A Week of Recovery

Sonia had collapsed shortly after the victory. Thea had used her spells to return people to the cloister one by one, sending Simon back last before having to deal with the horses.

It was chaos when Simon arrived. Dozens of men were gathered around in a large circle, looking in on the two wounded lying on makeshift stretchers. The wounded man was being frantically bandaged, attempts being made to cut off the blood flow and stem the bleeding. From Simon's limited experience, he guessed the man's odds were poor, but he had a chance if the medical team here was good enough.

Sonia had a single bandage around her forehead, the blood already staining it crimson. Her armour had been removed and placed to the side. It was completely covered in blood, nearly none of the white colouring still visible. There were several deep indents where stones from the wall had struck it.

Her shoulder had been dislocated but already been popped back into place before Simon had arrived. Several men were propping her head up while another opened her eyes, checking for signs of concussion. Unable to help, Simon lent down beside them and waited.

The wounded man survived, he had spent several nights fading in and out from the verge of death before his recovery. Apparently his name was Oscar, he had a wife and a son in the city. They both spent every moment with him until he recovered. The doctor claimed it was their belief that kept him alive.

Sonia had remained unconscious for a week, close care was provided for her, and several examinations were done, but nobody could determine for certain whether she would be fine. Simon spent what little free time he had beside her bed. The goddess hadn't appeared in his dreams since their meeting before the battle. He couldn't ask her whether Sonia would be fine. Simon cursed himself for that time and again.

Orion had taken over like Sonia had requested. He had done a good job keeping things running like they had beforehand. There were a few issues at first, but he proved a skilled steward and had them fixed within the first two days. The duties of stewardship and training the soldiers left him completely busy.

Gideon had continued with the work he had been assigned by Sonia as part of the 'mapping' squad. Simon wasn't sure what that meant and had been 'shushed' when he asked him. This meant he was around scarce little as well.

Thea too hadn't lingered, returning to continue observing the enemy forces before the night had even passed. Simon had seen her speaking with Gideon before leaving, but hadn't had a chance to say goodbye himself.

All this meant Simon was alone for the week, unable to receive training from Sonia, Orion, or Gideon. He hadn't let that stop him though, overseeing his own training instead. He continued his mornings as he had for the past week, he would wake at dawn and run a lap around the city. By the end of the week, his time was consistently less than four hours.

In the evening, Simon started by repeatedly casting the spells he'd already learnt. On the third day, when he felt he'd mastered them to an acceptable degree, he began to try his hand at teleportation. It seemed a risky prospect, if his previous life had taught him anything about magic it was that teleportation was undoubtedly one of the most dangerous powers in fiction. One mistake and you find yourself buried deep underground, instantly crushed to dust by the pressure, another and you meld yourself with a wall, your stomach replaced by stone. It was safe to say they were not pleasant thoughts.

Thankfully, he managed to receive help from the other survivors of the battle at the pass. The man who had fought the hammer wielder called himself Yarik, and the only other uninjured survivor was Gren. They were decently ranked priests in the Order, holding the rank of Cleric, the next below Bishop. Their knowledge of teleportation was fairly strong at that rank, so they served as his tutors for the time being.

It turned out that teleportation wasn't as dangerous as he had expected, at least at a lower level. The technique most commonly utilised involved having a sight line to your target location. If you could see the location you were using as your destination then the chances of something going wrong were significantly reduced. Of course, higher levels of mastery allowed you to travel nearly limitlessly, but that wasn't something the duo could teach him, nor likely was he ready for.

Simon's earlier practice with spacial magic made it fairly easy for him to get a basic idea of the spell. With some concentration he could safely move roughly two or three meters in any given direction. The problem came in sequencing the spell back to back.

The first issue was the disorientation. Moving meters in a flash could entirely change your perception of your surroundings, making it extremely challenging to get a proper sense of your bearings. This was made worse by his attempts to change the direction he was facing as he arrived. If he wanted to jump forwards there would certainly be times where he would need to face backwards upon reaching his destination. Doing so proved to be little issue in itself, but when combined with the loss of awareness proved an incredibly difficult hurdle to overcome.

