Infinite Farmer

The knight sprung at Tulland, flashing its sword in a horizontal slice that Tulland jumped hard backwards to avoid. Somehow, the knight's speed was just reduced enough for him to make it, though he felt the wind cut just in front of his jugular veins.

The Cannian Knight had a preference for combos, always following one hard slash with at least another. As slow as it was moving forward, Tulland knew the next strike would catch him if he was there to catch. Instead, he pushed forward on a diagonal, digging his pitchfork into the knight's knee as he let loose with his secret move.

Tulland had spent more meat and blood than he wanted to think about just getting this thing to level five, not to mention the literal hundreds of briar seeds he had ruined trying to learn how to overload them with just the right kind of power from Primal Growth.

As the vine almost instantly entwined itself through the knight's legs and arms, it seemed entirely worth it. His opponent was not completely immobilized, but it was close.

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The pitchfork flashed as Tulland wasted no time. He hit each of the knight's knees with the pitchfork for good measure, the went to work on its waist, circling and poking at any exposed gap in the armor. The knight had its claws out, sawing away at the briar. When it got through, that would be it. Tulland could only pack one of those big, bad briars and bisecting any part of the vine would kill it. But it was tough and, for now, the wolf knight was making only slow progress cutting it.

Every muscle in Tulland's body burned as he stabbed at the wolf again and again, hitting it in the elbows now, then the waist, then the legs, and working his way back through the cycle. He wasn't going to kill it any time soon this way, but that wasn't his goal. What he wanted was to simply create an enemy that was just as slow, just as awkward, and just as afraid as he was. That meant a need for a thousand cuts that he simply had to fulfill before the vine broke.

The wolf was digging its sharp teeth into the vine now, which was working almost as well as the claw had previously done. Dripping blood from every part of its body, it was savage as it ripped into the vine again and again, growling and snarling as it picked up more and more damage. The seconds dragged on into an eternity as Tulland worked to hurt the beast as much as he could.

Necia would have taken it down after the first five strikes. That rogue would have both of its eyes by now. I'm just not strong enough. But this is what I can do. I'm doing it.

Finally, horribly, the vine was giving. Tulland watched as his briar finally went slack, still draped heavily all over the knight, but no longer holding on with anything like a tight grip. He roared and plunged the pitchfork one last time, catching the knight fully in the back. He put too much weight into it. Though the tines penetrated deeply into the monster's flesh, he felt them snap as he pulled away, leaving long spikes sticking out of the Cannian's back and a badly blunted weapon in his hands.

He ran away, not even bothering to show his face to the enemy until he got several strides away and turned to put his opponent back in front of him. It was standing there, wounded but terrible, breathing heavily with rage and glaring holes straight though him.

"Strong," the Cannian Knight growled. "Stronger than I thought."

"Compared to what?" Tulland decided to take the revelation that the knight could talk at face value. He didn't have energy for much more.

"Than some I have fought. There have been thousands. I can't remember how they fought, but I can remember how I felt. When they were weak. When they were strong. You felt like one of the weak ones. Afraid."

"I am."

"You are. But you fight. You do what is needed." The knight shifted its weight. "Strong. Let's finish this, brave one."

As the knight sprung forward, Tulland let it come as he used the second it took to morph his weapon.

There wasn't enough jewel material left for his pitchfork to do him much good now. What was left was just enough to make a suitable club with what it could fill of the shovel template. From here on out, it wouldn't be a pretty fight on Tulland's part. He had just a spot of hope he had dragged enough of the knight to his own level.

Tulland got lucky and caught the knight as it came in, rapping it across the head and turning its claws enough to leave his armor shredded through but his guts intact. He pulled the shovel out of the swing and threw it forward in a poke as the knight came back. It gasped in pain as the end of the shovel caught it in the throat, but followed through with its swipe to shatter what was left of the jewelled tip of the weapon.

