Chapter - 32
Jacob wasn't one to overthink his decisions. Once he had decided that buying a slave was a good option, he wouldn't waste any time dwelling on it. He would deal with the moral dilemmas later.
So, Jacob did just that. For the next month, he threw himself into a relentless cycle of missions, taking on one difficult task after another. He tracked and killed monsters with a single-minded determination that bordered on reckless. Seraphina, who issued the missions for him, grew increasingly worried. She urged Jacob to be more cautious, but he only gave her polite nods, ignoring her concerns.
What set Jacob apart from other hunters were his exceptional tracking abilities. These skills, honed back on Earth, gave him quite an advantage. Few mages could rival his prowess in tracking, allowing him to complete missions that were considered beyond his level.
However, his relentless pursuit of difficult missions came at a cost. Jacob found himself in life-threatening situations more than once. He narrowly escaped death several times, each encounter leaving him more battered and bruised. Thorne often had to patch him up. The big man grew increasingly exasperated by his friend's reckless antics.
"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," Thorne grumbled, applying a salve to a deep gash on Jacob's arm. "You can't keep pushing yourself like this."
Jacob winced but remained silent, his thoughts always on the next hunt. Despite Thorne's warnings and Seraphina's pleas for caution, he pushed on, driven by a relentless inner fire that he couldn't quench.
One benefit of Jacob's relentless dedication to completing missions was his growing skill with a sword. He'd initially bought it as a backup for his revolver, knowing there would be times in close combat when his gun wouldn't be enough. The monster hunter guild had extensive training grounds, where seasoned fighters and new recruits alike honed their skills with a variety of weapons. Each morning, without fail, Jacob made his way to these grounds, setting aside hours solely to train with his sword.
Unlike many others who trained with instructors or sparring partners, Jacob practiced alone. When he first picked up the sword, something surprising happened: it felt oddly familiar, almost natural in his grip. He'd never used a sword back on Earth—such weapons were relics, long replaced by modern firearms. And yet, from the moment his fingers curled around the hilt, he felt an unexpected ease. This familiarity puzzled him, but it didn't deter him; instead, it drove him to understand why he seemed to know a weapon he'd never touched before.
Each morning, he went through the basics on his own: footwork, stances, and the mechanics of various cuts and parries. At first, he focused on his stance—how to stand balanced and grounded, his weight shifting lightly between his feet to maintain agility. He practiced holding the sword high and low, adjusting his grip until he felt he had just the right amount of control. Step by step, he learned how to position his arms, when to brace himself for a strong, cutting motion and when to keep his form relaxed for quicker, slicing movements.
As the days passed, he practiced simple strikes: overhead slashes, diagonal cuts, thrusts. What fascinated him was how naturally it all came to him. At first, he thought it might just be intuition, but his movements grew more precise with each passing day. He even began to experiment with combinations of strikes, ultimately using them inn his fights against monsters once in a while.
One particularly harrowing mission involved tracking down a pack of nightmarish wargs. The hunt took him deep into the Sennetois Forest, far from the safety of Ironhelm. Jacob's tracking skills were put to the test as he navigated through treacherous terrain, following faint trails that others would have missed. The wargs were cunning and deadly, and the encounter nearly cost him his life. He fought fiercely, relying on his Gun-Gale and Thunder-Gale abilities, but even those were pushed to their limits. Jacob knew he was dancing on the edge, but he couldn't afford to stop now. Each successful hunt brought him a sense of grim satisfaction, a temporary balm for the restlessness that gnawed at him.
Returning to the inn, bloodied and exhausted, Jacob was met with Thorne's disapproving glare. "Another close call, I see," Thorne muttered, guiding Jacob to a chair. "You're damn lucky to be alive."
Thorne had once served at the temple of Meridia, the Goddess of Mercy. The temple was in Ironhelm and Thorne had spent time there before opening his inn. It was fortunate that Thorne never charged Jacob for his healing services; otherwise, the cowboy would be buried in debt to the innkeeper by now.
Soon enough, Jacob had a satchel full of gold orins. He now had the means to purchase the slave if he chose to do so. After discussing the matter with Thorne and mulling it over, he decided to go and "check if the slave woman was still on sale." The phrase felt strange even in his mind, and he shook his head at the thought.