9 Cultivation (1/2)

With a short sigh, Corco paused in his writing for a moment and put down the feather quill. Even though his memory had always been exceptional, in either life, he had spent every free minute writing down the precious knowledge in his head. Just to make sure. Since no one else would be able to read the otherworld's language, there was no threat of leaks, so he didn't have to censor himself and could write to his hearts content. Still, it wasn't exactly fun, neither for him nor for his wrist. As a result, he tried to loosen the stiffness with a few turns of his hand. The constant work had really worn on him, but it was work which had to be done. The precious knowledge would be the basis to everything, the basis of their counterattack, not only against the Duke of Balit, but against the world itself.

As a distraction from the discomfort in his cramped fingers, he looked around himself to observe the simple, clean room. With satisfaction, he had seen the quality of their temporary shelters jump up ever since they had left Eniila. They had moved back west again, over the entire length of the continent. With every station they passed, every royal court they had entered, his weight as great seer and messenger of the Lords had grown, until they were allowed to stay in the castle proper, in rooms which would otherwise be reserved for real nobility.

However, their current location was, in fact, far removed from the castle, which was also reflected in the open nature of Corco's surroundings. Quite unlike the usual style of the Arcavians, the large, mostly empty room opened up towards a clean, simple garden, which sported a small pond as its center piece. Proof of the cosmopolitan nature of Whiteport, the latest station of their journey. No surprise, as the city was positioned on the very western edge of Arcavia. Just over the Sea of Faith, they would enter into Shimoa, enemy lands occupied by the heathens. The simple, open gardens were a remnant from the time the Shimoa people had occupied the eastern coast of Arcavia. Even though the invaders had been gone for centuries, in their years of occupation they had left behind much of their culture.

Within the simple yard, right before the pond and among the neatly trimmed grass, sat his chubby ward, sunk into deep concentration. A sudden movement from Brym made Corco's shoulders jerk up in reflex, guilty that he had been slacking off even as the boy had been hard at work. The young merchant jumped up and turned. With short, quick steps, he rushed over to Corco, excitement written in his features as much as in his breaking voice.

”Big Bro, Big Bro! I felt it! It's true!”

Corco first raised one brow in confusion, and then the second as he understood what Brym's words really meant.

”You felt the World's Flow?”

Just short of Corco's seat, Brym broke his rush with his hands stemmed against the large table with the scattered efforts of the prince's work. Out of breath, the boy nodded his head like a pecking chicken.

”I do. I just felt the waves everyone's been talking about! Never had I thought I could learn cultivation, not with my heritage.”

”Yeah, it's a nice surprise. You were pretty fast as well, most people need a year of training. You stayed just under.” While the boy began to blush and rub his head from embarrassment, Corco sank into thought. Cultivation was one of the few things he truly didn't understand in this world. As far as he knew, the meditative art had not existed in his other life, not in this form. Only in fantasy stories would people possess strange powers like the ones which had felt so natural to Corco all his life. It was a strange discrepancy, and not something which fit into his new rational world view. Still, enough experimentation should help him figure out the mechanics behind the miracle. Brym's cultivation training was a nice start, one which proved that those without noble bloodline could learn the mysterious techniques as well as anyone. For the societies of this world, the implication of wide-spread cultivation would be huge.

”Big Bro!” Brym raised his voice at Corco, who had drifted off far into the future. In recent months, this had happened a lot. Now that his knowledge had been expanded to such a degree, there were far too many things he had to consider.

”Hm? What did you say?”

”I just asked... if maybe it was a bad idea to teach me these things. It's your family's secret, isn't it?” With his nervous look pointed at the floor, Brym mumbled his question again. This time, Corco reacted with a smile rather than with silence.

”First of all, it's not that secret. The World's Flow is a technique meant for normal warriors of the Pluritac clan, not the imperial family. Many people have been taught these techniques for lesser reason. Not to mention, we are family, so teaching you a family technique should be fine. You're not gonna deny that, are you?”

His nervousness blown away, Brym shook his head with a happy grin which made his hair violently flow around his ears. ”So what happens now? Do I keep going? If I keep going, will I get as tall as Fadelio? Will I grow a beard like Atau? Will I be able to shoot fire like in the stories?”

His hands raised, Corco tried to contain Brym's enthusiasm. ”Wait, wait. One second. Also, one question at a time. It's important you don't overdo it with both seconds and questions. And breathing. Should remember that one as well. First of all: For today, we'll pack things in. Getting into the right mindset again will take you a lot of meditation... and it's getting late.”

With a look out onto the garden, reddening in the evening sun, the prince decided to pack things up.

”Second,” he continued, ”you're not gonna get much taller. Just look at me.”

”You're plenty tall though, Big Bro” the merchant's son said. His eyes followed up Corco's head as he rose on his feet, far above the stubby merchant kid.