Chapter 14: The Blood of Yazuac and Constant Improvement

[3,314 words]

Eragon and Brom reached Yazuac as the afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the landscape. The village nestled by the Ninor River should have been a quaint and peaceful place.

From a distance, it seemed untouched by the chaos that had engulfed Alagaësia. But as they entered the outskirts, the smell of death hit them like a hammer. It clung to the air, heavy and sickening.

"Something is wrong, be careful." Brom said quietly.

Eragon frowned, suppressing the bile rising in his throat. He knew what was to come. His reincarnated mind had foreseen it—Yazuac had been slaughtered by Urgals, and he had prepared himself mentally for the sight. But nothing could truly prepare him for the reality.

Dead bodies lay scattered across the ground, some piled in a grotesque mound near the village center. Men, women, even children—none had been spared.

'T-this is so inhumane and brutal! How can things be so different from the movie??' Eragon gritted his teeth and glanced at Brom, who walked beside him with a calm yet steely expression.

Brom's weathered face was as hard as stone. The old man had seen such things before many times. His only response was a deep frown, his brows furrowed in what could have been annoyance or regret, though Eragon couldn't tell. Brom's long years as a rider had hardened him to these atrocities.

"They didn't even bother to burn the bodies," Brom muttered under his breath, his voice laced with disgust, but not shock.

Eragon swallowed, looking at the faces of the fallen villagers. He knew this was coming, yet the stench of death and the sight of mangled bodies turned his stomach. His frown deepened, but he was determined not to vomit.

"This is what Urgals do," Brom said, stopping near one of the bodies and crouching to inspect it. He wiped some dirt off the face of a woman with a blank stare of death. "Cruel, senseless. But the cruelty of the world is something one have to face sooner or later."

Eragon only nodded, feeling a mixture of disgust and anger bubble up in his chest. He clenched his fist around Zar'roc's hilt, trying to ignore the smell of decay. His enhanced senses made it all the more intense—the rot, the flies buzzing around him, the sight of the torn flesh, and the blood dried into the soil. He had prepared himself for this, but seeing things firsthand was different.

Brom stood up, wiping his hands on his coat before drawing his sword with a metallic scrape. "Stay sharp," he warned. "They could still be around."

'There should still be some Urgals around, where are they?' Eragon pulled out Zar'roc, the crimson blade gleaming even in the dying light of the day. His eyes scanned the surrounding houses. Though the bodies were cold, a deep sense of unease settled in his stomach. He could feel it—danger still lingered here.

Rumble~ Growl~

Suddenly, from behind one of the houses, a guttural growl pierced the air. His senses flared as he saw the first Urgal emerge from the shadows, its yellow eyes locked onto them. More followed—five, six, a dozen. The brutish creatures moved swiftly, their heavy feet shaking the ground as they charged, weapons raised.

Eragon's heart skipped a beat, but then his adrenaline kicked in. He grinned slightly. 'Finally,' he thought, gripping Zar'roc tightly. 'My first real fight in this world.'

Brom stepped in front of him, slashing at the first Urgal that came close. "Eragon, don't let them surround us!" Brom barked, his voice sharp with authority.

Swoosh~

"Ok!" Eragon nodded and instinctively moved to the side, his body reacting faster than his mind could comprehend. His enhanced speed allowed him to dodge the Urgal's lumbering strike with ease. He countered with a swift slash to the creature's midsection, and blood spurted from the wound as the Urgal roared in pain.

Swoosh~ Swoosh~

Three Urgals rushed him at once. He let his instincts take over—dipping under one's axe and spinning to the side to avoid the other's club. His body flowed effortlessly, his powerful physique making it seem like he danced around their attacks. Zar'roc cut through the air, gleaming like fire as it sliced through flesh and bone. One Urgal fell, then another. The third tried to tackle him, but Eragon stepped back just in time and thrust Zar'roc through its throat. It gurgled before collapsing to the ground.

Eragon's blood pumped with excitement. 'I really am ready for this,' he thought as he twirled Zar'roc, feeling the weight of it in his hands. His resistance levels and physical enhancements had made him strong—much stronger than a boy his age should have been. He wasn't just surviving in this fight; he was dominating it.

