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The town of Truce was moderately well-sized, considering it was the closest town to the castle of Guardia itself. A more colourful-looking town too from the look of the cheerful populace, where even the guards smiled with an honest warmth. James wasn't sure why it seemed more pleasant than the other settlements, but he was enjoying it nevertheless despite his concern as to what his penance would be according to Glenn. Soon they reached beyond the town, passing through the streets of entertainers and market stalls. Houses were filled with mirth, to the point of it starting to slightly grate on the raptor's nerves, who for the most part ignored it all and kept following Glenn. At one point his eyes met a young boy's, a passing of the crowd separating them. He saw a strange sadness within the boy, perhaps no more than 6 years old, time slowing down between the two for a brief second. He stopped walking, captivated by those young eyes, unable to look away. Soon the crowds closed between them once again and the boy was gone, perhaps away with his family. Glenn kept his student walking onwards to beyond the town's limits and into the pleasant countryside, the hustle and bustle of the marketplace slowly fading from their ears as they soon reached upon a farm. It was quite a sizeable farm. Perhaps 9 acres of land with one main farmhouse where the owner lived, and a separate house for where all the workers rested. There also stood a pale barn, an apple orchard easily 2 acres long, and a wide set of fields slowly growing in their crops with an array of farm animals aimlessly wandering around in their various paddocks. James had to admit that to see livestock was unusual for him, having never truly seen them before, moreso for the fact that livestock in his world were no longer that but anthros.

Looking at them, he recognised faces from long ago. Different only by their bodies and emotionless expressions, chewing the cud or snuffling around. He felt a more mundane equivalent of surprise that he felt from Ibis Island. Those like him and those he knew, but primal. Beastly. He didn't dare touch them as he gazed around the land. He knew farms existed of course, but he'd never been to one in his life. But he knew that the smell of the countryside was not one he enjoyed, fresh air indeed but the potent scents of the farmland made him sneer as he tried to resist them. The frog told James to wait nearby, and stepped up to the farmhouse door where a large flouncy woman in overalls greeted him. "Ohhh sir Glenn! How ye doin' this fair day!?" "Ahhh my dear Miss Matheson, the weather is always fine upon thy doorstep, but I am here on business sadly. I have a pupil of mine who requires...a little lesson in humility." "Ohhh? Whut's this lad done now?" "He is a most strong-minded urchin whose pride and arrogance shall bring him nothing but woe, even moreso than it already hath done so. I would like to ask thee, as a favour, to allow him to work on thy farm under thy rule." "Mmm the usual?" "Indeed, the same service that thou giveth thee to the guards." "Say no more, I'll whup him into a fine shape of obedience." Glenn nodded with a cheer and returned to James who had heard only snatches of the conversation. "So...who's she?" "Miss Matheson is one of the chief suppliers of the castle, and as such has made quite an interesting deal with the guards. In exchange for her fine quality of food, she can train the more...undisciplined soldiers with community service." "Wh-community service!? But I never did any...ohhhhh what, I have to work on a farm!?" "For five months. James sneered like a teenager being grounded. "And on top of that, thou must continue thy training." "Oh you got to be SHITTING me! Sir, I can't keep up with my swords AND tend to a bloody farm!" "Thou shalt do such, and if thou art weakened, then all the better for thee to learn both humility and self-control. In fact, I should hath realised this earlier in knowing that thou hast not known a good day's work of hard labour." "...uuuuuraagh!" James desperately wanted to break something, aggravated as he was already, but he knew he could not argue and forced himself to swallow his anger.

