70th of Ymiden
“Are you nailing your coffin!? GO FASTER!”
The challenging roar from Don did not go unnoticed, certainly not when his thin wooden stick landed on the sweaty nobleman’s back. His mind as long ago forgotten just how much the wood resembled a whip, for it certainly ached like one whenever it landed on his bare back. A loud grunt of annoyance, pain, and frustration escaped him, as the sledgehammer was risen onto the air once more. With all his strength and might, whatever that may be as nothing was nearby to compare, the sledgehammer unloaded it’s now brutal weight upon the massive and dry wooden log. Swinging the hammer wasn’t nearly as terrible as controlling the bounce or absorbing all the vibration with his arms. Despite wearing thick gloves to protect his hands from bleeding or excessive strain, his body still believed it was being beaten.
Another smack on his back urged him to repeat the motion, again and again, until the sledgehammer’s wooden handle finally broke. Peake’s satisfaction and completed task was announced not only by the twin’s loud yells of satisfaction, but also by his own terrible growl of dominance. Tossing the remains of the handle along with the gloves on the spot, Peake stepped forward towards the following stage.
Despite the pain and exhaustion from some intense workout, Peake had been wise to visit the Bone Pit this morning. Soon after the twins began treating him like a donkey that only loft weights, any nervousness that remained inside was converted to rage, and the rage fueled his body in each of the challenges they presented him. In spite of being a nobleman, and a certain requirement of his body being softer and almost delicate, Peake had no ways of conserving it in such a shape. His youthful days had brought along severe rage issues, and considering that today there needed to be no alcohol in his diet, the Bone Pit was the only location in which his rage was to found release. Ironic how it was Peake’s father what initially triggered his attacks, and then it was that very man the one that brought him here for the first time.
“Get under that barbell, snail! Be a man for a trial in your life!”
It was Duro the one that yelled this time, Peake being double-teamed by this pair of muscular giants. Gathering some breath proved to be unnecessary, mostly because the stick from both brothers landed on Peake’s back. Mixing pain and determination, the nobleman crouched down and gripped the metallic instrument. Composed from a single piece of metal, shaped into a sort of dog-bone for an even distribution and stretching to a length of approximately six feet, it certainly weighted far more than what it appeared. Taking a hold of the thin section of the handle was the first step, tipping the barbell onto one of its sides being the second. From then, Peake slid underneath the bar, resting it on the base of his trapezius before his free arm went to also grip the barbell. Twisting his closed palms against the metal ensured his grip would tighten to the point of becoming painful, at last Peake tightened his core to tip the barbell and, effectively, the barbell was loft from the ground as it now rested on the top of his back.
“Until you can’t move your legs! As lower as you can!”
After another harmful stick to the back, and a pained grunt slipping through Peake’s panting, his feet automatically prepared their stance before the squatting began. Keeping his back straight and making sure his knees opened outwards the more his rear pulled back, Peake began squatting as his breath was held in. The first couple of repetitions were easy and almost unnoticed, yet his legs began losing strength with great haste. Each repetition became painful, his body often freezing either on the top of the movement or at the very bottom, wishing to rest for at least one bit. Each stick to the back, however, discouraged him. His vision turned fuzzy, and soon enough he saw nothing no matter how wide open his eyes were. Whenever he found himself at the bottom of the movement, he felt the blood in his body try to find a way out, almost giving him the sensation he would explode from within.
“Don’t close your eyes or you’ll be crushed like your puny little dreams!”
That was true, thought Peake. Even if he couldn’t see due to the blood pressure, the eyes had to remain open to prevent the body from shutting down. The capillaries inside his nose gave to the pressure, blood being ejected with every breath the man exhaled, almost like mucus would from a crying child. At some point, his body and mind must’ve given up, for Peake recovered consciousness with the barbell rolling through the stone ground, and him panting like a newborn. Losing consciousness for a lapse shorter than a bit was a great satisfaction, both to the nobleman and the giant twins. They wouldn’t show it, though, and did not stop flailing their hellish sticks on Peake’s back until he was back up.
“Do you want to live forever!? Deadlifts, now!”
--
12th Break
Broken would be an appropriate word to describe his current condition. Barely able to walk, Peake opened the brothel doors with pained groans. If he hadn’t ask for a few free days, he would be passed out somewhere on the road to be robbed, kidnapped, or just murdered by just about every hater out there. The taxman was short on friend, but here he’d find some. No matter how tired he felt, his head rose and a smirk was present when he gazed towards the other side of the distant bar. The brunette behind it took notice of the new customer, and some amused joy awoke within her.
“Look who decided to visit, girls!” The brunette, along with some other girls made their way towards Peake in the same manner they would greet an old friend they hadn’t seen in ages. Friendly hugs and a few more-than-friendly slaps on the rear were received by Peake with a pained chuckle, grinning to each of the girls. “No wonder the birds went quiet! The taxman has arrived!” The brunette, after her hug, quickly noticed just how sweaty the man was, to which she took measures.
“Let’s get you on the tub, you fool. Girls, gather the coldest water you can find.” With the help from two friendly girls that escorted him to their living quarters, as soon as they reached the off-limits section of the rather exclusive and high-class brothel, Peake’s clothes were stripped from him before he was seated in the wooden tub. The buckets of cold water came shortly after, and bucket after bucket, the tub slowly began to fill. The cold not only served to soothe the pain, which would’ve been better accomplished by hot water, but also to preserve the swollen muscles of Peake’s body. It wasn’t until the brunette from behind the counter arrived that the silence was broken.
