Chapter 1: Two Teachers, One Student

Zen didn’t consider himself to be particularly patient nor impatient, but he couldn’t help feeling antsy just sitting on the dirt floor of the classroom. He occasionally scribbled down the content of the teacher’s lecture, but his mind was elsewhere, imagining all the different ways he could disrupt the class. He could feign illness, or pick a fight with someone irritating, or plan something even more elaborate with his friend Ayue, who sat attentively to his side. Though Zen was a mischievous youth, he bottled up his humor and roguery. Ayue, on the other hand, was gifted in spinning intricate tales and carrying out shenanigans. However, he actually liked sitting in class and listening to the teacher drone on, so he probably wouldn’t cooperate. A shame.

Zen’s wish was granted half an hour later, only minutes before his eyes would have begun slowly blinking with sleepiness. Three uniformed men stood at the classroom door. They were clearly from the capital, Tanac, dressed crisply in the Tangi colors of blue and white. Sharp swords hung at their waists. Zen’s mouth instinctively curled into a scowl.

The teacher clasped his hands together anxiously. “Yes? What brings you here today?” The village was used to receiving patrols from the capital, ostensibly to keep an eye out for beasts or vengeful spirits, but entering the small school building was another matter altogether.

“We’ve come to conscript the next generation of trainees,” one responded. He read from a list in his hands, “Zen, Pannen, Ayue, Auring.”

“W-what? You must be mist- I mean, these children are only 14 and 15!”

“The capital has enacted a new law. The new age for conscription is 14. This is for your benefit—your children will be even more skilled and learned upon their return. Now, if you please, we would like to return before sundown.”

Zen glanced over at Ayue, eyes dark. Ayue looked back at him silently. He wasn’t quite as displeased as Zen. Though he shared some of his reservations, Ayue had always wanted to travel to the capital. He’d heard stories about it from his older brother, even knowing that his brother shared the same propensity to exaggerate.

Zen had heard these stories, too, but he had heard more stories about the hostility of the Tangi people towards others and the brutal punishments the officers would dole out to trainees. He had heard from his parents that these officers would view him and other Gahi children as animals.

And so, Zen was practically bristling as he sat there. Ayue nervously tugged at his sleeve, whispering, “Get up! They’re looking at us!”

In a few strides, one of the other officers had reached the two boys and yanked them up by their collars. “Gather your things. You may only take clothing and food. No weapons, no books, no keepsakes.” It took all of Zen’s willpower to swallow the itch to retaliate against this guard, who had the nerve to manhandle him like so.

Zen walked over to his home, a small wooden building with a cozy thatched roof. A magnolia tree snaked up the side, its broad leaves and white flower petals decorating the ground. When he opened the door, his parents were standing in front of him. They had obviously heard the commotion and had hurried to pack a bag of essentials for him. His mother’s eyes were red and cloudy, and she pulled him in a tight embrace. “Come back to us safely,” she whispered.

Zen nodded, clutching at her tightly. He squeezed his eyes in an attempt to stem the flow of tears. His throat felt too thick to respond, so he just held her, burying his face in her warmth.

His father laid a hand on Zen’s shoulder. “The capital will try to make you forget who you are. I know we don’t speak Gahi anymore, but your teacher and I have worked hard to educate you. Speak it with Ayue. Don’t let them hear you.” His father had always taken their Gahi background seriously. He also wasn’t great at communicating his emotions. His default was to lecture. Zen had already sworn to them that he’d keep the language alive, even though his father had bored him to death countless times by making him practice the script over and over instead of letting him do anything actually fun. Now, he could only nod vigorously, afraid that his voice would waver pathetically.

His mother ruffled his hair, pulling away. “Be a good boy, now. Don’t keep them waiting. It won’t be too long before we see you again.” Three years.

Zen took the bag from his father’s hands. “I love you,” he whispered—the loudest he could muster being so choked up—as he stepped out of the house.

To Zen’s relief, the officers weren’t going to force them all to walk back to the capital. A couple of carts were being pulled along by a set of majestic-looking horses. His fleeting feelings of relief were immediately replaced by resentment once more; this isn’t a show of goodwill—they’re just too lazy to walk. It appeared that this village was the last stop; a few of the carts were filled with unfamiliar sullen boys and girls. Zen quietly followed Ayue into an empty one, his eyes unfocused and staring at the space between his feet. Ayue was uncharacteristically quiet; it seemed his excitement had been replaced with apprehension.

And thus they sat for the entire ride, Zen hunched over with his head almost touching his knees, and Ayue gazing into the woods that blurred by. The silence was eventually broken by whispers of anticipation as Tanac came into view. The sun hadn’t yet set, and its light illuminated the tall stone buildings from behind, casting a shimmering red hue.

