Your Shadow Is My Light

Chapter 22 - I believe in your character.

Normal text
Thinking
Onomatopoeia

Rayne's POV
Scorching solar flares beat down. Waves of boiling heat rose off the ground, just shy of barbecuing me to a well-done char. Minutes ticked by agonisingly slow under the blistering sun. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, soaking through the coarse linen of my tunic. It's like being bound by cling wrap... with gross bodily fluids rubbing all over my bare torso. Nasty. I know I should be grateful Akali had new clothes to spare. But compared to the synthetic fibres of the modern age, this was a significant downgrade.

"Again!" the devil's cackle pierced through the air.

Whoosh!

A rod roughly slapped the training dummy. Hay rustled. But the scarecrow remained standing tall even after eating a buffet of wallops. Tissues burned while muscles howled pathetically. I've been at this for hours, repeatedly pummeling stacks of hay. Not only was I on the brink of passing out, my limbs were also starting to feel it. Any more swings and my arms would be wrenched out of their sockets. If Akali had given me a sharper blade, this stupid straw man would have snapped in half ages ago. But no. She had to choose daggers with a ridiculously blunt edge. I highly doubt these misshapen rods even touched a single whetstone in their lifetimes.

I let out a tired puff, frowning at my aching joints. Everywhere's sore. I'm thirsty and dying. Stitches from the earlier marathon were still stabbing my sides relentlessly. If I had the energy to whine, I would've already called it quits. But each time I parted my chapped lips, no sound came through. My throat was as parched as the Sahara desert. Great. So I can't even scream bloody murder now.

A dry breeze blew, bringing along traces of heat. My bangs fluttered in the warm winds. Or what's left of it, which was not much. This was the first time in years since the top of my head felt this bald and naked. Not something I'm particularly fond of. But Akali was hell-bent on getting my mop of hair trimmed and tidied, insisting that it would hamper my vision. Personally, I don't see what's the problem since I'm already half-blinded as it is. I can't see shit. So why bother cutting my fringe??? Now I can't even hide the hideous eye patch!

Knowing what I was worried about, Akali suggested letting their elder shaman take a look. But I turned down her offer. Not only because I didn't want anyone seeing the awful scar, but also because I knew it would be no use. As things stand, even God's ambrosia can't heal my sight. The torn vessels and ruptured cells have been left untreated for so long. Too long to see any hope for recovery. This kind of crippling injury was something even potions and modern-day surgery couldn't solve. So what were the chances traditional herbs could? The blemish on my appearance was permanent. I would live and die with the mark of shame.

There's no recovering from that, I said. It's all destroyed by powdery glass shards. There's no reversing the damage. But let's be real, insecurity was the main reason. The other excuses just happened to be a good smokescreen. And Akali knew damn well if the subtle fidgeting of my body revealed anything at all. Fortunately, she was kind enough to let the matter slide.

Stomach acid bubbled in my gut. Then it protested in a squeamish gurgle. I feel like I'm gonna get a stroke at this rate. Or wither from exhaustion. Whichever comes first.

Urghhh... I feel like puking.

Maybe I shouldn't have taken her up on this apprenticeship offer...

<Flashback starts>

"I'm interested to see just how far your resolve will go. Who knows? Maybe you can really make this shitty hell a better place. Be the first full-fledged hero to ever descend upon us wretched mortals."

Thump. Thump.

Really?

"But first of all, I need to know what your calling is. So that I can tailor fit the training regiment to your aptitude."