"Ffffffucking...fffffhhhh fine." "Good lad. Now, thou shalt do ANY request that is demanded upon thee by Miss Matheson. Shouldst thou disobey or threaten her, the might of both me and the royal army of Guardia shall come down on thy head." "Wait, seriously?" "Another benefit she has for her services is being protected by soldiers near enough to respond to her pleas of distress. So I advise thee to exercise caution VERY carefully around her." "God...dammit. Okay, okay I will do this, alllll this, if you really think this is what I should do." "I am pleased to see thou hath accepted this new role so humbly. And it is only for five months." "Alright. I guess I can do a bit of work here, tha-that's not too long, it'll go by in a flash! But...uhhh where do we train?" "There is a forest nearby I know of that we can train at, a fine place where none shall interfere." "Alright then." James was introduced to Miss Matheson and left in her care, her first order placed unto the raptor. "So, you need to learn some humility eh?" "Apparently." "Well nothin' like some farmwork'll do that for ya, and you seem a strong lad so let's getcha to it." Over the next five months, James would work with as much vigour as he could exert into the labour, thinking about nothing else and ignoring the frustration of being made to do this while ignoring the reasons why. He did everything that was asked of him, regressing back into the work ethic he had back in Chicago, a workslave to a matriarch. With a hoe in hand and a dewrag upon his bald scaly head, he plowed fields, planted seeds, tended to plants, fed chickens, and milked cows. Sometimes he did it well like any of the other workers. Sometimes he did not, making work a little bit more difficult much to his forcefully-restrained frustration and occasionally the chagrin of his co-workers. He was learning on the go slowly, trying to be as courteous as possible and, under pain of imperial force, made every single effort to not turn blazing red with fury. It was difficult certainly, but to try and develop some level of humility in all honesty was not difficult for him. The restraint however was. He would turn furious some days in remembering why he was on a farm cleaning stables, and he couldn't even scream without a stink-eye being turned towards him from Miss Matheson, when all she had to do was call out one word and he would be taken down.

He felt like a prisoner of war, despite the positive attitudes towards him whenever he showed considerable work ethic. His days would always exhaust him, he would sleep in a scruffy bed in a separate house, not unclean but certainly not accommodating. He would be forced up early at the crack of dawn which would exhaust him further, eventually running on a conserved battery of less sleep than usual. And at least once every week Glenn would come by and force him to learn his moves, which he had to still remember on top of his farming duties. The next five months were, endurance-wise, absolute torture for James. He had never been forced to work so hard in his life, sleeping off worn throbbing muscles every day. Sometimes he would get testy, sometimes he would not get along well with the blank stares of the farm animals that he imagined were mocking him. Sometimes the waving of the maize seemed to mock him too, and he just wanted to destroy. Thankfully he would have all of this pent-up rage to be exerted during his sword training with Glenn, who admired his spirit but still saw him as a violent youth who needed to learn self-control. At least he was learning to use his longsword well, the labour strengthening his swings. James also noticed this, and over time began to realise the benefits of his labour. With that, he began to turn less angry, allowing his mind to flow monotonously into his work, plowing the fields with a slowly-strengthening hand. Tending to crops with a growing maturity. Handling animals with patience born anew. Things soon became better in his training when his swings gained both power and control, yet he was not entirely able to keep up with Glenn's strikes just yet, practicing in the forest to the north of Truce. The sounds of running water swam peacefully in the background to their clashing strikes.

Despite being noticeably slower in his training with the longsword, James was getting better at it as his teacher noted. The strikes were not so insane with fury, his swings controlled themselves better, his reflexes now in lieu of the weight and slower speed of his claymore. It would take longer certainly, but he was by no means slowing down if he was gently improving, even to the point where his muscles ached less when sleeping somewhere around the fourth month, much to his delight. Soon he even became a more cheerful worker of the farm, moving into the shape of things with an elegant strength, his body shaping out to be quite the sturdy lean form. And by the time Glenn returned to fully take him back to training, he was actually happier. Not because he would finally leave the farm, but because he had become stronger and perhaps more mature. He barely thought much on anything else, knowing that to think of going home would be nothing but torturing himself, and that he had nothing else to do but to follow the will of his instructor. Somehow it was through this that he became a more humble person, at least for those immediately around him. Whenever he was given a new task, James took to it with at least a forced smile, and he became less angered by the smallest of things. At the very least, he had more self-control, with humility reviving within him once again. Miss Matheson was quite pleased of his progress too despite the initial first two months of noticeably hard-to-contain fury, and constantly having to threaten James with imperial action should he even think of something drastic. Eventually, after five months of carrying the yoke of his penance, he left the farm, waving farewell to his former co-workers and boss, before returning with Glenn to the Cursed Woods of the south. They said nothing more about the matter, and Glenn did not even need to ask his student upon his lesson being learnt. The fire in James' eyes had been contained, enough to be satisfied with. Of course this only meant back to the training regime they had before. Every day had become a day of exercise and then sword training, with at least one day per week dedicated to resharpening the basics of the short sword and his reflexes, rounding James up to be at the very least competent enough to handle the smaller blades. He had obtained a new short sword but he felt somewhat unsure of using such again, preferring to handle the claymore. This was to be a sign of the nearing completion of his training at last.