“It looks like a painting,” Ayue whispered.

Zen snorted. More like hell. As the cart approached the city’s gates, their demon guides brought the horses to a halt and instructed the boys and girls to descend. They huddled together in a group, surrounded by these devils masquerading as guards, and were escorted into the city.

“Look at all the stalls!” Ayue squeaked gleefully into Zen’s ear, grabbing his arm. They were walking down what appeared to be the main market, surrounded by vendors selling all sorts of wares, from fragrant foods to jewelry to leather-bound books. “We’ll have to come back later,” he said with a wink. “I’ll buy you some sweets to cheer you up.”

“I don’t need to cheer up,” Zen said despondently.

“Nonsense! One bite and you’ll never want to leave. They must get ingredients from all over, you could eat anything! Chocolates, tarts, candied fruits.” He rattled on, though Zen had stopped listening. This seemed like a pretty poor enticement to him.

They had now left the market and were approaching the largest building in the city.

“We’re staying in the palace?” their classmate Auring gasped from behind them. Her eyes were wide with excitement, though one hand still hadn’t ceased anxiously tugging at her long braid since they had left.

“Yeah!” Ayue piped up. “My brother told me that all the trainees stay in the palace, since it’s close to the training grounds. We’ll get outfitted with armor and weapons and everything!” This cheered up many of the children as they were ushered into the building which was to become their new home. The hallways were long and narrow, and the sound of dozens of shuffling feet echoed off the wooden floorboards.

A devil-officer led the group to the third floor and sorted them by gender into two separate rooms. These rooms were huge, filled only with beds and the bare possessions of the older trainees who were elsewhere at the moment. The officers checked the bags and pockets of each kid as they entered and picked a remaining bed. Once everyone had settled, this officer prattled off a list of rules. “Curfew is 9 P.M. You may not leave this room after that time. You must awaken at 7. Tomorrow morning, we will begin training and schooling.” And so on, and so on. And, “You must speak and write in the common tongue only.” Zen swore the officer’s nose was wrinkling as he said this. “Any transgressions will be punished. Dinner is now being served at the army kitchens on the second floor. Return before 9.” With that, he was gone.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Zen was sitting on the bed, his fingers clutching at the frayed sheet. He kicked off his boots and rolled under the blanket.

“Let’s go to dinner, Zen,” Ayue said. He had chosen the bed next to him.

“I’m not hungry. I’m going to sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm.”

“Well, okay.” Ayue sat on his bed and began unlacing his boots.

Zen peeked at him with one eye. “...Go eat.”

“That’s okay.” Ayue smiled at him. “Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

“Shut up.” Zen buried his face in the flat pillow and brought the blanket up to his ears.

Ayue laughed and changed into his nightclothes. “Change into something more comfortable.”

Zen’s eyelids were already heavy, and his mind was foggy with fatigue. “Shut up,” he managed in the moments before he fell asleep.

—

Even though he had fallen asleep so early, Zen wasn’t fully awake the next morning until after breakfast, when a sword master had lined up all the newcomers in the training field behind the palace. He wouldn’t dare show it, but Zen was excited to receive his first sword. Ayue’s older brother Shiwe had taught the two boys some basic techniques using sticks. Zen liked to think of himself as somewhat of a natural, and so he had often bargained with Ayue to get him to play along. He’d promise to share his lunch, or to help Ayue search for spirits at night, in exchange for a few rounds. Zen smiled, thinking back on these fond memories. He also wondered if Ayue would try to go spirit-hunting here, too, despite his record of absolute failure and the risk of breaking curfew.

Each kid was outfitted with a blunted sword. Too bad, probably couldn’t kill someone with this thing. It was a bit heavier than he’d expected, but the hilt felt nice and cool in his grasp, and the sound of the sword cutting through the crisp morning air was incredibly satisfying.

The sword master commanded the students’ attention and began to demonstrate basic attacks. For maybe the first time ever, Zen listened attentively, gripping the sword tightly and shifting in his boots as he pictured himself carrying out those same moves. Parry, then counter. Dodge, then lunge. Keep up the pressure with quick slices.

After some instruction, the sword master said, “Pair up with someone and begin practicing. I’ll come around to give advice. These swords aren’t sharp, but take care not to hurt your opponent.”

Needless to say, Zen paired with Ayue. “Ready?” he teased, his eyes glinting. Ayue sighed, raising his sword. Hmm, it looks a bit too heavy for him. I’ll go easy on him...like usual.

