And so, she had gotten her sparring partners, and in so doing also promising candidates for induction into the sect proper… Or rather, accelerated induction. She didn’t plan on arbitrarily rejecting people based on lack of pre-existing ability, but whilst some would be only given basic guidance to start with and aided in laying foundations of their own, Zelsys knew it would be pointless and even dangerous for her to train such novices personally or expect them to keep up with her in any way.
Among these strangers, however, she soon noticed a clear pattern - while all of them possessed some degree of ability beyond civilians, but there was a quite obvious gradient of capability across these people. She memorized their faces and later learned their names so that she might seek them out when the sect began its recruitment proper, but for the time being, they were no more than sparring partners.
That was what they had agreed to, and no more - even if by the end of the day, only four of them remained, and even among them, only two had been able to pace themselves.
In the absence of these sparring partners, Zelsys would inevitably turn her attention to more solo-friendly training - everything she could conceive of, in fact. When she found herself stalling, plateauing in one matter, she moved to the next, rapidly cycling through resistance training, body conditioning, striking, overall technique refinement, and even marksmanship for eighteen hours each day without cease.
Every waking moment her thoughts were on training, despite the fact she spent much of that time on recovery either through low-strain training, further work on theory of technique, reading, or simple rest. As much as she wished she could just directly translate will to training and to results by pushing without relent, she knew better.
One day, Sig and Makhus came to the sect early in the morning with several people in tow, familiar faces from both the fighting-pit and speakeasy among them. They hauled in a great deal of alchemical equipment, some from Riverside Remedies and some new, and the nascent form of the aforementioned apothecary’s sister establishment was born…
…Albeit with some struggle to replace the pre-installed Viriditas still with a new, semi-automated model. Despite Ozmir’s cooperation, it was still a job that demanded quite a bit of elbow grease, and when it was finally done, the place was functionally ready to be stocked for service.
Makhus revealed that he had decided on naming this second branch of the business Newman Alchemicals.
These men and women of martial and alchemical skill alike which Makhus had hired on, among whom was included even Not-Quincy, sought to join the sect proper in addition to their posts as employees of the alchemist. Just as with anyone else, Zel told them that it was a matter for after her bout with the Krishorn matriarch, before returning her attention fully to training once again.
Liters and liters of Daytime Dust-enhanced Liquid Vigor - or “DDLV” as she shortened it - served to shore up what she shaved off her sleep schedule, with small doses of dilute bonemeld mixed with ground-up bones serving to fuel her aggressive conditioning regimen.
Protective boots be damned, her shins had to be numb and hard by the time she faced Ubul, considering the distinct possibility of losing that armor. What took precedence, however, were her arms - fists, forearms, and elbows.
Her grasp of Thundercharger continued to solidify through incessant repetition, alongside her understanding of muscle mechanics, albeit this came from outside sources - anatomy books.
Millimeter by millimeter, she inched closer towards a comprehensive martial form. Carving and re-carving the metaphorical channels of muscle memory, making tiny adjustments to how she would move in combat based on what aspect of movement would be prioritized.
She also thoroughly examined the scroll, and while its explicit text had not changed, the feeling it gave did. A simple one - as she was now, the only aid the scroll could render was a metaphorical nudge to help her re-enter that inner realm in her sleep.
On Thursday, Zel saw a familiar face by the gate. A familiar, supernaturally pale face, from which piercing blue eyes stared at her through the barrier, a grin of unnaturally white teeth spread out beneath them. Jorfr.
It was… Close enough to a rest period. Zel put down the fifty-kilo dumbbells she’d been training with for the past hour and walked over to the gate, finishing off her second bottle of DDLV that day as she went whilst maintaining her Fog-breathing to ensure her muscles would recover as quickly as possible.
Letting the mountain of muscle into the courtyard, she found that he was… Filthy. Crusted-over blood in smeared runic patterns caked his skin, mixing in with numerous small scrapes and a few larger gashes, all already plugged up, and upon his back, he carried a bulging rucksack. A bulging, stinking rucksack, one whose bottom was crusted with dried blood.
“I have come to repay a debt of honor incurred through holmgang,” he recited eagerly, taking the pack off.
Zel stopped him, gesturing towards the building proper, “Something tells me it would be better to speak inside.”
“Yes, of course,” nodded the norseman, holding the pack to his chest as they walked. Zef didn’t even bother getting up at this point, only glancing over before she returned to practicing her Ricoshot technique with wooden dummy coins. She breathed an enchantment upon them just the same, but instead of any useful ricochet, they absorbed a bullet’s kinetic energy all at once, or at least as much of it as the enchantment and the wood itself could handle. Even with reduced training loads, this meant such wood coins exploded into splinters as a result, making them mainly useful as a more affordable training alternative to destroying hundreds of real coins.
Curiosity gnawing at her, Zel questioned, “Mind telling me what’s in the backpack and whether it has anything to do with how filthy you are?”
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