In the corner of his mind, Saphira's voice broke through. Her tone was filled with concern. 'Eragon! Are you alright? I sensed danger, but I am too far away to help.'

Eragon smiled grimly, slashing through another Urgal's chest with ease and moved on to the next. 'Don't worry,' he replied to her through their bond. 'Me and Brom got this under control. Stay where you are and don't reveal yourself —I'm stronger than they are.'

Saphira hesitated before speaking again. 'I know you are strong, but be careful. Do not take unnecessary risks.'

He could feel her worry. Her presence was a warm comfort in his mind, but he pushed away her anxiety. He knew she trusted him, but it was his duty to protect her. He could handle this.

Brom, meanwhile, was battling one of the Urgals, moving with the precision and grace of someone who had fought these beasts for decades. Despite his age, he dispatched his foe with a single, clean strike to the neck. As Brom straightened, Eragon knocked his bow and sent an arrow flying towards the last Urgal who had been trying to escape. The arrow hit its mark, and the Urgal collapsed, dead.

"Not bad," Brom said, his voice full of praise and also tinged with approval. "You handled yourself very well this time Eragon."

"It's not like it's something to be proud of," Eragon replied, sheathing Zar'roc with a calm motion. His eyes swept over the carnage around them, the bodies of fallen enemies scattered like leaves in the wind. "I'm way too strong and fast for this to be challenging."

He wasn't surprised by his performance. The fight had been nothing more than a brief exercise, a testament to the incredible power he had gained through his Limitless Perk. This unique ability had allowed his body to grow far stronger and faster than any normal human, enhancing not just his physical strength, but also his reflexes and senses. His movements had been almost automatic, every attack precisely calculated, every dodge effortless.

The Limitless Perk had transformed him into a force of nature, turning what should have been a dangerous battle into something trivial. His heightened reflexes made it easy to anticipate his opponents' moves, while his sharpened senses allowed him to detect every shift in the air, every tremor of motion. The fight had felt less like a struggle for survival and more like a well-practiced routine.

As he glanced back at Brom, Eragon couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment. "This was just... easy," he murmured, almost to himself, though Brom could still hear the quiet confidence in his voice. The fight had been a mere formality, a demonstration of the power he now wielded with such ease.

The battle's adrenaline began to fade, Eragon took a deep breath. 'This is the first time I killed an intelligent creature,' he thought, looking down at the bodies of the fallen Urgals. 'And surprisingly, I feel nothing....'

There was no disgust, no overwhelming guilt or grief. Instead, there was a sense of satisfaction, knowing he had prevailed and won. It wasn't that he had no compassion—he simply wasn't going to let something like this weigh on his conscience. He wanted to survive, to thrive in this world, and if that meant killing, then so be it. Besides, the Urgals weren't innocent. They had slaughtered the entire village of Yazuac. His actions were more then justified.

Brom placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts. "We shouldn't stay here any longer. More Urgals could be nearby, and we can't afford to be caught off guard again."

Eragon nodded, and together, they left the village behind, not looking back at the bodies they had left on the ground.

Swoosh~ Rumble~

That night, they set up camp on the road. As the sun set and the stars began to twinkle overhead, Saphira finally joined them, her massive wings cutting through the night air as she landed with a soft thud.

She huffed, her blue scales shimmering in the firelight as she folded her wings. 'You should have let me come sooner,' she chided. 'I could have helped.'

Eragon grinned, patting her side affectionately. 'No way! You are too strong and majestic to handle those kind of pests. Besides we handled it, didn't we? Also you know that soon enough, you won't have to hide anymore. Once we reach the Varden, everything will change.'

Saphira snorted, her warm breath ruffling his hair. 'I know. But it is frustrating to stay hidden while you fight.'

Eragon chuckled softly and sat by the fire, resting his back against her warm body. "We'll get through this, Saphira. I promise."

The night passed uneventfully, with Eragon keeping watch while Brom and Saphira rested. Eragon didn't mind staying awake, it's not like he needed the sleep, and he also took the opportunity to send more energy into the ruby.

When morning came, they continued on their journey to Daret.

