Time Passes

Time passed normally in Marlow after the Twin Horn party left. In a couple weeks they had come back through with 3 new people with them, a child accompanied by 2 parents. The child took his hair from his mother and his eyes from his father and Duran could admit that the boy would no doubt grow up to be quite handsome.

The boy's name was Arthur and while he could be described as a pretty boy, Duran would be the opposite. It wasn't that he wasn't attractive, not at all. In fact he had a sort of rough and rugged handsomeness to him already.

Duran didn't speak to the adventurers as they passed through this time however. He had said what he needed to say the time before and he wasn't one to constantly proclaim what he was going to do, but actually acting on it. That's how 3 years passed…

~~~~~~~~3 years Later- Duran age: 9~~~~~~~~~

Winter was in full spring and the edges of a snowstorm had blanketed Marlowe in a fine layer of powdery snow. The Grand Mountains typically only ever sent cold winds down to the village, but this was one of the few years a snow followed. A long winding furrow could be seen in the snow and if you followed it you would find Duran.

He was outside with his torso bare wearing only woolen pants that clung close to his legs and a pair of sandals that was just soft leathers bound around his feet with a sticky substance made from animal fats and other ingredients at the bottom to hold it together.

These shoes kept his feet warm in the winter and could be adjusted to keep them cool in the summer months. These shoes allowed him to be as close to the ground without being barefoot and allowed much more precise control over his movements than someone wearing leather boots.

His torso wasn't completely bare though. Straps could be seen wrapping over his shoulder and around his midsection for support. This contraption was originally made for gathering sticks for firewood kindling but had been modified by Marston.

Apparently he had more tricks up his sleeves than just butchering animals. As now this stick carrier was able to support the weight of tree logs. Albeit these were young trees or large branches that only reached a diameter no bigger than Duran's torso. Duran was larger, faster and taller than kids his age and some older ones, but he was still small compared to adults.

He currently had 3 such logs strapped into the holder across his back as he trudged through the snow. His breath came out quickly, but it was in controlled and even bursts. That had been the first thing his grandpa had instilled in him, breathing control was almost as important if not more important than the exercise itself.

It took a couple months until he could breathe properly and keep it up over a prolonged period of time, but once he had it made his training much easier and he was able to train much longer than before.

(Quick Author's Note: I didn't mean for this to sound so "Demon Slayer breathing technique like" but it fits so I'm keeping it. Maybe I'll add breathing techniques to help Duran out but most of his power will come from the spear energy and spoiler spoiler spoiler. Just wanted to clarify the breathing, it's currently not meant as a demon slayer breathing technique but that could change.)

Each log weighed around 50 pounds, and most people would be astonished to see a 9 year old carrying 150 pounds worth of logs on his back. Rather everyone except the villagers of Marlow. Duran was big, but even that wouldn't normally be able to account for him carrying that much weight even if he was an augmenter using mana to strengthen his body.

Some might think that was even more absurd as children normally don't awaken until their pre-teens and here would be a 9 year old already awakened carrying 150 pounds as he ran through the snow. However that was not the case. Duran was currently running through the snow assisted only by the fruits of his hard work.

He had graduated from bundles of sticks at the beginning to a full log in one year, and quickly rose to 2 logs just 4 months later and had been stuck with 3 logs since. Truthfully he probably could carry more logs, but that was before his grandfather made him start carrying his old war spear in his hands as he ran.

His concentration was no longer fully focused on the weight upon his back, but the almost absurd weight of the spear. It was 20 pounds at least on its own and if Duran didn't hold and run with it properly his arms would be dead long before his legs.

His current training regiment was to run around his grandfather's property 20 times with the logs on his back and the spear in his arms. He was forced to alternate holding the spear in various positions every 5 laps.

First 5: Standard resting position, spear is held diagonally in front of the body. Dominant hand equal to dominate shoulder in height and the other is placed lower down just above the hip. Giving the user a space of about a foot and half space between hands.

Second 5: The spear is held low near the dominant side hip and the arms in position as if ready to stab out.

Third 5: Duran swaps the spear to his non dominant side and repeats.

And finally the last 5 he is to run with the spear held over his head with both hands gathered at the bottom of spear's shaft. This works his arms by having to hold the 20 pound spear but also his wrists and forearms as he tries to keep the spear from bouncing too much with each step.

According to his grandfather his step should be light enough and his grip strong enough that the spear doesn't budge even at his full speed. Duran couldn't wrap his head around such a thing as even with a year and and a half of doing this he couldn't keep the spear from bouncing up and down.

Of course it was no longer falling out of his hands or hitting the logs stacked on his back , so there was progress. It just didn't feel like enough to him. He was currently on his last lap and he increased his focus on his breathing and his connection with the spear.

He had begun to feel the energy of the spear more distinctly when he switched to his grandfather's war spear. It wasn't that the spear itself had some kind of energy running through it, rather it was like the spear was a conduit for energy to pass into Duran.

His Grandfather had been right, there is energy in everything as everything pulls in energy that compliments them. Whenever Duran focused on this feeling he could feel the weight of the logs lessen and his footsteps become lighter as the energy would pulse through his body.

