but I considered that pillow one of my prized possessions. I wouldn’t risk losing it as it reminded me of the company, Baldo, and Raelia all rolled into one—also it was damn comfortable.

I walked to the door and opened it to find Konstantin in his new off-black armor, ready to go. He had commissioned something that resembled his old legionnaire armor with a different helm so he wouldn’t be associated with the Telhian Empire. We found the Empire and Telhians were not popular on this side of the world.

“You are not dressed,” he said, annoyed.

“Ever the observant one,” I grunted tiredly. He slapped the dreamscape amulet into my hand and it disappeared. We used it on alternating nights as I was not going to share a bed with old man. He took a perverse pleasure in leaving instructions with his manifestation in the dreamscape to train me.

He waited while I dressed. “Where are we going this morning?” I asked strapping on my armor.

“Sect of the Vanishing Moon,” he said cheerfully, and I groaned. They were one of the more malicious sects in the city. In our last visit, Konstantin had sustained a serious injury that required him to use one of his healing potions. It had been a week since we had been there, and I assumed he had been training fervently in the dreamscape for revenge.

We walked through the dark streets and paused at some vendor carts out early for some breakfast. I got something that reminded me of empanadas, a deep fried pastry filled with a thick onion sauce and mystery meat. Konstantin had ordered for us as he had made progress in the local language in the two weeks we had been in the city. I was learning the language of the Titans from the Dorrel and that was as much rewiring my brain could handle.

The Sect of the Vanishing Moon did not have an impressive tower. It was a squat square structure made of gray stone that barely reached fifty feet high. The interior of the tower featured a large courtyard where they trained their students. The members of this sect primarily served as personal bodyguards in the city, therefore their reputation was very important to them.

After being in the city for half a month, I was certain that the other worlders who had settled here were primarily from India and the Middle East on Earth. There was some Asian influence in their features, but not much. I don’t think one in fifty people had fair skin. My own skin had tanned considerably, but it was still easy for the locals to know I was a foreigner.

We arrived at the large gates, where a dozen other warriors, mostly from different sects, were waiting to challenge as well. Each year, there was a massive tournament among all the martial sects, and you needed a specific number of victories against other sects to qualify for entry. I had no aspirations to participate in the tournament, but I was getting the impression that Konstantin did. He had collected four tokens in two weeks and needed nine. I had three tokens myself and would have refused them, but that would have been considered an insult.

When the sun cracked the horizon, the gates cracked with it. All across Godok, the same thing was happening at the martial sects. We formed an odd line as two of the sect’s masters exited, on seeing Konstantin, one of them smirked. There was a short formal declaration from the first in line before both sect masters nodded, and he entered. This went down the line, with no one being denied. In our time, we had only seen a challenger denied twice. Once was a boy, probably no older than 10 and the other time was someone we later learned had been expelled from that very sect.

When our turn came, Konstantin spoke for the both of us. I just nodded along and waited. One sect master’s lip turned up in glee at seeing Konstantin again. He had been the one who had nearly killed Konstantin the last time. We only needed the approval of one but both sect masters nodded us through.

We walked straight into the courtyard to see the students stretching, swinging weighted practice swords, or crowding around one of the masters in instruction. Once the challenges began, they would all watch, but there were some formalities first. This sect only had a weak healer among its members, so there was a short speech to us as the challengers as a warning not to take or give a lethal blow. It was not unusual for the sect of the Vanishing Moon to have one or two deaths a week—almost always challengers.

Next came the official pairing of the challengers and the members of the sect. This required everyone’s participation, so the members paused their activities and surrounded us. Eager eyes fell on our group like cats watching mice. We stepped forward in the order we entered and declared our competency. Then, someone would step forward to pair with the challenger. The two masters who had allowed us in had to agree to the pairing—which did not always happen.

This ceremony took some time because the sect did not want to freely give away its tokens. I didn’t understand the politics behind it all, but a sect could be dismantled if enough of the other sects deemed them unbefitting. According to Konstantin, it hadn’t happened in a long time, but it served as a checks and balances system for the martial sects of the city. The aetheric sects had their own confusing laws amongst themselves as well.

When my turn came, I proclaimed, “I have come to fight anyone who believes themselves better than me.” Or something like that. I had just spoke what Konstantin had told me to memorize. Here, a week ago, I fought a wiry man and lost. I looked for that same man but didn’t see him. Instead, a young man stepped forward. I think they were trying to insult me, but they didn’t realize that the main reason I lost the last fight was because I had been prolonging it to gather material for the amulet—and then lost on purpose.

