Chisel threw her wooden sword to the ground and spiked her shield right after, leaving a dent shaped like a wagon rut in the dormitory floor. Yotuli, her drilling partner at the time, slowly stepped away from the White Mage Apprentice as she raged.

“I’m so sick of these blasted swords,” she said. “This is stupid. A waste of time.”

Buru took a step toward Chisel to comfort her, but Hans discretely waved him off.

“I’m done. I’m so done.” Chisel stormed out the dormitory front door, slamming it behind her.

The Guild Master told the rest of the class to return to their drills while he chased Chisel into the snow. He followed stomped footprints around the back of the building, finding the Apprentice squatting in the snow, her forehead between her knees. She hadn’t stopped to collect her jacket, so she wore only her light training attire. Steam billowed off her long body.

Hans sat next to her but didn’t speak.

After several minutes of silence, Chisel spoke, her head still down. “Well?”

“Hmm?” Hans replied.

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

“Would you like me to?”

Chisel lifted her head, her anger temporarily laced with confusion.

Hans smiled back.

“I’m not getting it. I’m the worst in the room, by far, and what does a White Mage need a sword for anyway? This whole idea is stupid.”

The Guild Master didn’t move or reply. He looked casually across the field of snow at the Gomi forest, its trees topped in white like painted clouds fallen from the sky. Winter had less leisure time than he anticipated, but the scenery caught his breath anew with every sunrise. Even now, the rays of a golden sun reflected off the snow as though it were a sea of diamonds.

“Master Hans?”

“Mr. Hans is fine if you insist on the title,” Hans said. “Just Hans is fine too.”

“Aren’t you upset with me?”

“Not really. Every adventure throws a tantrum in training at least once in their careers. Probably more than once.” Hans explained when an intense desire to succeed met frustration the reaction was often explosive. The worst adventurers took that anger out on their training partners. Chisel had enough self-awareness to express her rage without trashing the world and people around her.

“I’m the worst in the class,” she muttered.

“At swordplay? Probably.”

The tusk choked on her words. “Has anyone told you that you give the best pep talks?”

“Ranking yourself against your training partners will always mess with your confidence. I know that sounds like fortune cookie wisdom, but the way we learn isn’t ‘Every student starts at A and then travels to B.’”

Hans drew a diagonal line in the snow to represent growth on a line graph. The line started at zero on the left, and hit the top height on the right. He explained that most students thought progress worked like that line, but the reality was different.

The next line Hans drew zigged and zagged, rising and falling, sometimes running horizontal for long stretches before continuing to rise again.

“Real learning looks like this,” he said. “We find some lessons easier to grasp than others, and then there are places where we get stuck on something difficult. We can also have a bad day, a bad week, or a bad month. You keep training regardless, but despite the effort you put in, you feel worse.”

Chisel nodded.

“I have had this conversation thousands of times. Frustration is natural. We all feel it. But as soon as I draw these dumb lines, you realize that you expected the straight line but deep down you know that the wibbly-wobbly line matches everything you’ve ever learned. You also know that if you put your version of this line against someone else’s, the highs and lows won’t line up very often, if ever.”

The tusk agreed again.

“The good news: What you’re going through is normal. The bad news: It’s going to get worse the longer you train.”

“Huh?” Chisel reacted. “What do you mean? Won’t I be better?”

“Getting better is more difficult the longer you train. One of my plateaus lasted a year and a half,” Hans said. “I was totally stuck. Every training session was miserable, and I started to get depressed.”

“Really?”

“This Diamond-ranked lizardman was staying in Hoseki for a while, and he loved his bastard sword. The way he switched from a two-handed grip to a single-handed grip and back… I couldn’t figure it out, and he’d end every match with the same disarm. Every. Damn. Time.”

“For a year and a half?”

“Yep. I was out of my mind happy when I got the timing down and could counter. Know what happened next?”

“What?”

Hans chuckled softly. “He had a recounter for when the disarm failed, and he was good at it, but I had never gotten far enough to know that. As soon as I celebrated beating the disarm, I started eating elbows while he kicked my feet out from under me. I had a bloody nose for three months straight.”