This was his answer to his lack of mana, he would take in the energy offered to him by way of the spear. What surprised him is that even after the energy left his body when he lost focus he noticed that he still kept residuals of that energy. It permeated just body and strengthened it.

Slowly but surely over these past 3 years he's noticed his training become easier and easier to the point he's had to increase it multiple times. None of the kid raced against Duran like before and the only ones that would spar against him now were the adults and passing adventurers.

He didn't mind this as it helped him grow stronger. His father and mother had apparently been prodigies in the Marlow and went on to become adventurers before joining the army to help fight against the Elves. Duran wanted to be like them. He wanted to become strong, strong enough to see the word and not just be stuck in Marlow his entire life.

He wanted to see the floating city of Xyrus, travel to the castle in Etistin, fight alongside fellow adventurers in the beast glades and make a name for himself. Duran was going to be the strongest spear user Dicathen had seen.

He reached the end of his running and didn't flop to the ground in exhaustion but rather carefully undone the straps holding the logs to his back, causing a clattering of the logs as they hit the ground. He rolled his shoulder as he stabbed the butt of the spear into the ground and cracked his neck side to side.

He stretched his arms high above his head with his fingers interlocked and then bent in half at the waist to touch his toes. Continuing this by wrapping his arms behind his legs and pulling even lower until his head was at his knees. Then he recoiled to the opposite direction and folded until he could stick his head between his legs from behind.

He had worked on his flexibility as much as his strength as he felt it would help with his spearmanship, and his grandfather had agreed. Though Duran doubted his grandfather had expected to go so far with his flexibility.

Once he finished stretching he was not done with the warmup portion of his training. He pulled the spear back out of the ground and assumed a battle stance. This was a basic stance where he held the spear at his side and prepared to stab out.

Before he did that though he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. When his breathing was at an acceptable pace he focused even more but now on the spear. The grooves against his callused hands, the weight trying to pull his arms to the ground. He called the slight shake of exhaustion in his arms and breathed in deep which seemed to allow him to Intake the spear energy as well.

He held this breath in for a while, multiple minutes as he relished the feeling and the sensation of the energy washing over every inch of his body. Once he could no longer hold his breath any longer he opened his eyes and released his breath in short but measured bursts and with each burst he stabbed out with great force and then pulled back.

The force of the strikes sent snow flurries rising up all around Duran and he aimed for the crystals of snow as the fell. With each quick exhalation of breath the spear darted out wanting to pierce the flakes, but they missed their mark each time. The crystals would fall atop the blade if the spear or the spear tip would just miss them.

Duran had yet to pierce a single snowflake in this training. During the fall months when the ground was littered with leaves instead of snow he could easily pierce the leaves now as they fell much more predictably and were obviously larger.

Duran put as much focus as he could muster into this next attack as he would have to take a new breath after this one. His eyes strained and his muscles tensed, he unconsciously gripped the shaft of the spear tighter, his feet dig a little deeper into the snow and underlying dirt. The ground cracked near his feet, only small cracks hidden by the snow but cracks nonetheless, as Duran followed a singular snowflake from head height until it reached his chest and that's when he struck.

A wave of energy came out of his body as he exhaled the last of the pent up breath he had contained, the snow pushed out away from him in a circle revealing the cracked earth underneath Duran's feet. His spear lashed out faster than it ever had before at the snowflake that looked like numerous swords were melded together at the tips in the center with their hilts and cross guards encircling them.

He tracked the crystal as best he could with the rising snow flurries, but soon those faded out of sight and all Duran could see was the tip of his spear and the falling flake. Time seemed to slow for him as his spear approached, and he realized he wasn't going to hit it with his current path. He tried with all his might to move his spear, but it felt impossible. With the very last remnants of his breath he let out a shout of exertion and the trajectory changed ever so slightly.

Time sped back up and Duran's lungs burned with lack of oxygen as he fell to the ground breathing heavily, greedily filling his lungs with the cold air. Though his face despite the discomfort shown a bright smile and a triumphant look in his eyes.

He had pierced the snowflake! Not in the center, no not even close. He had pierced the farthest edges the flake at the hilt of one of the sword looking designs. No master would have been proud of such a thing Duran was sure, but he. He was proud.

"Ye— ack!" He went to yell in victory but his throat tightened as it hadn't gotten all the air it's lungs needed yet and the Duran promptly spat blood and his body was wracked with pain. Tears talked down his cheeks as he clenched his jaw and hugged his arms as the cold seemed to stab through his very skin. Pained gasps were all that left Duran's mouth and soon he felt himself being lifted up by strong warm arms.

"Stupid boy." The deep and almost bear growl like voice came from the man with the dense facial hair. Through hazy eyes Duran could tell that it was Marston and based on the smell of dead animals and blood he had returned from a hunt.

As soon as Duran heard the familiar creak of his front door and the muffle sounds of his grandfather talking to Marston, he fell asleep before he even reached the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Chapter End~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry for the delay but expect this every time. I'm thinking 1-2 chapters a week so I don't get burnt out.

Probably be another timeskip next chapter as well and I think that's when the story will truly begin.

Hope you enjoyed.

Until next time