I nodded to the man, and the sect leaders agreed the match was appropriate. Konstantin was next, and I groaned as he issued his more formal challenge, his eyes fixed on the master who had defeated him and nearly killed him a week ago. I didn’t need to know the language to recognize that Konstantin was hurling some pointed insults. I only hoped we wouldn’t get mobbed by the entire sect. The sect leader, Aharnish, if I remember correctly, wore a bright white smile when accepting Konstantin’s challenge.

The pairings concluded soon after. We now had time to partake in the food and drink of the sect, though we wouldn’t. One of the other sects we had challenged had poisoned their food. While it wasn’t a dangerous posion, it did slightly slow your reaction speed. Konstantin had noticed it and warned me, but I ate it anyway and purged the poison with my purification spell. That had been the easiest token I had obtained.

We had an hour to prepare before the contests. I stretched and limbered up as best I could and selected one of the sects’ practice swords. This sect used real weapons, but the edge was dulled. The blades were similar to long swords—and matched orc’s torment in weight and length. I sat with Konstantin as we both watched the preceding contests intently. We would both eventually incorporate our opponents and what we observed in the dreamscape.

I was somewhat surprised to be called for the fourth match of the morning. My young opponent appeared overly eager and confident. I admit, my muscular build did make me look more like a brute than a skilled swordsman. However, I was just as fast, if not faster, than smaller men when I wanted to be.

When the match started, I had high hopes for my opponent. My footwork, with the ring of sure footedness, was flawless on the light gravel coating of gravel covering the packed clay. I was quickly disappointed with my opponent’s footwork and skill and ended the contest abruptly, breaking his humerus after I parried his blade.

He dropped his blade and let out a squeak of pain. This flash of skill left the spectators from the sect somewhat stunned. I returned the practice blade casually and returned to my seat next to Konstantin. A runner approached me nervously and handed me a bronze token. It had a starburst on one side, and two crossed swords on the other. Konstantin provided my name to the runner, who hurried off to record it. It was not enough to turn in nine tokens for the tournament; your victories were required to be recorded as well.

“You should have drawn that out longer,” Konstantin muttered crankily.

“He was terrible,” I replied unapologetically.

“Only to you. He was probably one of their most promising students. We do not want to gain too much of a reputation,” he said in a grunt.

“Are you going to lose today, then?” I questioned, arching my eyebrow at him. Revenge had been clearly on his mind, and he shut up.

We had both decided we didn’t need to win our matches. Just watching all the fights was helpful for us in improving our practice in the dreamscape. When Konstantin was called, I grabbed his wrist to slow him and whispered, “Don’t kill him.” He gave me an unrepentant look in response, then turned his back to me and approached his enemy.

It was a violent clash to the joy of the spectators. Konstantin elbowed the man in the face during their third exchange. As blood flowed freely from the man’s nose, Aharnish let his anger take control and pressed Konstantin. Knowing Konstantin, he has been preparing for this throughout the sessions he spent in the dreamscape. That was the strange aspect of the dreamscape: muscle memory translated to the real world. It made me wonder how the artifact achieved that. Was it altering our bodies? Our minds? Our neural pathways?

I had been distracted and missed when Konstantin cut off three fingers from the sect leader’s sword hand. The fingers fell at his feet while the blade skidded across the gravel to a stop. The fight was immediately called in his favor, and he walked casually over to me. “Didn’t kill him,” was all he said as he sat next to me. I shook my head and just hoped there wouldn’t be any petty revenge in the future. A skilled healer could make the sect leader whole again—but he couldn't restore his lost honor of losing in front of his sect.

We watched the last seven fights before leaving. Konstantin was set to meet Gilda for their afternoon of fun. The two accepted odd quests from the guild board: tracking down missing persons or searching for dangerous creatures in the city, and generally keeping busy for no reason. I don’t think they understood the concept of a vacation. I had my own errands to run.

Leaving the sect, I made my way back to the Adventurer’s Hall, stopping by several herbalists and street stalls for lunch and supplies for my alchemy later that night. I had nurtured a few relationships with the smaller herbalists and apothecaries in my part of the city who spoke Elvish. My primary alchemy project was focused on refining the golden figs into a useful base for an aetheric restoration potion. I still wasn’t even sure it was possible, but I had a gut feeling about it.

