A Fateful Encounter on the Snowfield (4)
Hmm… tobogganing, huh…
As I sorted through the idea that had just struck me, I noticed a contradiction.
Come to think of it… what I'm picturing is a technique for moving fast. So if we're being precise, isn't that closer to a lightness skill?
Footwork, in modern terms, was a lot like a boxer's steps—techniques for managing distance and making sudden shifts of position. Lightness skill, on the other hand… I wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed closer to techniques for rapid travel.
Yeah… I might have mixed those up a bit.
At first I had been thinking about refining footwork, but what I needed right now wasn't the kind of footwork used in a fight. Out in the wild, running from predators or hunting, I was hardly going to be dancing around on my feet the way a human would.
Still, I got a decent idea out of it. I'll have to try it later.
Rather than researching footwork itself, I decided to be satisfied with the new idea for escape I had just landed on.
So… how do I actually build this?
The problem was my body. Footwork designed around human anatomy was something I simply couldn't copy as I was. My feet were structured differently. My center of gravity was different. And what I needed right now wasn't movement for fighting enemies—it was movement for staying alive.
So that footwork is useless to me for the time being?
It might help someday. Just not today.
All right—let's flesh out that idea from a moment ago.
What I had in mind was the way penguins moved: belly pressed to the ground, feet shoving against the ice to drive themselves forward. If I could work with that, I might be able to create a movement technique—or something closer to an escape technique—that actually fit this body of mine.
For starters… maybe I should try tobogganing.
To make something new, I first needed to understand the existing motion. So I stepped out of The Cave.
I must have been reading longer than I thought—the sky was already bright.
Good. Looks like the blizzard's over.
Relieved, I scanned my surroundings.
No Polar Bear around?
After confirming the area was clear, I slowly lowered myself. I pressed my belly to the snow and pushed off with my feet.
Ssshhhk—
Oh…?
At first it was just simple sliding, but after a few repetitions I started to get the hang of it. I pushed harder.
Pshhhk—
Snow sprayed out behind me, and my body shot forward.
Oh… oh!
It was far smoother than I expected. Cold snow whispered past beneath my belly—a sensation completely different from walking or running. My body stayed glued to the ground, yet I was gliding ahead at speed, almost as if I were swimming across the snow.
This… this is pretty good.
I kept repeating the motion. Adjusting the force of my kicks changed my speed. Putting more power into one foot nudged my direction little by little. It was still a crude movement, but the potential was there.
What is this? I'm faster than I expected.
The tobogganing I knew averaged out to about a person's walking pace. What I was doing now was different.
This is almost jogging speed.
Was it because my body had changed? Or was it the influence of my inner energy? I couldn't say for sure—but one thing was clear.
This is worth researching.
And if I could layer inner energy on top of it? It might stop being simple sliding and evolve into something genuinely close to a lightness skill.
Well… I'll figure it out as I go.
I barely knew anything about martial arts, but what I needed right now wasn't martial arts. What I needed was a way to survive. That was enough.
And so my research into a movement technique of my own—no, an escape technique—began.
The research into tobogganing took longer than I expected. At first it was nothing more than pressing my belly down and shoving forward with my feet. But as I repeated it again and again, the problems started to show.
The speed is fine… but changing direction is way too hard.
On snow, I could cover ground surprisingly fast in a straight line. The moment I tried to turn, though, my whole body just kept sliding. In the wild, that was a fatal flaw. No matter how fast you could run, if you couldn't go where you needed to, you got caught in the end.
So speed alone isn't enough.
I slid across the snow again—this time not just shoving with my feet, but trying to use my balance. I spread my right flipper a little and twisted my body.
Ssshhhk—
My path curved, just a little.
Oh?
It was a tiny change, but it was clearly different from before. Not forcing a turn with raw power, but redirecting the flow with my whole body.
This is worth digging into.
