nownovels Chapter 58: 3 Points
Chapter 58: 3 Points
Three days later, Otto emerged from the stone tower.
It wasn't because Ilion gave permission. That morning, when the maester came to change his dressing, he was fastening the iron buttons on the hem of his armor. Ilion, holding the medicine bowl, paused at the door, glanced at his movements, placed the bowl on the stone table, and didn't speak immediately.
"The new layer at the wound site is less than three weeks old." Illion's voice was the steady one characteristic of a maester, each word like a report he had verified. "If this layer gets chilled or subjected to even the slightest impact before it's fully set, it will burst open again. The last fever originated here. After it bursts open, it will grow back much slower than this time, and the new growth will be much weaker. I'm not saying it's possible, my lord, I'm certain."
He folded the old gauze and set it aside, then picked up the newly cut white herbal cloth and began to apply it. His movements were steady, each wrapping with the same tightness, neither too tight nor too loose—the hands of someone who had done this many times before.
"Rest for another three days. After three days, the injury will enter the second stage; the stiffness will be sufficient, and the risk of movement will be reduced to an acceptable range. Three days, not two days, not two and a half days. Three days."
After listening, Otto fastened the last metal buckle.
"I heard it."
“Just because you heard me doesn’t mean you think this is important,” Elion said. “But I still have to finish. If you go out today and come back tonight with a burning sensation in your shoulder, or a throbbing pain that runs from your collarbone down your neck, don’t wait until tomorrow morning to come see me. Come tonight. There are only a few hours left; after that, there will be much less I can do.”
Otto took the bare spear shaft from the wall and used it as a cane, leaning on the ground to stand up.
"Can we mount the horse in three days?"
"Being able to mount a horse doesn't mean you can wield a sword." Illion began tidying up the medicine bowl. "Your shoulder range of motion will need at least another two weeks to recover before you can perform slashing movements. Until then, if you insist on using a sword, I suggest only thrusting, avoiding lateral thrusts. Lateral thrusts will strain the tendons below the injury. Those tendons were torn last time and have only just healed; they can't withstand a second one."
He picked up the medicine bowl, walked towards the door, and paused there.
"medicine."
Otto extended his right hand, took the bowl of liquid mixed with white sage root and willow bark offered to his palm, and drank it all in one gulp. It was bitter and astringent, like chewing up tree bark and stuffing it directly into his mouth. He didn't frown, and placed the empty bowl back in Ilion's hand.
"If your physical condition allows, don't stay outside for more than an hour today," Ilion said finally, then turned and left.
The cold air from outside rushed in.
It wasn't the subtle chill that seeps in from inside the house; it was the real cold from outside—broad and heavy, penetrating the skin and lungs in one go. Otto paused on the threshold, letting his body feel the temperature difference, before stepping out.
The snow was bright. The early winter sunlight shone on the snow, reflecting a cold, white light, much more glaring than the oil lamp in the stone tower. He squinted, his boots crunching as they stepped into the snow. The chill entered with his first step, not intensely, but steadily.
He didn't stop, continuing along the log path beside the drainage ditch towards the training ground. Halfway there, he paused by the stone wall of the ditch, leaning against it with his right shoulder to let the heaviness dissipate. His exhaled breath dispersed quickly in the cold wind. Then he leaned on the log again and continued walking.
The training ground is located on the east side of the stone tower, with no obstructions on any side, making it the windiest place in the territory.
Otto stopped next to a wooden post at the edge of the training field.
Toren was leading the fourteen veteran soldiers of Darryl in a coordinated advance. Two short whistles sounded, the shields of the front rank slammed to the ground, and the spears of the rear rank emerged from the gaps in the shields. They took a half-step forward, then withdrew and returned to their positions. Their movements were more synchronized than three days ago. The man on the far left of the front rank involuntarily bent his right knee as he pushed his shield forward—a habit of miners, an old ailment from squatting while digging. This movement caused his center of gravity to shift forward each time he pushed his shield, dissipating a small portion of his force. The fourth man on the right in the back rank gripped his spear shaft too far forward; the center of gravity of his hook was on the outside of his palm, making him half a breath slower than the others when using the hook.
Otto noted these down, his gaze continuing to move until it settled on the far right back row.
Edric.