Many months passed. And around the autumntime of that year, James decided to ask his master something while they sat inside his underground home, sheltering from the brazen fury of a cold wind that raked at the trees. A monstrous rustling high above them was dulled by the underground, as they sat beside a fire in the middle of the room. They would gaze towards the moon high above them, crowned within a ring of violently assaulted foliage. In James' quieter moments, he had been going over his various emotions towards his instructor. At first during his farming, they had been of anger and insult. Then they turned towards understanding and sympathy, before finally returning to devotion and his secret crush. At this point, he felt he could tell Glenn anything he wanted, as if his punishment had allowed him to open up better, having revealed more sides of himself to his master. Sides which were considered shameful, perhaps moreso than this other side he would soon show to him. "Uh...s-sir?" "What is it, lad?" "I...do you..." The raptor blushed like a schoolgirl on her first date. "Have you...have you ever had...um...feelings for...g-guys?" The amphibian turned slowly towards his pupil, unsure of where this line of questioning was going but keeping his face straight, asking factually: "...why wouldst thou ask me such a thing?" "I'm...w-w-well I...l-i...like you." "Well I can certainly sense that thou doth not despise me, my boy." "But I...really like you. You may be a frog and all but, you're so strong and...and...nnngh dammit everything about you! When you...when you made me go work on that farm I was like angry and everything but...but you were right. And I couldn't...I couldn't stay mad at you because I like everything about you...your voice, how brave you are, h-how handsome you look, and being such a hero that everyone looks up to, it makes me all really like you more than I should!" "That is what many say of me, especially since they have overcome their first impressions of me since the defeat of Lavos." "I'm sorry, I-i know I shouldn't be saying this, just forget about it, I mean a guy like you, I know you'd not be...I didn't mean to offend ya. Just...just wanted to say I...really admire you." Glenn however absorbed all that his student had said, unchanging in his expression before asking a simple question. "James...didst thou grow up with a father?"

The question threw him off so he replied quietly with: "...n-no." "Ah." He nodded with an understanding smile. "A lad such as thyself needs a father figure to idolise. Sometimes in later life, a lad without one confuses idolisation for love. I hear it happen quite often in armies." He moved closer towards his pupil, making him turn towards him fully. "I hath cared for thee, given thee an education, and even punished thee for thine own good, like any good instructor should and by extension a father. Therefore it is only natural that thou wouldst develop something for me, even if thy mind doth not interpret it correctly. So whilst thine attraction flatters me so, I unfortunately do not return the same feelings towards thee...yet thy feelings do not repulse me, and I understand them well. Would that be acceptable for thee?" "...yeah. A lot actually. Thank you." "Tis nothing to be thankful for, it is merely a pleasantry. I hath seen such bigotry against mine own self and many others to even consider anything similar." With that heartwarming answer, they laid back and gazed at the stars above through the secret hole to Glenn's abode, with James pondering upon his life so far. "I wonder what my dad would have been like though." "Didst thou never ask thine mother?" "I...didn't grow up with her either." "...an orphan?" "Ah huh." "Thou hath never spoken of this." "Well, never really needed to, right?" "If it is not rude of me, may I inquire thee of their fate?" "They were killed in a riot in the city I lived in." He almost mentioned more details of the fact that a helicopter had crashed into their apartment, but he omitted such in not wanting to confuse Glenn. The mentor shook his head with misfortune. "How terrible. The momentum of a group to trample all in its path without the concern of their fellow beings is truly a curse of our primal spirit." "Yeah." "Thou hath my condolences, James." "It's okay, I've gotten over it a long time. I went to an orphanage, got schooled a bit, worked in a bar in another city on another continent." "And...how didst thou feel about arriving to this land of mine?" "...well...disappointed. Everytime I end up in a new world there's a part of me really excited about it, like a little kid about to go on a big adventure! But...then I start really missing home. Sometimes I get scared I might never be able to get back home...you know I tried to live in another world once, when I thought I could never get back home." "Really? Was it good?" "Settled down in a nice village for a whole year, was kinda...beautiful. It was this tiny place, had maybe...eight people in it? But everyone knew each other, everyone looked after each other...at least I thought they did. But then..stuff happened that made me leave." "And what would that be?" "Revenge." "Ahh. James."

