L: Live With A Smile

L: Live With A Smile

Raiten: 

"I never got to thank you, ya know?" I say as I smash down on the gator's head. We have finally arrived in swamp territory, where alligators, snakes, and pythons lay in wait. They strike at us intermittently—mostly because we step into their territory. But their territory might as well be the entire damn area, so dense is their population. 

I can't take one step without nearly stumbling over the scaled hide of a croc, the soft fleshy body of a snake, or just the hard bone-like roots of these new high trees that cover our heads in a canopy. The forest has opened up, but murky water and monsters fill the gaps. 

"What was that?" Kiren asks. He's too busy whipping Meteorfang against a Python that dangles above our path. The dagger-end of the chain-whip cleaves the long, bulbous, yellowed python in two, and its guts spill like a curtain in front of us. Saegor, the weird bastard, swipes at some of the falling blood with his index finger and takes a long, sensual lick of it. 

"I really hate when he does that," Umbrahorn says next to me. He's been doing well actually—better, considering that this is more familiar territory for him. He spends most of his time swimming in the thin, swampy water and challenging gators. I think he's gaining some of his confidence back, which is both a blessing and a curse. 

"Tell me about it," I mutter back. 

Kiren walks over to us now. "What were you saying earlier Raiten?"

I sigh. "I was saying… thank you. Back when we all got stuck in the illusion trap, you willingly gave me your weapon. It saved my life." 

"Oh. Of course I did, no need to thank me," he says, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "We're a team after all." 

"Yes but… I've been an—"

"An ass? A bastard? An ungrateful little human shit?" Umbrahorn interrupts. 

"You wanna go for round two?" I ask. 

Suddenly, his gaze is faroff. "As tempting as that offer sounds, I think I see another gator." Before I can taunt him further, the shark dives underground and I watch as his fin surfaces in the brown water to our left, trailing after a shark that sits on one of the small marsh isles. 

"I like that shark," Kiren remarks, watching with me. "He's funny." 

"I think you're the only person I've ever met that likes Umbrahorn," I say, chuckling slightly. Then, I turn to him and look him in the eye. "Seriously. He's not wrong. I have been an ass. And you've only treated me like a friend… so, I'm sorry." 

It feels good apologizing. It took me a few days to work up the courage. 

To my surprise, Kiren just laughs: "You aren't an ass Raiten. Trust me on that, I've met people that are real bastards." 

"But—"

"Look, I get it, you're dealing with your own stuff. I shouldn't have prodded so much in the first place. But that's in the past. Don't worry about it." 

He smiles with that same, youthful innocence that I thought to be foolish once. Now I think he's strong for it. Stronger than me at least. 

"Alright then," I say. "Thank you." 

"Of course." 

"Are you two done flirting or should we leave you behind for the gators?" Zyla says ahead of us. She still looks at me coldly, suspiciously, as I'm going to stab her brother in the back. 

Kiren looks at her and holds up his middle finger. 

I follow suit. 

 She rolls her eyes and mutters something about the stupidity of men. 

And then, Kiren and I trail along, laughing our heads off. 

…

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Goes the tree, every time I smash my leg against it. I'm implementing my hands as well, throwing straight, fast punches at the ridged bark. I never got to fully learn Iron Winter from Sorina, but I learned the basics. It's truly a fundamental martial art—one from which multiple other arts have spawned from. I wonder often why she didn't teach me this first instead of Eternal Spring. I think it's because she wanted to teach me patience with Eternal Spring. Learning that art might not have been as physically demanding as Iron Winter, but technique wise, it's far more complex and requires a lot of damn focus. Iron Winter is more my style; simple, painful repetition. Hit trees, strengthen your shins and knuckles, break your enemies. 

It does leave me right bloody though. 

"What are you doing?" Kiren asks. He's come away from the campfire, watching me from the shadows of another tree. The night is dark and cloud-laden today — the only light we are afforded is the faint glow of the campfire. 

"Practicing," I huff, before throwing another round kick at the trunk. I pivot on my front foot, bring my back leg up and chop it down, keeping my left hand close to my face while swinging my right arm out for momentum. Chest high, body twisting, my leg smashes against the tree and comes away with splinters. I'm numb to the pain now though: constant repetition of this kick, coupled with my healing factor, has made my muscles harden quicker than any normal person's would. That's another reason why Iron Winter is perfect for me: my regeneration makes me a fast student. 

He winces at the wound. "Does it hurt?" 

"Not really. Not anymore." 

"Right," he says, still staring at my leg. I wait for him to say something else, but when he doesn't, I go back to kick the tree. 

After a while, he interrupts once more: "Might I make a suggestion." 

"Go on," I say, wiping some sweat from my eyes. I take a seat on a log and shake off some bloodied wood from my scraped skin. 

"Look," he begins, coming out of the shadows now and taking a seat next to me. "You obviously train hard. You have good martial skills, you ride Umbrahorn well, and you have your angel dust amulets should you ever need them." 

"But…?" 

"But, I think you could be doing more. No offense." 

I'm about to scowl, but I hold back the instinct and sigh. "Why?" 

"Think about it Raiten: we're mancers, going on assassination mission where we have to contend with a witch's magicks, her plague, her turned, and of course, our real enemy, the shogun of Sorayvlad. Pamela sent us on this mission because she's desperate and she needs time. But, this isn't a suicide mission: we can win. Because we are mancers." 

"Yes, I knew all of that already." 

He shakes his head though. "You're not seeing my point. I can use Meteorfang to keep our enemies at bay and, should I need to, I can use defensive magicks to shield us. Zyla can summon forth spirits from the Aether and she's a seer who can warn us of any enemy incursion. And Saegor's… well Saegor's good at nearly every magick, especially the darker ones." 

I realize what he's getting at. "And I am just some idiot who rides a shark, kicks trees, and fondles amulets." 

"Well, I wasn't going to put it like that but—" 

"No, you have a point," I say, standing and stretching. "I'm listening. I shouldn't be this useless without my amulets. It became a problem in the illusion-scape and it will be a problem in the future, should I run out of angel dust." 

"Good. I'm glad you understand." 

"So… what? What should I do?" 

Kiren ruffles around his belt before pulling out a long, thin rope cord tied around a handle. He tosses it to me and I catch it. 

It's a whip. 

"I can't teach you real magick—that takes years to learn, and we don't have years. But, I can teach you what I know: Meteorfang." 

"This isn't a Kusarigama." 

"No, but it's what I used to train before I commissioned Meteorfang to be forged. And besides, you like my weapon, don't you? Wouldn't it be nice to learn it?" 

Well, he's got a point there. "Alright then, sure." 

Kiren smiles, all boyish and giddy again. "Great! I've been meaning to pass on the art for a long time—trust me, you'll love it. And, maybe if you get good enough with it, we can get you your own Kusarigama. On me." 

I let the whip fall and test its weight, its feel. Then, I snap it against the tree I was beating bloody earlier; the whip strikes hard against the bark. Sluggish, but hard. Some rotted bark flecks off the trunk. 

I smile. "I'll hold you to that."