“This talk makes my motivation feel like that line,” Chisel said, pointing to the zigzag in the snow.

“Pep talks don’t work, so I don’t give them,” Hans said. “If I got you all excited and thinking positive out here, it’s going to hurt even more when you go back in and make the same mistake right away. It’s my job to help you understand the obstacle. Getting past it is still going to suck.”

Chisel looked at her feet, reflecting on the conversation.

“We should get back inside. Yotuli will grab some innocent kid to beat on if we leave her by herself too long.”

***

Hans passed the mashed sweet potatoes across the table to Sven. The Rogue heaped three generous spoonfuls onto his plate and handed the dish to Buru.

The six Apprentices, as well as Hans, Kane, and Quentin, sat in the guild hall, sharing a late evening dinner. Everyone at the table winced slightly as small movements disturbed tired, aching muscles. If they stayed still for any length of time, their backs and joints stiffened. Bending them again triggered soft grunts and groans.

“Buru,” Hans began, “What made you want to be a Druid?”

The large tusk hunched awkwardly over the table. The distance his fork had to travel from his plate to his mouth was twice as long as everyone else’s, except for Chisel’s. “My family worked the grounds for a noble family when I was young. I liked the garden.”

The Guild Master waited for Buru to elaborate, to continue the story, but he didn’t.

“I worked for a noble family as well,” Sven added, speaking through a mouthful of sweet potato. “Shoveled stalls every day for seven years.”

“Horses are nice too,” Buru said.

“I didn’t even get to pet a horse. That whole time. If I was awake, my hands were wrapped around a shovel.”

Buru frowned. “That is a sad story.”

“Nah,” Sven said, countering with a wide grin. “There’s a happy ending. One of the noble daughters took a liking to me, so I had good company until I–” The Rogue paused to look at Hans, as if remembering who was listening. “Ahem. Until I came into some money and left town.”

Yotuli leaned forward to look around Buru to see the other end of the table where Terry, Kane, and Quentin sat. “Must have been pretty nice to grow up here.”

Terry and Quentin froze. “Quentin and I are lifers,” Terry answered. “Kane and his brother walked here, what, four or five years ago now?”

Kane nodded.

The Apprentice Ranger covered her mouth. “Sorry. I don’t think before I talk.”

“I’m not bothered,” Kane said simply between forkfuls of porkchop.

“I heard your little brother killed a pack of gnolls,” Yotuli said, trying to change the subject.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Honronk, his dark gray skin making him look like a living shadow, muttered, “Filthy beasts.”

Kane finished chewing before he answered. “Killed two with a wooden sword,” he said. “Gunny is the tougher brother by a mile.”

“I think that race is a lot closer than you think,” Chisel said.

The tusk teen shook his head. “When we were walking here… I wanted to give up. More than once. Gunny never did. He always knew we’d get there and never doubted it.”

After a pause, Chisel said that every person at the table was probably tougher than they thought. They wouldn’t be in the room otherwise.

“Here here,” Hans cheered.

“I am curious,” Sven said, looking at Hans, “How did a Gold-ranked get Guild Master? Don’t you have to be a Diamond?”

Hans explained that the circumstances were complicated, but the guild made an exception for him.

“What happens when we need a Diamond-ranked to train us? Or will that never be an option for us?” Sven glanced down the table at Kane and Quentin when they coughed loudly. “What? That’s not a weird question. I mean, you’re great Hans, but we have to train with Diamonds to reach Diamond, right?”

The Guild Master poked his fork through green beans, one at a time, his eyes locked on his plate. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

“Do you have someone in mind?” Sven pressed.

“Sven,” Honronk said, bumping the Rogue with his elbow.

“What?”

Hans forced a smile. “It’s fine. Really. I’m not offended.”

Chisel interjected. “The way you’re saying it makes it sound like Hans is a bad teacher.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Sven argued. “A Gold is a Gold. A Diamond is a Diamond. How is that offensive?”

Terry helped himself to more green beans. “Ever hear of Master Devontes?”

“Of course,” Sven answered. “Who hasn’t?”