Glenn laid a hand on the raptor's shoulder in the way a father would. "Whilst I cannot condone thine actions, I cannot berate you upon them, for even I have fallen under the red wings of revenge to bewitch mine own senses." "But...you told me it was wrong to act on revenge." "It is. But I know how difficult it is to fight against it. I hath learnt mine own lesson." "How did that work out for you?" "With the aid of my allies and the motivation properly aimed, rather well." "...I really wanna learn how to be like you." "Ah-ah-ah!" A sharp tone and a wave of a rubbery finger at his snout. "Not like me. Thou should not take on another's personality if thou wants to improve thyself. Thou must learn from others instead, and only take in their knowledge, not their motives or ways." "So...do as I say, not as I do?" "If thou chooses to phrase it as such, perhaps. We are but mortals, and even the greatest of heroes possess follies that we should never follow." "Uh...okay then. ...you think I'll ever be a hero one day, sir?" "Only if thou believeth in thyself, and if thy spirit remains firm against all manners of evil with both steady hand and righteous mind." With that, they soon put out the fire and slept within the dying moments of the nightly gale, preparing for the next year of training. When James considered it in full, an entire year's worth of training to go, so close to finishing it all, he was only motivated to try harder. All he could do was hope for no more moments of disappointment from Glenn with their morals clashing together, which he began to reserve, and instead follow Glenn's example to not mess up his chances. James became nothing but focused upon training, moreso than he had with the short sword, far more serious than he had done so before, feeling he had to prove both to Glenn and to himself what he was capable of. In the beginning of his third and final year of training, James was soon given a gift by Glenn. Throughout the seasons of continuing his training, he strengthened himself to become quite the strong-hearted young lad, one whom Glenn was proud to look upon. His trust in him was regained after last year, and since then his pupil had become considerably more eager to improve his skills. More willing to note and amend his errors, more able to control himself in times of great aggravation. Even James was surprised at himself in what he was able to do, if he actually tried for once.

One day, after a long session of reflex training with the longswords, James had finally managed to break his personal record in deflecting at least one-third of Glenn's swings, compared to before when he could only deflect around one-fifth of them. On this day, Glenn said to him: "Thy skills with the longsword have improved certainly. I hath decided to give thee something for thy final year. It is merely a test to see how well thy hand shall remain. Thou may unsheathe thy claymore...and regain thy weapon." James could not believe when he saw Glenn point to the scissors. They had been abandoned for so long, barely even able to touch them in the following year of his training other than one or two times he felt drawn towards them to have a try of them. And everytime he did, whenever he became stronger, they always felt better in his grip. They felt...perfect somehow. With trepidation, he tenderly put away his basic claymore, and took the scissors by their handle. The weight was not even different to his other sword at this point somehow, his muscles now able to handle such a length. "A-are you sure, sir? I mean...I don't mind training with the claymore, really." "Art thou uncertain?" "Only if you are." "Then I ask thee only one thing." He walked towards James with a a steel ring, and clamped it firmly around the scissorblades, keeping them tightly shut to the point that James could not force them open. "Wh-what's this?" "Thy weapon is unusual and does not act like a sword. I only give thee thy weapon back, if only to comprehend its weight and prowess. But for the sake of thy training, it must act like that of a longsword." "I suppose, makes sense." "It can become a good weapon, with time now that thou hath the skill to wield it as such. This shall be thy weapon to train with from now on." "I...thank you. I'm...oh man, I...finally I have this back." He wasn't sure why he felt such an affinity to it, thrusting it upwards into the sky and letting the light glint dimly upon its seemingly rust-coated tips that crossed themselves. But he was happy nevertheless, grinning widely before continuing his training with little change, despite regaining his self-chosen weapon. Glenn had his doubts of the scissors at first sight, their crooked design and blood-rusted edges giving him a bad vibe off of them. But over time he felt it pass, realising perhaps that he had only assumed such a thing due to its origins. Whatever the case, this was nothing more than just a weapon. A weapon for his pupil to wield. And Glenn knew about how many warriors always had one special weapon close to their hearts, one they always felt close to. It was something he could not deny him anymore, for the boy had matured enough to deserve to wield it.

