NOVEL NEXT Chapter 57: Training
Story starts after one day-
The morning sun stretched over the green fields, throwing golden light across the hill where John and Luther had decided to meet. Luther came running up the slope, his small boots kicking up dust, while John was already waiting with a grin.
"You're late again," John teased, folding his arms.
Luther wheezed, attempting to get his breath. "Not late. Just. getting warm on the road."
John chuckled and tossed him a stick shaped like a sword. "Then let's see how warm you are."
They clashed wooden sticks against each other, the sound echoing like real swords. At first, they moved wildly like children, laughing and missing strikes. But as the minutes passed, their movements grew sharper, copying what they had seen from warriors training in the village. Luther's strikes carried raw strength, while John's reflected the discipline taught by his father, Lord Eric.
"You're improving," John admitted, blocking a strike.
Luther grinned. "I'll get you someday."
They tussled until their arms ached and perspiration dripped down their forehead. Finally, John discarded his stick and pointed to a big rock beneath the branches of a tree. They sat there panting. For a moment, they were motionless, and all they could hear was the wind whistling through the grass.
Dad says it's all practice," John explained wiping sweat from his brow. "He says even the greatest warrior will become weak if he doesn't keep at it. But the one who never stops practicing… will be stronger than everyone else.".
Luther nodded slowly. He admired John's father, Lord Eric, even was a little afraid of him. Eric had battle scars and a presence that made men stand up straighter. Luther wanted to be that tough one day.
"But I think," Luther said thoughtfully, "it's not just training. You have to have courage too. What if a warrior trains his entire life but runs away in battle?"
John's head snapped up in surprise at Luther's serious tone. Then he smiled. "Perhaps that is the reason Father insists that I fight even when I do not want to. He reminds me that battles are not only won with the body but with the heart as well."
They were silent once more. Clouds drifted by in the distance above. Then John leaned forward and spoke quietly. "I know things… things about warriors, about powers. But I don't have time to tell you all today."
Luther's interest was piqued instantly. "Why not?"
John snorted. "Because then you'll only bother me if you tell me everything all at once. Secrets are more fun told one bite at a time. But I promise, I'll tell you more next time."
Luther puffed his cheeks in mock outrage, but he was restless inside. John always had stories—about his dad, about ancient warriors, even monsters. Luther ached to hear them all.
They rested and got up and continued practicing. John demonstrated to them how to breathe. He took a big breath, his chest moving up, and then exhaled a short one, holding in his strength as he swung the stick.
"Father says this is where strength comes from. Breathing," John explained. "How you breathe will make you last longer when you fight and how much strength you can use."
Luther tried to mimic John, but all he could do was cough. John was giggling so hard he was going to fall over.
"Don't laugh!" Luther shouted, his face flushing. "I'll get it someday!"
"I'm sure you will," John was laughing so hard that he was choking. "But right now, you look like a fish out of water."
They continued sparring, this time placing more attention on breathing.
Luther battled on, though there was something odd in the way he walked. His punches had remnants of raw power, uncharacteristic of a lad of his age. John noticed but remained mum. In his belly, he felt Luther to be different but was unable to say how.
The sun climbed higher, and their shadows grew long. They collapsed onto the grass after many hours of sparring, looking upward at the sky. Their shirts clung to their backs with sweat, but their laughter rang out across the hillside.
"You know," Luther gasped, "I think that training with you makes me stronger than if I were training on my own."
"Sure thing," John bragged. "Eventually, we'll be stronger than everyone else."
"Even your dad?" Luther teased.
John chuckled, shaking his head. "That… we'll see."
The two boys laughed once more, their voices echoing down the valley. For an instant, there was no weight of the world, no wars, no cruel lords pillaging villages—only two friends dreaming of strength.
The hill was their haven now, where they were not sons of farmers or sons of lords but Luther and John. They did not have an inkling about what lay ahead, but deep within them, they knew that whatever it was, they would face it together.
When the sun started to tilt towards the west, the boys gathered sticks again. They were stronger by now and with it, the fire in their hearts. They hit, parried, dodged, and laughed again and again.
Every thwack of the stick, every swallow of air they breathed, was molding their path to the future. They had no concept yet, but all these ordinary days on the hillside would one day be the recollections that defined their destiny.
As the sun dipped lower, the boys left the clearing where they had been fighting and proceeded further down the hill. The air there was cool, stinginging grass and bearing scents of earth and leaves. John tugged on a long blade of grass and sucked on it as Luther skipped small stones down the hill, picturing each stone to be an enemy that he killed with magic.
They just sat there for a second. Not space, though. The silence of understanding—two friends who knew they could sit with each other without needing to occupy the space. John allowed a few minutes to pass before he leaned back in his chair and looked up at the sky. "You know, Luther," he breathed softly, "days like these… they give me the sense we can do anything. Better than anyone else. Maybe even better than those dukes in their little villages."
Luther grinned but did not protest. "Then let's proceed to the training. If we never surrender, eventually they will know our names."
Then....