“A Diamond and two Golds visited us last fall.” Terry frowned at the beans he spilled on the table. “The Diamond was a Blue Mage. I’ve never seen that kind of magic. I don’t even know how to describe it other than that if she wanted to end the world, I believe she could.”

“Okay…”

“They told us Mr. Hans ‘built’ Master Devontes. That’s how they said it. Built.”

Nobody keeps secrets in this town.

Sven’s mouth drifted open, his fork frozen inches from his lips.

“Is that true?” Yotuli asked Hans.

“It’s an exaggeration,” the Guild Master said.

The table fell into uncomfortable silence. For several minutes, the only noise in the guild hall was the tink of forks on plates and the soft grind of chewing. Sven hadn’t looked up in some time.

Buru proposed a new subject. “What kind of squirrels does Gomi got?”

***

Hans heard a knocking on the doorframe at the bottom of his apartment stairs. Unsure of the hour, he had gotten lost in taking notes about Apprentice training and filled a full page with follow-up questions he wanted to answer in the coming days.

“Yes?” Hans asked loudly.

“It’s Sven,” a voice from downstairs called. “I don’t mean to bother, but I saw the light on and hoped you were awake.”

“Sure. Come on up.”

The Rogue stopped at the top of the stairs.

“Not much seating,” Hans said, apologetic. “You can have the couch if you want. Wait. Did I forget to lock the front door?”

“No.”

“Oh good, I–” Hans closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Freaking Rogues! “What can I do for you?”

“I came to apologize. I disrespected you and insulted you with how I acted. Gomi is giving all of us a cleanslate. I shouldn’t be a jerk to the people helping me.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, sir. It’s not. I tried to Apprentice when I was younger and got laughed out of the guild hall. But Gomi… Galad asked me two questions when I got here. What’s my name and was I hungry. That’s it. Then he gave me a bed and clean clothes. I’ve been to towns that won’t serve me a pint without grilling me about why I’m there and what I’m up to.

“And you were even easier. You asked if any of us wanted to train to be adventurers. Yes or no. From hearing the brothers and sisters talk these last few months, I think I’m starting to get it. Going in on you for being Gold… I wasn’t giving you the same chance you gave me.

“I’m sorry, and I promise to pay my lips more mind.”

“Sven, thank you, but it’s okay. I’ve had that conversation dozens of times. It doesn’t bother me.”

Active Quest: Progress from Gold-ranked to Diamond-ranked.

Doesn’t bother you, huh?

Sven opened his mouth to protest, but Hans moved faster. “Want a beer before you hike back?”

The Rogue nodded. Minutes later, Sven had a mug of beer in his hand. He sipped it respectfully, savoring each drop.

“The Guild didn’t send me to Gomi because they loved me,” Hans said. “You’re giving me a chance just as much as I’m giving you one. Like you said, cleanslate.”

“Interesting.”

“This is awkward for both of us. I’d rather talk about training.” Sven agreed.

Hans asked Sven what style of Rogue he pictured becoming. Did he plan to lean more toward Burglar or more toward Treasure Hunter? Sven answered that, historically, he leaned closer to Burglar. Just how closely–both opted not to discuss. The tusk had assumed adventurers almost universally went the Treasure Hunter path because it was more useful for adventuring.

Not so, the Guild Master said. In a dungeon environment, Treasure Hunter would likely get the most use, but for the broader scope of adventuring, Burglar had a great deal of utility. Gret, the Rogue who partied with Hans for most of his career, had stealthed ahead of their group on several occasions. Sometimes for recon. Sometimes to set up a distraction. Sometimes for him to kill everything in their sleep.

The Rogue may or may not have entered a few taverns to erase a particularly large tab, but that was extracurricular.

“Gret still opened locks and disarmed traps, but he didn’t let his other skills from before adventuring go to waste. I’ve noticed though that it’s tough for the Treasure Hunter types to adjust to infiltration. It takes a certain kind of nerve to walk through an enemy camp by yourself. That’s hard to teach.”

Sven kept quiet.

“Listen, I’ve been around for a bit. The best Rogues I ever met were street kids. If they didn’t lift a few coins now and then, they didn’t eat.”