Two days passed before they reached the small village, but fortunately, it hadn't been touched by the Urgals. They restocked their supplies just as they had planned, avoiding unnecessary confrontation and keeping their purpose hidden. Just like in the original book, their time in Daret was brief, uneventful, and they moved on quickly, eager to reach Teirm.

The journey to Teirm stretched on for fifteen long days, with the road winding through open plains, and the occasional village. The landscape was a mix of beauty and danger, with the towering Spine in the distance and the ever-present threat of Urgals or imperial soldiers lurking around every bend.

Each morning, the sun rose lazily, casting a golden light over the path, while the nights were cool and calm, with only the crackling of their campfire and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures breaking the silence.

Brom was relentless in his training, pushing Eragon harder than ever before. Every moment of the journey was a chance for improvement, a chance for Eragon to refine his abilities. Brom had moved on from simply teaching him the ancient language; now, he was demanding Eragon use it practically, forcing him to heal minor cuts and bruises they received from travel or sparring. They would often stop by the side of the road, where Brom would make small incisions on his own arm, handing Eragon the task of closing the wound with magic.

"Remember the words," Brom would say, his tone firm but not unkind. "You must picture the wound closing, see the skin knitting together, and pour your energy into it. Just saying the words won't do anything without the intent to invoke the spell and supplying the required energy. But be mindful—magic takes its toll. If you're careless, it will drain you dry in a heartbeat."

Eragon would focus on the task, the ancient words rolling off his tongue as he channeled his energy into healing. He could feel the magic pulling from within him, a sensation that was both exhilarating and exhausting. Each time he succeeded, a sense of pride swelled in his chest, though he could still feel the strain on his body as his energy reserves depleted.

In addition to magic, Brom also continued Eragon's training in mental battles and defense. These lessons were perhaps the most grueling. Brom would constantly launch mental attacks on Eragon, trying to break through his defenses and infiltrate his mind. Eragon had to stay vigilant at all times, keeping his mental barriers strong and resilient. Even when they were walking along the road or riding their horses, Brom would attack suddenly, sending a sharp probe into Eragon's mind, testing his defenses.

"Don't relax," Brom would warn, his eyes narrowing. "An enemy won't wait until you're ready. They'll strike when you least expect it. Your mind must be like an impenetrable fortress—strong, unyielding. One slip, and they will take everything."

At first, Eragon struggled to maintain his focus. Keeping his mind shielded while also being aware of his surroundings was no easy task. The mental strain left him feeling drained, even more so than the physical exertion of swordplay or magic. There were days when he felt like his mind would crack under the pressure, and he would collapse into his bedroll at night, utterly exhausted.

Luckily this helped push his Mental Invasion Resistance skill level higher and higher, helping him cope with Brom onslaught.

Though this in turn only served to make Brom increase the strength and intensity of his mental attacks, shaping them into sharp and pointed shapes that decimated Eragon's defenses and easily penetrated his shields, forcing him once again to the brink. The old man was a real monster when it came to mind battles...

Yet, as the days passed, he began to notice improvements. His mind grew sharper, his reflexes quicker. He became more adept at sensing Brom's mental attacks before they could reach him, throwing up barriers instinctively. His mental resistance was strengthening, just like his body had over the past year.

Brom was always watching, always testing him, pushing him to his limits. At night, when they camped under the stars, Brom would sit by the fire, his eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression as he observed Eragon's progress.

"You're getting better," Brom would say occasionally, though his praise was always tempered with caution. "But don't let it go to your head. The mind is as much a battlefield as any place on this earth, and you've only scratched the surface of what you'll need to know."

'Graa, not this shit again, you say the same thing every night repeatedly like a broken record. "Don't be arrogant, don't be complacent, you still have much to improve" etc etc... don't you have anything new to say?? This broken record is not funny anymore!' Eragon hearing him will always think along those lines, but he didn't complain and voice it out out loud else he might have to suffer more in training.

Throughout their journey, Eragon and Brom kept a careful distance from the occasional convoys they encountered on the road. These convoys, often guarded and laden with goods, moved with an urgency that hinted at the instability spreading across the land. Alongside them were refugees—men, women, and children fleeing from villages ravaged by Urgal raids. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes hollowed by fear and the horrors they had witnessed. Eragon watched them pass with a growing sense of pity, mixed with a deep unease.

