Stone Will

10

He stood on the edge of the grounds where the soldiers trained. He’d made a cunning plan a long time ago. He only had to implement it. And that’s how his cultivation would begin.

The site resembled a sandy parade ground. It was a huge, sandy parade ground. Thousands of soldiers trained here, sparring. They were tirelessly beating each other up under the scorching sun, wearing only short pants (sometimes with a bandaged chest, in the case of the women) under the guidance of the Master walking around.

Someone moved his arms like a whirlwind, parodying the famous Chinese fantasy movies. Crazy jumps, contrary to the laws of physics, were the norm here. Someone stopped falling as easily as a feather on the wind, by pushing off the earth using just a single palm. Others were easily shattering wooden shields.

Others fought with a variety of weapons. Their diversity was impressive. Hadjar didn’t know the names of most of these weapons, and he was glad that the familiar staves, wands, swords, bows, swords, axes and hammers were at least there. Some of the girls sometimes waved ribbons around.

It might’ve looked funny, but not when those ribbons left scratches on the stone walls.

And, of course, all of their characteristics were gradually being studied by the neuronet, gaining enough information to be able to perform a detailed analysis.

For example, it could produce something like:

Name

Training Sword

Quality Grade

Non-artifactual Weapon

Endurance

????? (lack of data)

Damage

????? (lack of data)

Energy points

0

The Prince walked along the edge of the parade ground, listening to the Master's shouts. He constantly repeated obscure phrases, like ‘energy circulation’, ‘external Techniques’, ‘internal Techniques’ and so on.

Sometimes, the old man stopped duos that were training together and showed them how to do something properly. Then, an unlucky disciple found themselves flung, crashing into the wall, and they’d be considered lucky if they didn’t leave a dent behind.

A new wall was probably erected here every season, because, at that moment, it looked like it had withstood a shelling.

When someone noticed Hadjar, they stopped training and bowed. This continued until the Master noticed a toddler walking around the court.

“Your Highness,” he bowed slightly. “May I ask who let you in and where your Nanny is?”

“I asked for permission from South Wind,” Hadjar replied. Judging by the old man’s face, he was interested to know where the scholar had gotten the ability to give such permission. “And Nanny is busy with Elaine.”

“And did you decide to come to visit us since you were feeling abandoned?”

Hadjar bowed his head in annoyance. Despite all of his peculiarities, the Master still treated him like a small child. A child whose uncle and father had gone to war (and how could they cover such vast distances so quickly?!), whose mother had gone to a nearby town to execute some corrupt governor, whose Nanny was busy with his sister, and whose teacher wouldn’t be coming out of seclusion for another month.

 South Wind was currently working on a new medicine that he was going to use to speed up the cultivation of the nobles. If he got lucky, it would probably bring him a lot of money and, more importantly, fame.

The Scholar, even being a cripple, didn’t refuse his attempts to get the attention of the sect.

So, to the Master, he looked like a lost child.

“No, Master, I’ve come to study.”

“Study?” the old man was surprised. He scratched his long, thin beard. “And what are you planning to study here?”

“Martial arts,” Hadjar said proudly. The old man should’ve known better than to ask.

The Master laughed, and a few dozen soldiers that had been standing nearby laughed with him.

“Why do you, your Highness, think that you can study martial arts?”

“Because I’ve decided to do so.”

The old man twitched slightly, having glanced into the child’s deep blue eyes. Damn it, he could’ve sworn that he’d seen a look that could bend iron.

“Your determination is worthy of praise, my Prince,” the Master nodded. “But…”

The martial artist came closer and touched the child’s wrist. He listened for a second, and then opened his eyes and shook his head.

“While you do undoubtedly possess some talent…” the Master sighed, “It isn't strong enough to achieve true greatness on the path. Perhaps you should go back to South Wind's scrolls.”

This news could’ve broken another man, but Hadjar was adamant. He had heard, all his life, that he couldn't do anything or couldn’t handle anything. But in spite of everyone’s words, he’d used to achieve his goals and deal with his problems, punching through any obstacles. He knew that hard work and diligence produced much better results than mere talent.

“I've decided to do it,” Hadjar repeated.

Suddenly, the Master realized that he couldn’t convince this two-year-old boy to give up.

“I'll take you on as a disciple, then,” the old man stood up, blocking the sun.

The court grew silent. The silence hung heavily on the shoulders of the people. They froze, remaining in poses that they’d been in a moment ago. Some of the disciples were even standing with their feet raised above their heads.

First was South Wind, who had been alive for two thousand years, and had never taken a disciple before, and now the Master, who was almost twice as old as him, and had also never taught anyone personally before.

To tell the truth, luck was part of it. Hadjar had been born the son of the King, and had then expressed a desire to study and then become a disciple of the Master. He was quite a lucky boy.

“But you have to pass one small test, first.”

“What kind of test, Master?”

The old man smiled and pointed to the opposite side of the court. There was a large barrel of water there, on the surface of which floated a wooden cup. Soldiers often went there to rinse their mouths. They were allowed to drink only a few times during training, and the Master oversaw them very strictly.

He would say that nobody was allowed to mix… He said that one couldn’t mix the energy of the sun (fire), with the energy of water. Whatever that meant.

“Do you see that barrel over there, my Prince?”

“Yeah.”

“Then your test shall be this: you need to pour water from that barrel into this one here,” he patted a barrel next to him that was exactly the same as the other one, only this one was empty. “You mustn’t spill a single drop.”

Hadjar estimated the distance that he needed to cross. It was about fifteen hundred feet from one end of the parade ground to the other. Given the fact that it was difficult for him to take even a hundred steps, it was daunting to imagine having to walk so much more than that.