The second problem arose in how quickly it exhausted him. Casting a spell didn't actually exhaust any form of personal mana pool or magical reservoir, but it did push the brain. Chaining complex spells in sequence without allowing his brain time to rest was incredibly difficult as a result. He had fainted again the first time he tried to chain a second teleportation to a first. There was no shortcut to improving at this, requiring Simon to train his brains stamina the same way he had his body's.

By the time the week was over Simon could teleport three times without pause. Unfortunately, the results still often left him displaced from his intended destination, and always panting deeply from exhaustion.

All this left Simon with only one thing more he had to practice. His time with a sword had been incredibly brief up until now, undoubtedly dooming him to floundering helplessly if anyone were ever to attack him directly. He knew he couldn't even begin to master swordsmanship by the time the three weeks were done, but having some basic grasp of the fundamentals could easily prove the difference between victory and defeat, of life and death.

With Orion still busy, it fell again to Gren and Yarik to instruct him, often chaining their two lessons together when the opportunity arose. They were still busy preparing themselves, however. When Yarik would teach him swordplay, Gren would cover magic and vice versa. Their varying approaches to both providing useful differing perspectives for Simon to learn from.

The actual combat training started poorly. Orion had managed to teach Simon how to effectively hold his blade and a general combat stance, but he hadn't taught him much if at all about the actual melee. Yarik and Gren were skilled combatants themselves but they lacked the teaching experience of Orion, struggling both to effectively communicate what they wanted Simon to do, and to determine where he had to improve first. 

The two improved drastically as the week progressed, however. The growing rapport between them and Simon allowing them to loosen their initially stilted style and approach their training with greater fluidity. Rather than attempting to teach Simon swordsmanship as an art, they focused instead on instilling their personal techniques and insights into him. While these ideas proved, unsurprisingly, too much for Simon to properly process, the numerous smaller lessons of each quickly compounded on each other. Slowly but surely, the training built him a foundation to work with, albeit one with many gaps to fill in.

These three methods of training occupied all of Simon's time for the entirety of that week. He would wake, run, train, eat, sit with Sonia, then sleep. He was certain that was a good thing, if he'd had even a moment to rest, there was little doubt that the sheer intensity of the training would have worn him down completely. Instead, the unbridled focus, supported as it was by purpose, served to push him further than he realistically should have been able to in twice the time.

Nonetheless, it did wear at him. His energy was plummeting, his eyebags had grown dark, his eyes half lidded, and his lips cracked from dehydration. He'd been skipping baths to push himself further, often leaving his hair greasy and caked to his skin, his skin growing grimier in turn.

The others had undoubtedly noticed, worry plainly written on their faces even as they kept quiet. They understood the necessity of his efforts, the conflict was looming ever closer, they needed him to grow as fast as he could. Neither did they imagine he could be dissuaded even if they had tried, the strength of his guilty fervour was no secret among them.

So it was, as the week after the battle came to an end, that Gideon appeared before Simon again. He had just returned from his run when Gideon approached him.

"My, aren't you looking worse for wear. And smelling it too I'm afraid. Has so little time without me brought you so low? Had you truly been relying on me so much? I'm touched to have earned such trust." Gideon's attitude hadn't changed at all in the past week. It was a welcome reprieve after so much strenuous training, but one Simon didn't have time for.

"Why are you Gideon?"
"Ah, how harsh your words. But I digress. The mapping Sonia requested just so happens to have been completed, and we'll be wanting you for the next steps. Well, it's more like we absolutely need you."
"You need me? What do I have to do with any mapping? Was that what Sonia told you?"
"Like I said, the mapping's already complete. We'll require your services for something a little grander. Come along, I promise you it'll be entertaining. And important. And very very difficult."

Gideon grabbed Simon by the arm.

"Me and you are going on a little trip to the underground."