Tulland mentally adjusted his range. The head of the shovel would do nothing now. If he was to win, he would be doing it by beating a monster to death with a wood stick.

After that, things got fuzzy and bloody. Tulland swung his tool back and forth with all his might, staying just ahead of the claws and sword as he circled his enemy, hitting the wolf again and again with the mighty Giant's Toe wood of the handle. He was giving as good as he got, he thought. He had little happiness besides that idea as his flesh was ripped again and again by nicks and cuts that made it past his splintered armor to his delicate human skin.

Strong Back did its best to keep up. It hadn't been mentioned when his class changed, but it was better in its new combat-class form, having given up some of its intended strengthening ability in favor of increased healing speed. It didn't do much, but Tulland was sure he would have hit the ground by now without it.

A cut over Tulland's eye nearly blinded him with blood as a lucky swing of the tool handle caught something meaty on the knight and sent it stumbling to the side. He jumped backwards, wiping his eyes just in time to see the long sword slicing towards his neck. He traded another hard hit to the knight's knee for a claw wound that seemed to almost take his arm off, then another hit to its spine for a bite to his shoulder that would have killed him if he hadn't decided to rip free before the knight could shake him like a ragdoll.

It went back and forth. Tulland was frankly mystified that either of them was standing at that point. And then, for just a moment, things went black.

—

"I'm frustrated, Tulland. But not mad. Your tutor sends home notes, you know. You must. You carry them," Tulland's uncle said.

"I've seen them," Tulland said quietly.

"Do you know what they say?"

Tulland was thirteen years of wisdom, and was pretty sure that whatever they said wasn't good. He was pretty sure, though, that his uncle was asking for specifics.

"No."

"They say you refuse to learn. That you fight every small lesson, that you question every history. That you are always sure that you know more than a world traveler and hero of three wars at the border."

"And you aren't mad?" Tulland was stubborn, but not literally immune to criticism. All that sounded pretty bad to him. "I'd probably be."

"I'm frustrated because I'd rather you learned. As much as you can, Tulland. And I know you can learn quite a bit if you want to. I've seen you do it. But I'm not mad. And do you know why? Because despite all the notes I've gotten, no matter how violent your tutor says your resistance is, you never seemed to give up." His uncle opened another fish, pulling out the guts and hanging it on a hook with the rest of the day's catch. "And I want that to stay alive in you. That refusal to give up. It's a good thing. It's a strong thing. I wish it were a bit smarter about what it resists, Tulland, but that's all. Because some day…"

His uncle stopped for a frustratingly long time trying to find his words.

"Some day you will need to be stubborn. To fight your teachers and actually win. I don't know how, or why. But I do know it's what you are built for, in the same way I'm built to throw a hook or toss a net. So learn to listen to your tutor, and learn to listen better. But don't give up on that resolve, Tulland. Don't let it break."

His uncle was done with the fish now, which meant he was just about talking, too. Dunking his hands in a pail of water to clean them. He wiped them on his apron as he took the garment off and hung it back up.

"Because one day you are going to need to be stubborn, Tulland, and I want you to be stubborn as hell."

—

Tulland's head rocked back forward as he surged back into consciousness. The sword was coming at him now, an infinite amount slower than it had at the beginning of the fight but still razor sharp, and still with the full weight of a Cannian Knight behind it.

Fine. I can lose an arm for this. Let's see how good this armor is.

Tulland lifted his arm against the sword, which stuck in the wood far enough to slice at his arm, but not through it. He watched in wonder as the knight's hand pulled at the handle and slipped, leaving the sword to pull itself free from the forearm bracer and clatter to the ground.

They both dove at each other, the wolf swiping with both claws as Tulland clubbed again and again with what little was left of the handle of his weapon. It would only be a few seconds now, and the first one to falter would lose. Tulland watched with interest, almost as if he weren't in his own body as his arm came down again and again, coming up each time stained with just a little bit more Cannian blood.

My uncle said there was nobody more stubborn than me. Let's prove him right.