Zen didn’t want to hurt or discourage Ayue, so he stayed on the defensive, dodging and parrying, only occasionally throwing out a riposte. Besides, this way, he could get more comfortable with the feel of the blade, the momentum needed to move it, the strength required to keep a block from faltering. The hilt had warmed from his touch, and his fingers were wrapped around it so neatly that it was if they had been melded into one object.

The sword master halted practice after a few rounds. “Before you resume, I’d like to introduce someone who will be joining your training.” A slight figure stepped out from behind him. This person exuded luxury; his sleek black hair was fastened into a tight bun and decorated with shimmering crystals, his dark blue shirt, outfitted with billowing sleeves and black leather belts at the waist and wrists, rippled around his knees. Even his haughty expression indicated royalty. Zen was suddenly painfully aware of his own rather inadequate appearance. His curly auburn hair was unruly and loose, and the fabric of the uniforms he—along with the other trainees—wore was uninviting, coarse and gray.

Ayue let out a low whistle. “That’s Sovereign Prince Arlen’s cousin. I heard a bit about him from Shiwe, but to think we’d be training with him!”

“What did you hear?”

“Ah, that he doesn’t give anyone the time of day, and he thinks he’s so much better than everyone that he won’t even speak to them. But, you know, he was much younger when Shiwe saw him, maybe now that he’s our age he’s changed? But he looks arrogant still, don’t you think? Does he have to walk around with fucking diamonds in his hair?” Ayue laughed quietly.

“You think that’d suit me, too?” Zen joked, pulling his hair back with his hands and turning his head up in a pose, to Ayue’s delight. “What’s his name, anyway?”

“Ito, I think—ah, wait, we’re pairing up again? What did the sword master say?”

“Who knows? Come at me!” Zen jumped into a defensive pose and lightly smacked Ayue’s shoulder with the flat end of the weapon.

Zen was continuing his game of defense-only by the time the sword master rolled around, Prince Ito in tow. He eyed them carefully, familiar enough with Ayue’s pattern of attack to spare the two a few glances. The sword master was expressionless, while Ito was clearly bored, his hand impatiently twitching on the hilt of his own practice sword. Zen waited for him to make eye contact, then raised an eyebrow at him mockingly.

“Enough!” the sword master exclaimed, exasperated. “Why are you holding back? Do you not take this training seriously?”

These words were directed at Zen, who gaped slightly, frozen in place. Though Zen didn’t dare look at him, Ayue’s face and neck were flushed a deep red. He’d known that they weren’t training seriously. But it was one thing to slack off with a friend—and another to be exposed as inferior by the teacher!

“You—what’s your name? Go take turns practicing against one of the younger students.”

“Ayue, sir. Yes, sir,” he replied meekly before slinking off.

“And you, you’ll be facing off against Prince Ito. He’s been looking for a worthy opponent. Now, you’re not quite there yet, but this bunch…” The sword master’s voice trailed off.

“Fine.” Zen shrugged, raising his blade casually to face the prince, who had since drawn his own sword.

On one hand, Zen didn’t particularly care about impressing this sword master or even exerting any effort at all. But, on the other hand, he wanted to wipe the smug expression off the prince’s face, show off what a nobody like himself, raised in a village with only sticks to whet, could do. The problem was that he was unacquainted with Ito’s moveset. Plus, this prince had grown up slicing fruits with beautiful sabers forged from the finest material. This would be an interesting challenge.

Zen waited for Ito to make the first move. He parried the first two blows easily—a slice to the right and then to the left—but barely blocked an overhand cleave. He jumped back a bit, readjusting his loosened grip and gritting his teeth in concentration. His senses honed in on that elegant blade hovering inches away from him. His ears heard naught but the slice of metal and the ripples of long blue sleeves through the air; his eyes saw naught but the glare of sunlight on iron and the cold stare of his opponent. Zen went on the offensive this time, tossing out a few ineffectual strikes. He then threw out a feint to Ito’s left, quickly withdrawing his blade and striking more aggressively to the right. However, his blade was easily stopped inches away from his target, and the force caused him to stagger. In the brief moment that he took to steady his feet, Ito had tapped his stomach with the tip of his sword.

“Dead.” There was a pause, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Eyes,” the prince finally said. “You were looking to my right.”

Zen glanced over at the sword master, who was watching intensely, chin cupped in his hands. “Better, better. Again!”

Zen wiped his wrist over the sweat beading on his upper lip and sighed. “Thanks,” he grunted at Ito, avoiding those piercing black eyes. And he reluctantly raised his blade again.

—

Zen had never tested the limits of his physical body in such a way before. The day after that first match, the sword master didn’t acknowledge him, and so Zen played around with Ayue. But the following day, the sword master and that composed prince had returned, and they continued to do so from then on. Zen secretly hoped Ito would switch out his practice sword for a real one and chop off his arm to end his suffering.