With scissors in hand, James became somewhat more enthusiastic over the course of his training and his duty. Despite having only been with it for perhaps a day truly, it felt somehow...right...in his hands, and with it he felt a surge of power. He knew it looked ridiculous compared to the Masamune, he knew it seemed unwieldy, but he had no other choice. There was no other weapon that he felt such an affinity to other than this. Glenn understood, whether it was fate or not that brought him to wield such. It was as if James had been missing something in all the years of his training beforehand, but now he felt as if he was slowly becoming more complete. His swings were powerful but only as far as he allowed them. His speed turned ever faster unhindered by the weight. He deflected attacks better with more readily instinctive predictions and reflexes finely honed, with his short sword skills in top form with once-per-week basic training, even if Glenn would always be better. They even had friendly duels now and again to keep their spirits high, harmless but entertaining with false weapons made of wood so they could truly act upon each other without grievous injury. And yet despite coming to the end of his training, which slipped away month after month, he rarely ever faltered in such. James even became a more competent ally with Glenn in the occasional excursion of handling a bandit or two, easily outmatching the usual vagrants who tried to steal from travellers or so. But he remained on Glenn's terms always, killing only when it was their most greatest intention to do the same to him.

He admitted to himself that it was unusual, having to restrain his temper upon enemies, to allow them to walk away with only their flesh and dignity wounded towards jail. Except for murderers and worse opponents, who were given the fullest extent of penalty. Of course in that time James also developed a fair deal of wounds upon himself, which were inevitable in this life. Scars across his limbs from swordfights, arrow wounds once or twice to become small red spots upon the shoulder or back. By the end of it all, he was gaining the look of a more experienced warrior, something far beyond a novice. It was only by his reflexes and luck that he was saved from being killed by any unfortunate hits, as well as the guidance and protection of his master. He had his close scrapes, and moments of hospitalisation, but never anything serious, moreso because Glenn was always there to keep him safe. Despite their talk from before, he could not help feeling for him still. His hero who saved him from harm like he had done so when they first met. But knowing his instructor's feelings on the matter, James became less obsessed with romanticising him, and instead focused all of his energy into training onwards, throughout the months ahead. Their blades together would even occasionally combine into ferocious attacks. Ones Glenn had finely honed himself, and only rarely ever allowed James to join him in such when he believed the raptor was experienced enough to do so, upon far more fearsome enemies. Dual-slash techniques that required such precision, that it was only because of the raptor's finely-honed reflexes that Glenn would allow such, and only as desperate measures of which there was rarely ever any need for.

The only event that was of any true importance to the raptor, amidst the training and irregular battles with bandits and rogues was not even a real event, but that of a dream in his height of confidence. A dream meaninglessly fractured, but nevertheless significant to him, borne of equal parts both disturbing and heartwarming. He dreamed of fighting a purple-winged beast with his scissors, upon a dark fiery precipice. The beast terrified him, partly in shadow, a monstrous roar and a voice that he could barely make out the words of. He imagined himself as a hero, a saviour, destroying the evil that stood before him. He leapt up high within a brazen charge, roaring his might, already beaten and bruised from the creature's unseen previous assault. It mocked him, sneered at him, the flames licked across his spiny carapace harmlessly, his yellow eyes glinting with vile intentions. James had dreamt of this thing many times before, and yet he never saw the ending of any dreams involving it. He knew what it was, but never wanted to remember its name despite unconsciously knowing that monster's name. Sometimes those wings would haunt him, with death and fear of never returning home. Other times he could repel the demon, and banish it with a powerful roar, burning with intent to finish his quest. Yet he never reached the end of any of these dreams. All he knew was that he was eager to leave this world, to continue his journey. To find someone or some way of being able to return. He was tired of a medieval world. Soon his wish would come to him, upon the final day of his training, upon one glorious spring.