Not to mention that I had absolutely no idea how to reach the Spirit World. Sure, I retained fragments of various shamanistic rituals that the owl had stuffed into my head, but somehow the prospect of drinking questionable concoctions, inhaling even more questionable smoke, or spending a few decades pursuing enlightenment held remarkably little appeal.
Any other ideas?
I could ask the fish, perhaps. Though that was complicated in its own way.
By this point, all the speculation about spirits, mysteries, and my own involvement in all of it was beginning to give me a headache.
"No, this isn't getting me anywhere. All I'm going to earn is a migraine."
Right now, I'd much rather swing a sword around or turn up the heat a little…
Hm. Why not?
There wasn't enough room in the cabin, of course, but the deck served as a standard training ground during voyages. The ship wasn't mine, which meant experimentation was probably a bad idea, but there was no reason I couldn't stick to the standard routine.
What I needed in firebending was to build reflexes—to turn techniques that existed only in theory and memory into practical skills. The only question was whether to use ordinary fire or show off the more powerful flame. On the one hand, I didn't particularly want to rub salt into Zhao's wounds.
Not yet.
On the other hand, sneaking around and hiding my abilities aboard a vessel of my own nation's fleet seemed ridiculous. Besides, Zhao and I were never going to become friends. I was still toying with the idea of an unfortunate accident or a heroic death at the hands of treacherous waterbenders.
Tch...
And once again, there wasn't even the slightest trace of inner resistance. Not even doubt. It was simply: I think this is the right course of action, therefore it is. That sort of thinking was something I'd seen in Avatars. And that thought sent a chill down my spine. No. Enough. Training. Immediately.
Fortunately, training presented no particular difficulties. The cult of strength didn't merely permit self-improvement—it actively encouraged it. So I simply joined the ordinary sailors and soldiers in their exercises. They looked at me with some surprise, of course, but nobody asked any questions.
Afterward, I picked up a practice sword and requested a round of "wolfpack"—something halfway between a game and an extremely demanding exercise.
The rules were simple. The "sheep" stood inside a circle with a sword while the "wolves" closed in. By the rules, no more than four could attack simultaneously, though the pack itself could contain many more participants. Attacks could—and should—come from any direction at any moment. The sheep was free to turn and move, but could not leave the circle. The goal was to last as long as possible while taking as few hits as possible.
Master Piandao had shown me this exercise near the beginning of my training. The difference was that back then, he had been the one inside the circle. The old man, myself, and another dozen mercenaries had played the role of wolves.
That day, the poor little sheep had beaten and psychologically devastated the entire pack.
It hurt.
The men were a little hesitant at first. After all, I was high-ranking brass, and all that. But in the end, curiosity about what the famous Herald could actually do won out, and we formed a circle.
The next half hour blurred together into a storm of strikes, feints, and spinning footwork. Attacks came from behind, from the sides, and occasionally someone would try to come straight at me, especially when another attacker was already pressing from the rear.
But it was worth it.
Sweat poured down my face and stung my eyes. The ligaments in my legs and shoulders were already beginning to ache from the constant bursts of movement, while the pack had been reduced by nearly a third by the end of the allotted time.
Yes, I still had a very long way to go before reaching Master Piandao's level and his ability to control the chaos of a melee.
On the bright side, the performance earned me a few points in the eyes of the Western Fleet's ordinary sailors.
After thanking the crew, I moved on to firebending practice, simply ignoring both the spectators and their reactions to the unusual color of my flames. Once that was finished as well, I quickly washed up and returned to my cabin—after stopping by the galley to grab a snack—where a messenger hawk was already waiting for me.
He looked slightly exhausted.
Very irritated.
It looked slightly exhausted, extremely irritated, and was giving me the sort of look that clearly said, I'm getting really sick of your nonsense, boss.
"Well, for what it's worth, I'm happy to see you."
"Kurrk?"
Narrowing his eyes suspiciously (and I'm not joking, he genuinely narrowed them suspiciously!) the hawk nervously shifted his talons on the tabletop, leaving a fresh set of scratches in the polished wood.
Hm. Hopefully the esteemed Admiral Zhao hadn't been overly attached to that particular piece of furniture.
"No, no. I'm not sending you right back out immediately. Get some rest, get some sleep, grab something to eat, find something interesting to do in the aviary."
The bird visibly relaxed.
"But tomorrow—"
The hawk let out a distinctly displeased squawk.
"—you don't have to come all the way back afterward. I understand we've sailed too far for you to make it back to Yu Dao easily. Especially with the weather looking the way it does. But try to understand my side of things too. Your lady hawks are right here beside you, while mine are Spirits know where. Show a little masculine solidarity!"
I was fully aware that carrying on conversations with birds wasn't exactly a sign of perfect mental health. On the other hand, he certainly wasn't going to repeat any of it to anyone. Besides, I couldn't shake the persistent feeling that the hawk understood every word and responded as best he could.
They really were remarkably intelligent creatures.
With a heavy sigh, the bird nodded, spread his wings, and flew out through the window to settle into the aviary. Meanwhile, I opened the letter I'd retrieved from the tube attached to his leg during our conversation.
As always, Suki had sent an entire scroll packed with the latest news, greetings, and even a generous helping of gossip.
(End of Chapter)
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