These people were a constant weight on his shoulders.

The sight of the suffering people began to open Eragon's eyes to the harsh realities of the world he now inhabited. The cruelty of Galbatorix became all too clear to him. The fact that the tyrant allowed Durza to unleash the Urgals upon his own subjects, letting them pillage and destroy as they pleased, was unforgivable.

Seeing the devastation for himself, the ruined villages and the broken lives of the refugees, drove home a truth that had only been an abstract idea to him before: this world was one of chaos, where the strong preyed on the weak, and the only law was the might of the sword. It dawned on even more deeply then before him that in such a world, true freedom and safety could only be achieved through personal strength.

This realization steeled his resolve. If he wanted to live the life he desired, to protect those he cared about, he needed to become stronger—strong enough to challenge the very order of this world. The thought of Galbatorix's tyranny, the suffering he allowed and perpetuated, ignited a fierce determination in Eragon. He vowed to continue his training with renewed vigor, knowing that one day, when his strength was unrivaled, he would rid this world of Galbatorix and bring an end to his reign of terror.

Not because it was his duty or some other bullshit he says to Brom constantly, but because he can and it was the right thing to do.

The journey was no longer just about survival or reaching the Varden; it was about preparing for the battles that lay ahead, battles that would determine the fate of Alagaësia. Eragon tightened his grip on Zar'roc, feeling the weight of his resolve settle over him like a mantle. He would train, he would grow stronger, and when the time came, he would be ready to face Galbatorix and bring justice to a world desperately in need of it.

Despite the challenges and dangers, the journey was not without its moments of peace. There were times when they would stop by a clear stream to rest their horses and allow Saphira to come down from the sky to drink and stretch her wings. Eragon would sit by her side, running his hands over her smooth scales, feeling the bond between them grow stronger each day. Her presence in his mind was a constant source of comfort, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this dangerous world.

The journey to Teirm was long and arduous, but with each passing day, he felt himself growing stronger—both in body and mind.

On the night before they were to reach Teirm, Eragon sat by the fire as he found himself going over his resistance skill list. The familiar, almost comforting glow of the magical screen hovered before him, and he felt a surge of satisfaction.

[Pain Resistance Level 163]

[Radiation Resistance Level 190]

[Fatigue Resistance Level 211]

[Abrasion Resistance Level 150]

[Heat Resistance Level 178]

[Blunt Force Resistance Level 118]

[Oxygen Deprivation Resistance Level 87]

[Vertigo Resistance Level 78]

[Irritant Resistance Level 23]

[Cold Resistance Level 152]

[Poison Resistance Level 37]

[Sleep Deprivation Resistance Level 157]

[Alcohol Resistance Level 12]

[Cut Resistance Level 56]

[Hunger Resistance Level 74]

[Pressure Resistance Level 21]

[Dehydration Resistance Level 75]

[Sickness Resistance Level 3]

[Virus Resistance Level 3]

[Sensory Overload Resistance Level 54]

[Magic Resistance Level 91]

[Mental Invasion Resistance Level 78]

'My Mental Invasion Resistance had risen nicely, thanks to the countless hours of training with Brom now baring fruits. I can deflect to some degree mental attacks without even paying them any attention. My mind's like a castle—fortified and constantly getting stronger.

My Cut Resistance and Magic Resistance are coming along, too. The method I came up with— instead of brisingr, using a thin wind blade to cut shallow wounds into my skin before healing them with magic is very effective. Every cut not only helps me resist physical wounds and level up Cut Resistance but it also strengthens my Magic Resistance too as the wind is magical in nature. It's smart hehe.

The more I force my body to handle magic, the more it's getting used to it, building up the resistance. Every cut and every bit of healing—it's pushing me closer to mastering this body and my abilities.' Eragon thought to himself, pleased at his progress. Though the training was grueling, the results were gratifying.

Eragon glanced at Brom, who was quietly tending the fire, and then back at his list. 'Yeah, I will be ready for whatever comes next'