I repeated the same motion again and again. Left. Right. Slowing down, then speeding up. Little by little—bit by bit—tobogganing was shifting from a simple technique for going forward fast into a technique for going where I wanted.
But I couldn't research forever. Hunger started gnawing at my stomach.
Research is great and all, but if I want to survive, I have to eat.
I stopped tobogganing and checked my surroundings. Today's goal was fish, same as always. With the blizzard gone, the sea was relatively quiet. I headed toward the ice cliffs.
Yesterday, covering that distance would have taken a long, exhausting trek. Not anymore. On snow I tobogganed at speed; on ice I kept low and moved carefully.
Definitely easier.
The same distance cost me far less effort than before. Nature's creatures really did act in ways that favored them—and that, of course, helped them survive.
I peered into a crack in the ice. A small school of fish was moving through it. I lowered myself—slowly, quietly—and then—
Whoosh!
I threw myself in. Freezing water closed around me, but my motion was much faster than before. Even underwater, my body felt light. I angled myself and went for a fish.
But—
Whoosh.
I missed, just barely.
Ah…
I hung still in the water for a moment.
I've gotten faster, but my hunting is the same as ever.
Moving quickly and catching accurately were completely different problems. I watched the school again. This time I didn't charge in blindly. I studied their movement—where they were headed, when they changed direction, and when they came closest.
Waiting is a skill, too.
The old me, driven by hunger, would have lunged the second prey appeared. Not anymore. I had room to think.
A few seconds later, I moved. This time was different. I anticipated the direction the fish would flee—and I caught it.
The moment the fish was in my beak, I shot back out of the water.
Got it.
A small success. But it felt different from before.
After eating my fill, I climbed back onto the snow and thought.
How do I actually use inner energy with this?
I turned the question over for a while, then decided to head back to The Cave for now. I pressed my body to the ground and pushed with my feet.
Ssshhhk—
This is fun no matter how many times I do it.
Without meaning to, I picked up speed a little.
And then, from far off, a familiar sound reached me.
"Grrraaaww-aww-aww!!!"
The same roar I'd heard yesterday.
No way… it's still here?
I spun around at once. Running into the Polar Bear from yesterday again was a disaster I could not afford. I dug in with my feet and launched into tobogganing at full speed.
Faster!
I shoved with everything I had.
Pshhhk—
Snow sprayed out behind me as my body slid forward.
Faster!
I drove both feet into the ground and kicked off hard. My body stretched out ahead of me. Wind scraped across my face, and the cold snow split beneath my belly. I was definitely faster than before.
But—
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The sounds behind me never stopped.
That's impossible…
The Polar Bear. How was something that massive moving that fast?
I glanced back. Across the white snowfield, a huge shadow was charging straight at me—much closer than I'd thought.
The more I look at it, the more unfair this feels.
Overwhelming size. Long legs. A hunter's instinct. My movement technique had gotten faster, but my opponent had been built for the hunt from the start.
I faced forward again. There was only one way out: dive into the sea and shake it off, just like yesterday.
That way.
I angled my body back toward the water, spreading my right flipper and shifting my center of gravity.
Ssshhhk—
My path changed naturally. Direction control had been the hardest problem at the start—but after all that practice, I could manage it now, at least to a degree.
Got it!
I plunged straight into the sea.
But—
Thud! Thud! Thud! Splash!
The footfalls never stopped. The thing dove into the water after me again.
Relentless to the end.
I beat my flippers with every ounce of strength I had left, driving my speed higher and cutting hard to change direction. But it moved as if it already knew what I would do.
This isn't going to work.
I scanned my surroundings in a flash and launched myself back onto land.
Move again!!
The instant I hit solid ground, I went into tobogganing—sliding over snow, vaulting across ice, pushing forward without pause. But my body was growing heavier, my breathing ragged.
So I can't keep this up forever, either.
My stamina was gone. My limbs no longer answered the way I wanted. And behind me, the Polar Bear was closing the gap.