A cold breeze whispered through the small village of Bamor, carrying the delicate fragrance of winter's first snowfall mingled with the earthy scent of freshly fallen flakes.

As dawn’s first light grazed the quaint village, the animals stirred from their slumber, their rustles a soft prelude to the day. Meanwhile, the farmers arose with the sun, a hushed buzz of excitement in the air as they anticipated the day’s work.

Within the heart of the village, the church’s courtyard came to life, surrounded by modest cottages, their thatched roofs glistening with the morning dew and a smattering of snow.

At the farthest reaches of the square, nestled among time-worn cobblestones, lay an old tunnel entrance, its weathered stone arch a silent sentinel to the village’s history, a passage of stories feared by the children.

Near the entrance, two lads of about twelve years huddled in cautiousness. 

"You good, buddy?" Brian flashed a grin, slinging his arm around Asdras' shoulder. 

It has been around a year since the priest and the boy found Asdras. During this time, he put himself together and accepted the fact he couldn’t recall anything from his past self.

Over the months, their friendship blossomed. They worked well together, whether it was because he had saved his life or because of his outgoing personality. One was reserved, while the other concocted wild schemes, often landing them in precarious situations.

"U-hum!" Asdras pondered seriously. 

Memories of their last mischievous venture flashed before them—their scheme had failed, leaving them with nothing but brooms in their hands, sweeping the endless mounds of dust in the old church from dawn till dusk.

Intricately woven lines and snares crisscrossed the ground before them, almost imperceptible if overlooked.

As the priest approached while humming a melody, he paused for a moment in contemplation.

With every step, calculated and deliberate, his keen eyes scanned the ground, looking over the subtle corners and gaps among the barrels, the wood sticks and the weapon rack.

Getting prepared with his support stick, he navigated the intricate maze with a knowing smile. The boys, watching from their hidden spot, shared a sigh of disappointment.

"C'mon boys, clean this thing before the training," Joe looked around for their faces.

Yet, as fate would have it, following the priest came a group of children. Running in front, a boy wearing a hood spotted the priest. 

And between the warning and the fast pair of legs moving ahead, the trap sprang to life, snagging his foot and hurling him upwards before he crashed back to the ground.

A chorus of laughter spread as the kid stumbled and faltered, tumbling into the wood sticks and broken barrels. At the climax, a bucket teetered precariously on the edge of a shelf before tipping over and unleashing a torrent of icy, foul-smelling liquid, cracking the giggling with nausea coughs.

"Dang it, Brian, Asdras, I'll sure give y'all a piece of my fists," the boy yelled between his vomits.

 

"No hard feelings, Luca, my buddy," Brian mumbled with a sheepish smile, coughing softly.

"Shame! Such a shame!" Joe coughed. "Brian, Asdras, already knows what to do after the training. Mopping and cleaning this courtyard, and no breakfast!"

Asdras sighed, unsure if his life would be better in the wilderness back then. 

"Luca! Hey there, kiddo, head on down to the river and freshen up a bit," Joe advised, his eyes softening for a moment before hardening once more as he turned his attention back to the rest of the group.

"The rest of you, gather 'round, we're heading to the open field. Today, we're gonna learn a thing or two about fighting with nothin' but bare hands."

"Brian, you ol' rascal!" A girl from the group pointed accusingly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Using that yellow herb trick again, huh?" 

"Who, me? Nah, it was all him!" Brian pointed at Asdras with an innocent expression.

"We all know whose idea was!" The group erupted in laughter, and even the priest couldn't help but chuckle at their antics.

Along the way, they greeted their parents and acquaintances with warm smiles and playful banter, making jokes about Brian's tricks and Luca's luck.

The scent of the morning hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and sizzling ham that streamed from the pub’s chimney.

As they walked, they passed the village shepherd tending to his flock of sheep, and the young ones couldn’t resist petting the fluffy lambs — they loved them and in exchange they had warm clothes for the harsh winter.

The shepherd grinned as he heard about Luca, his son. 

"Teachin' him well, ol' Joe," he said, waving his crook in his hand as he kept an eye on his herd.

In times of peace, he would be angry, but since the last Eruption. The North plumed in chaos. Dark cultists, bandits, monsters. He welcomed the harsh training of the church and the mischief targeting his son.