One of the great things about Godok was that it was the most diverse trading city on the continent, perhaps even in the world. You could find almost anything here, although it might not be fresh and could cost you more than you were willing to pay. I had spent a lot of gold on basic and intermediate alchemy books, mostly in Elvish script, in my quest to refine a unique aether restorative. One thing about alchemical experimentation—it was expensive. Today, I spent twenty-three large dungeon silver coins on several ingredients used in lesser restoration potions.

I was building a steady stockpile of mouthwash, healing salve, lesser healing potions, smoke pellets, blindness pellets, sneezing pellets, and flash pellets. The flash pellets were new to my arsenal and somewhat dangerous to make and use. This flash was a chemical reaction involving magnesium accelerated by aether into a brilliant white burst. It took me a while to realize that what I was refining was magnesium to make the pellets, but after a few trips to the dreamscape and reading high school chemistry books, I was able to puzzle it out. When the case containing the pellets was compromised, a small, hot flash of light would occur.

Returning to the Adventurer’s Hall, I waived to the halfling Lesna as I passed through the common room. She still had not figured out how I had stolen her large stack copper coins and was stupefied when I returned it. She watched me as I crossed the room, forgetting her game of cards for the moment.

I climbed the stairs to the Archives, glad that Dorrel was away for the next few days procuring some books. Even though he was teaching me the language of the Titans and we had some excellent discussions, he constantly interrupted me to discuss theory and analyze my own experiences in dungeons. It was tedious conversing with him, as he would sometimes take notes while we talked, extending our interaction. However, it was a necessary evil if I wanted to continue my use of his library.

I couldn’t quickly flip through every book in the library, as I was sure that would raise some suspicion. Instead, I had proceeded more methodically. I tried to read while turning page after page. I estimated I would need another fifteen weeks to read every book. The archives contained books on every dungeon in Desia—at least, that’s what Dorrel said—but there was no mention of the Shimmering Labyrinth or the Manticore Dungeon. They had a book on the Orc Elders’ demon dungeon, but it was grossly incomplete. I made the mistake of telling Dorrel I had explored it, which caused Dorrel and two of his scribes to question me for two days. Never again!

The most interesting dungeons were coined the “Death Dungeons.” They were so dangerous that no one delved them regularly, and those who did rarely came out with all the members of their group.

My watcher leaned over my shoulder, “Eryk, the sun has set.” I looked up from the book I had been paging through. Most of the others had left, and the remaining few were putting away books and tidying their workspace.

I nodded my thanks, drank the last of my water, and walked down to the second floor, where my room was. The second floor had two hundred and sixteen rooms for rent by members. It was a reasonable rate for the city and much more secure than any inn in the city, given the presence of so many fellow adventurers.

When I reached my room, my day was not yet complete. I went to a corner, pulled my alchemy table from my dimensional space, and continued my work from yesterday. Having a dimensional space with a stasis effect was a godsend for an alchemist. I didn’t have to resume processes that required observation for hours or even longer. I could simply pause my work when I got tired and move my entire table, apparatus and all, into my space.

I usually did alchemy for about six hours before going to sleep. Tonight, however, I only worked four hours, as one of my distillations turned murky, meaning it contained too many impurities. I cursed, but rather than dwell on it, I ended my alchemy for the evening.

I held the griffin-down pillow in my hand, and I fell onto the bed. Then, I held the dreamscape amulet. I looked over at the door. I had placed the bar on it and wedges in the bottom and the top. Konstantin did the same every night. It was my idea, and one of the rimary reasons I suggested we have rooms next to each.

If someone tried to break down the door while the other was in the dreamscape, the noise would rouse them. It was not a perfect deterrent, but good enough. Gilda also tended to spend overnights in the common room below playing dice and cards. She spent her mornings sleeping and afternoons hunting in the city for minor bounties with Konstantin.

I entered the dreamscape in two-hour segments. During my first, I added eleven books from the Archives. Then, I was guided by the dreamscape Konstantin, who was much faster and stronger than the real Konstantin, but terrible at trash-talking. Tonight’s first session was spent practicing with spears since two days ago, we had been at a spear sect. I sighed as tonight the dreamscape Konstantin wielded the mirror image of my black spear. Oscar barked some encouragement at me, but I just wondered how many times I would die tonight.

The door to my room in the Adventurer’s Hall pounded loudly again. I pulled the griffin-down pillow around my ears to block it out. Every damn morning, an hour before sunrise—my own personal alarm to Ground Hog Day.

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