“Well, well. We don’t see you for such a long time and you come here looking like this? Shame on you, mister taxman…” She leaned in for a kiss in Peake’s bearded cheek. “Where have you been?”
“Just busy. I meant to come visit but it’s been impossible lately.” In return for her kiss, Peake kissed her cheek as well. “You don’t want to know.”
“No, I don’t want to.” She snickered. “How can we serve you today, hmm?”
“Actually, I was hoping you girls could help me sharpen up. Special occasion tonight, and I need to look perfect. Obviously, I thought about you.”
“Hmpf. First you get engaged, then you stop visiting… Should we be worried?” Another snicker, before she shook her head. “Wait here, I’ll see if the gang finished working. They’ve missed you a lot, and you don’t even write.”
--
13th Break
The bath continued, and after some scrubbing by one of the girls, now Peake’s four limbs hanged out from the wooden tub, a manicure and a pedicure being performed at the same time. Most whores were very talented women, and despite selling their bodies for a living, many of them were very talented. Sex, however, paid better. Peake had befriended many of them, and despite thrusting many of them every once in a while, he trusted all of them.
“So yes, we’re now waiting to see what the doctor says. We don’t know anything yet, but we believe she’ll get better.” Said Mazia, the brunette girl in charge of Peake’s right hand, currently polishing his nails.
“Did you get the flowers I sent you?” Peake, although still awake, was deeply relaxed as he laid in the cold waters.
“Yes, we did! My mother keeps asking me to bring you along for tea, so come on down someday. She’d love to – stop moving! – see you. I think she misses you.”
“Heh, no wonder. A stud like me…” Peake’s joke caused laughter in the company around him, including himself. However, the girls laughed while they also protested, many of them smacking the limb they were in charge of, and one of them even splashing him on the face. “Alright, alright!”
A moment of silence befell on the group, each focused on their tasks and Peake focusing on getting rest from his workout. Despite his wealth, or origin, or anything achieved in his life, his home was still nothing but a filthy shack. Living in House Andaris being out of the question, sometimes he felt quite lonely living on his own. Like such, he preferred to spent life in various places. In a brothel where he made friendships, on the Andaris Gala where he ate (for free!), and on his cottage where he slept. It was easier this way, too.
“Is the redhead we read about in the papers going with you tonight?” After Mazia’s question, she protested. “I told you to stop moving!”
“Maybe, yes.” The nobleman peaked through his eyelids, the girls holding their laughter as they glanced between one another. “What?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. I mean, you don’t visit anymore, so… I guess Lord Andaris will soon have a Lady—Peake, I told you to stop moving!” With that, Mazia slapped Peake’s hand, which broke his rest and forced him to look at his hand. It was shaking, the tremors unnoticed by Peake until this very instant. Peering up at the girl, she immediately read the guilt in his eyes.
Silence.
“Peake… Do you want some wine?” It was almost as if she was worried, never before having to ask the nobleman for a drink.
“No… I can’t. Not today.” Peake remained quiet for a moment. “Do you think you can give me some pills? Just to keep this under control for the day.”
Mazia gave him a stern look, a silent reproach that she eventually ceased. Standing up, she left the room for mere bits before she came back. In her palm, three small pills rested, being shown to Peake before they were dumped in his agape mouth. “This stuff will kill you, we’ve talked about this. And you always promised you’d stop drinking. How many arcs have I known you? And here you are, still trying to convince me of something that you have no interest in doing.”
“I can stop anytime I want, you know that. But right now, I’ve got a lot on my mind to deal with it, so It’ll have to wait.” Not wishing to dwell on it, Peake swallowed the pills before he leaned his head back and enjoyed himself some more.
“Alright, alright. I trust you’ll wise up, you furry fiend… We’re almost done here, so afterwards we’ll cut your hair, sharpen your beard, and go see that suit you’ve bought. We’ve got to make sure that redhead knows what man she got.” Splashing the nobleman’s face with the cold water, it was her own little way of revenge.
--
17th Break
Peake was nervous.
The morning routine and the moments of pleasure found in actual free time had faded the closer the meeting approached. The reason for his summoning was not only to officially name him Baron, but also to try and steer him towards a desired road. It was disgusting to think his father could be such a control freak, even after Peake had become his own man many arcs ago. How hard did he have to yell? How far should he rise to finally gain some peace or respect from his father? It was never enough, an infinite stairwell he was tired of climbing. Sometimes it seemed dire to even try to please that man, and whenever Peake believed he had done something remotely positive for the interests of his family, he was spat in the face.
Exiting the carriage in his tailored suit brought him some surprise. ‘So this is how not wearing armor feels…’ he thought, having grown used to carrying around the heavy, and heavily ornate, armor of his current profession. The Iron Hand’s leather armor was somewhat missed, as it was at least easier to carry no matter how much he sweated underneath. The Ouroboro armor had no qualities for the well-being of the man trapped within. Even if the intimidating plates were not on him, the morning workout still made him feel confident in the power of his frame. The servant handed him his black satin cloak, which Peake hung over one of his shoulders, the top hat placed on his head, and the sword cane safely in his hand.
With a sharp inhale, the nobleman proceeded towards the shop’s door.