The tusk nodded, his eyes unfocused, like Hans words spun a memory to life in his mind.

“Are you hungry?” Hans asked.

“Me? No.”

“Then we’re square. Get home and rest. We’ve got training tomorrow, and I better not find you dead in a snowdrift.”

The Rogue smiled, finished his beer, and bid farewell. Hans followed Sven out, pausing to inspect the front door lock, the one Sven had no problem picking. The Guild Master frowned.

Guess I should get deadbolts.

“Deadbolts won’t help,” Sven said, patting Hans on the back. “I’ll knock from now on. Rogue’s honor.”

***

“I’m failing,” Honronk said, staying after a guild hall lecture to speak with Hans. “Chisel is close to learning her third spell. I only have the one I came with.”

This was the most Honronk had ever spoken in Hans’ presence. The Guild Master mentally prepared his “look at the squiggly lines” speech–one of his favorites–but Honronk’s dilemma differed from Chisel’s. The White Mage didn’t find swordplay frustrating until several lessons in. She made plenty of progress prior to that, and no doubt would do so after.

In the case of Honronk’s study of magery, the Apprentice Black Mage hadn’t had a single new success despite beginning his training knowing an Illusion spell. He never missed a class. He practiced as hard as everyone else, and probably practiced at night by himself, if Hans read him right. A little bit of failure was a powerful teaching tool. A great deal of failure could crush an adventurer’s spirit beyond repair.

Telling Honronk to just keep studying would be another failure–he sought help and failed to find it. Hans could make the argument that failing in that way was the most painful of all. Few things hurt worse than reaching your hand out for help and finding nothing but cold air.

The Guild Master thought, disappearing into his mind for so long that Honronk thought that perhaps he should leave quietly. Coming to life abruptly, Hans stood and stepped over to the guild bookshelf, pulling a tome of spells from its place.

“Is Prism in this one?” Hans asked. Honronk nodded. “What page?”

“627.”

Yeah, he’s definitely not slacking on his studies.

Hans skimmed over the notes on casting Prism and then began searching the book for another spell. When he found it, he flipped back and forth between that spell and Prism, comparing incantations and gestures. The effort took several minutes, but after double checking his work, Hans was satisfied.

“We’ve already talked about how I am very much not a mage,” Hans began. “But I got this idea from the best mage I know. She took on two Apprentices, and to expand their repertoire of spells, she looked at each school of magic and found the spells that had the most in common. For instance, certain incantations appear in multiple spells. So if a student learned that phrase, they were practicing pieces of several other spells at the same time.

“Izz and Thuz–those were the Apprentices–didn’t do this exercise until Silver, but I think we should try it here.”

Passing the book to Honronk, he asked the Black Mage Apprentice to compare the Nightsight spell to Prism. Nightsight was a low level illusion spell, and Hans suspected that since Prism also manipulated light, they would have gestures and incantations in common. Honronk confirmed Hans had been correct.

“If I was a real magery teacher, you wouldn’t be stuck like this. I’m sorry about that. My thought here is that teaching is about building on knowledge, but throwing you at the beginner curriculum didn’t do that. It ignored the knowledge you already had. I’m hoping this approach puts your Prism practice to better use.”

“I’ll do my best.”

***

Open Quests (Ordered from Old to New):

Progress from Gold-ranked to Diamond-ranked.

Mend the rift with Devon.

Complete the manuscript for "The Next Generation: A Teaching Methodology for Training Adventurers."

Expand the Gomi training area to include ramps for footwork drills.

Design a system for training dungeon awareness.

Research the history and legends of the Dead End Mountains, more.

Protect Gomi.

Train Gomi adventurers to keep the dungeon at bay.

Design the ultimate strategy for hunting squonks.

Pick a secret passage design for the cabin. Bonus Objective: Make it cooler than a bookshelf door.

Find a partner to move dungeon loot efficiently.

REVENGE!

Find a way to share new knowledge without putting Gomi at risk.

Address the deficiency of magery education in the Gomi chapter.

Acquire the tools and knowledge to train trap disarming safely.

Draft possible explanations for the nightmares plaguing tusk children.

Investigate the altered dungeon corridor.