Their path led them to an open field where the dark brown earth felt soft beneath their feet. The group shaped a large circle around the priest.

Asdras took his time to look over the village. The houses made of clay and straw, nestled snugly together, their thatched roofs blending with the snow.

Asdras wondered if his family lived in a small town or a big city, and if they were still alive, waiting for him.

"Would they seek me?" He murmured under his breath.

"Today," Joe began, his voice adjusting to his serious expression. "We'll learn the art of self-defense with our bare hands. This knowledge is crucial, 'cause you never know when you might find yourself without a weapon to use."

He scanned the group before him, pondering who to choose to demonstrate the moves. Since the last great war, the church devoted part of the resources to help form priests who knew about fighting and survival skills.

Amidst the tumultuous events sweeping across the continent, the Saint Rose church intensified the training among the villages and towns. Collaborating with the Academy and the military, they focused on teaching essential, practical skills.

"You, come forth," with a knowing nod, he selected a boy from the crowd, a sturdy lad with a resolute countenance. "Now, punch me!"

His eyes darted nervously from the priest's stern face to his firm stance. With a hesitant breath, he threw a tentative punch towards the priest's flank, only to watch in awe as the priest deftly dodged the blow with a nimble sidestep.

"Y'see," the old man remarked with a kind smile. "Self-defense isn't all about being strong as an ox, it's about finding balance and using the right technique. Here, let me show up."

He positioned the boy and himself carefully, their stance mirroring one another. He spoke of the importance of core balance, the anchoring of one's legs, and the precise moment to evade and counter-attack.

Though nearly seventy years of age had weathered his body, he moved with a graceful fluidity resembling those of a boxer, absent the typical jabs and hooks. Instead, it was a dance of balance, control, and finesse.

Brian mimicked the movements. While Asdras pondered with an absent look on his face. He felt familiar, yet distant, about fighting. Since he arrived in the village, they regarded him as the best fighter, albeit the teacher.

For him, the only explanation was instinct. Brian thought it was a mark of craziness, since he found the dead leopard over his body, which drove him to train harder. 

Joe deduced that his family could be from a great city since his movements were reaching the meaning level — when the basic attacks had meaning over the movements rather than being predictable.

"Find your spots, everyone," the priest smiled while sweeping his sweat. "Now, grab yourselves a partner and let's start practicin'. One of you plays the attacker, the other plays the defender. And don't forget, if you can't decide who's gonna be the first to attack, just have a thumb-wrestlin' match for it!"

"Hey there, buddy," Brian grinned with a twinkle in his eye, slapping his friend on the back. "How 'bout we quit jawing and have ourselves a little spar, just for fun?"

"Sure," Asdras chuckled, giving his friend a playful shove. "But don't come cryin' when you're nursing the bruises."

They stood facing each other, eager to put their newfound skills to the test.

Asdras assumed a stance that balanced his weight and allowed him to bob and weave easily. Brian adopted a more aggressive posture. 

With a sly glint in his eyes, he playfully kicked a cloud of dust towards Asdras, grinning knowingly as he launched a jab towards his friend's face.

Asdras nimbly sidestepped Brian's punch, ducking under his arm to deliver a light tap on his back.

"Too slow," he teased.

Brian, undeterred, countered with a swift jab that sliced through the air, the whoosh of his fist narrowly missing Asdras's shoulder.

"C'mom, you're a sheep or a wolf?" Asdras shot back, his eyes sparkling as his foot shot out, landing a solid kick across Brian's torso.

Joe observed his group of youngsters, engaged in lively mock battles as part of their daily training. Their laughter and spirited play filled the training grounds. With a hearty clap, Joe captured their attention.

  

"Alright, young ones," he called out. 

"That'll be all for today. Wrap up your training, and then make your way back to your quarters to freshen up. The Deliverer is set to arrive later tonight."

A chorus of excited murmurs erupted among the children as they eagerly anticipated the arrival of the Deliverer, their eyes shining with anticipation.

"Finally!" Brian hollered with a jump. "Fresh tales to hear!"

"Hey there," Joe neared Asdras and Brian. "You both know your tasks, correct? You'll find the brooms over at the pub."