His advance was the most steady of the fourteen—precise strides, even weight distribution on the shield, and the angle at which his spear protruded always along the same line. But after watching the advance a dozen times, Otto saw that thing.
After each hooking maneuver, the hooked spears in the rear would reach out, pause, and retract—Edric's gaze would shift slightly. Less than half a breath later, it would look to the upper left, then immediately return to its original position, fixing its gaze on the front again.
Upper left.
The whistle to end training is two long and one short.
Most people dragged their weary bodies toward the longhouse, their voices hushed, too exhausted to even muster the energy to swear. Otto left the wooden post and entered the training ground.
He walked to the center of the field, without speaking to Toren or calling anyone, and squatted down, drawing a dot in the snow with his right index finger.
The surface of the snow had been hardened by the wind; a finger running across it left a thin, clear, and clean mark.
Then he drew a second dot to the right front of the first dot.
It paused for a moment.
Then, a third point was drawn directly behind and in the middle of these two points.
Three points. Not a line, but a triangle. The three sides aren't drawn, only the three vertices are shown, but the triangle is there.
He stared at the three points for a moment, then used his right hand to support himself on his knee and stood up—a movement that took more effort than he had expected. A dull pain shot through him as he bent over from the cold air, but he didn’t stop. He stood up and brushed the snow off his hands.
Then he saw that Edric hadn't left yet.
Edric stood on the edge of the wooden shed on the other side of the training field, not joining the dispersing crowd, just standing there, watching Otto squat in the snow and draw those three dots.
Otto didn't call him over; he simply turned around and walked back to the stone tower along the same path.
The boots crunched slowly and evenly on the snow.
He didn't turn around.
Edric stood still, looking down at the three dots.
He stared at it for a long time.
The wind was blowing from the north, and powdery snow swirled around his boots. The first and second spots were still clear, but the third spot was on the windward side, and snow was slowly filling the small hole.
He lifted his right foot and pressed down again with the toe of his boot at the third point.
The dent reappeared on the snow surface.
He glanced at the three points, and the protruding half of his ring finger twitched unconsciously as he clenched his fist, as if coordinating with some mental step he was going through. Then he lowered his hand, turned, and walked away.
When they returned to the bottom of the stone tower, Ilion was already waiting there.
The scholar didn't ask how long he'd been gone or what he'd done. He simply gestured for Otto to unfasten his armor, then pressed a few points on the wound with his fingers to feel the temperature.
"No fever," Illion said, "but if the aches and pains start at night, like I said, don't wait until tomorrow."
"knew."
Illion opened the medical record book and wrote a few lines on today's page. He wrote slowly but steadily, with consistent spacing between each line—a habit he brought from the Citadel. He wrote down everything, even things he wasn't sure how to categorize.
He finished writing those lines about the wound's condition, paused, and added another line on the bottom half of the page, in very small font, the same size as the previous lines:
—He went out. He squatted down on the training field and drew something. Then he stood up and left. Less than an hour later.
He closed the medical record book, put it away, and went out.
Only Otto and the oil lamp remained in the stone chamber.
A gust of wind came in through the crack in the window, causing the flame of the oil lamp to sway slightly before straightening up again.
He leaned against the stone wall, looking at the stone wall opposite him. The gray stain was still there, uneven in color and blurred at the edges, formed by years of dampness.
He went through the logic of those three points in his mind.
Three people, arranged in a triangle. The two at the base hold shields and face outwards. The one at the top, holding a hook and sickle, stands behind and between the two. There is no fixed front. If any side is threatened, the entire triangle rotates, and a new front faces the new threat.
The rotation motion consists of only two steps: one backward and one forward.
This can be trained into muscles.
But he still doesn't have answers to questions like what drives the rotation, how the rotation signal is transmitted, or how to distinguish the different directions when three nodes rotate simultaneously.
He knows who might have it.
He didn't go looking for that person. He left the three dots in the snow, let them stay there overnight, and let the person who might have the answer see them for themselves and figure it out for themselves.
He closed his eyes.
The dull swelling in his left shoulder became clearer after he closed his eyes than when he opened them. The sensation was very close, almost like a reminder of the exact location of that bone.
He left it there.
The wind whistled softly outside the window, and the training ground fell silent; training for the day was over. Those three spots stood in the snow, in the cold wind, waiting.