The following two hours were some of the most intense of Kevin’s life. First, he copied down the three elementary formations, which Elder Fischer made him repeat until he got them right.
An extensive discussion on creating traditional flags followed. That method, using actual cloth and wood flags, was still the first thing taught to beginners.
The elder insisted that he needed to master the traditional method before he could try more advanced techniques, such as the tattoo on his back or flags embedded in stone or metal.
“Besides,” she chuckled, smirking at him. “Formation combat almost always uses traditional flags. They’re portable and deployable, which is key during a fight.”
“What about something like wooden or metal disks?” Kevin asked, raising an eyebrow. He’d discovered that Fischer enjoyed questions as long as they were short and intelligent.
“Sure,” she snorted, “if you’re willing to come up with your own style for throwing them instead of using the many excellent existing ones. And you can figure out a way to anchor them into the right place, not to mention adapting the patterns for every combat formation you want to use.”
“Right, traditional flags it is, then,” Kevin nodded. He had far too much to do already without piling extra work on.
He scribbled page after page of notes, enough for a small booklet before the lesson ended. Finally, in the last ten minutes, she made him read them back and corrected anything he’d gotten wrong.
“And we’re done,” Fischer said at last, glancing at the clock. It was just before 9:30; they’d gone well into that extra half hour she’d ‘happened’ to have available.
“Repeat what I want from you by the next lesson,” she continued. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, but the elder was fond of drilling lessons home through repetition.
“I need to create a finished example of each flag before the next lesson. However, I shouldn’t try to charge or deploy them without supervision.”
“Correct,” Fischer nodded, looking pleased. “You’re not durable enough to handle a discharge if you screw the formation up. We’ll activate them first thing in the next lesson. Do try not to disappoint me right out of the gate,” she finished with a smirk.
“No, Ma’am,” Kevin finished, resisting the urge to wipe a hint of sweat from his brow. “Are there any books that would be advisable for further study?”
The elder pursed her lips for a moment, then shook her head. “No. A third of the books on formations are trash, and another third are mediocre. I don’t have time to sort through beginner books, and you don’t have the discernment to pick them out.”
“Besides, this is an experiment on speed training useful formation experts. I don’t want outside information messing with it. Once you’ve finished this class and have a solid grasp on safe formation construction, you can go nuts; until then, stick to your notes.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Kevin responded. “Thank you for the lesson.”
He was now convinced he’d been right about her planning this one-on-one tutoring from the start. The only thing he didn’t understand was why she went through that entire show instead of just doing it.
Unless it was for her own amusement, he figured there had to be a good reason for it. Some level of sect politics seemed the likely answer. Perhaps she was circumventing some restrictions on giving outer sect disciples personal training?
Whatever the case, he wouldn’t rock the boat by pushing for an answer. As long as it continued to benefit him, he would participate in whatever game the elder was playing.
Fischer dismissed him with a wave, then zoomed past before he could even leave the room. This time, he was prepared and got the slightest glimpse of her technique.
Bands of Qi had exploded from the base of her crown, extending down to wrap and cushion her legs. Even then, the Qi didn’t enter her body. Instead, it dragged her along like a puppet.
What a strange technique. Not for the first time, Kevin was glad that Dr. Grange hadn’t tried to push him in that direction. Not only did it do little for his goals, but it seemed to come with many other limitations.
Shaking off his idle musings, Kevin gathered his things and walked out of the building. He had a decent amount of time until his next class at eleven, but he wanted to put it to good use.
Gathering the materials he needed for his flags while the lesson was fresh in his mind made the most sense. Further, he wanted to go over his notes at least once before the memories faded.
He also needed to eat something before his next class. And to think he’d consider fitting a cultivation session in the gap.
Kevin shook his head, laughing at his naivety. He’d been taking the sect classes far too lightly. Elder Fischer’s changed lesson plan might have opened three extra hours later in the week but had also heaped far more work on him than that.
Still, this was what he needed to survive in the world of cultivation. The elder’s story about her missing disciple was a wake-up call. Unless he stayed in the sect forever, the same fate could await him as well.
He’d have to put as much effort into his combat classes as his support ones.
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The Monday class for MAR-101 had a room in the martial arts building listed for its usual location. The first class, however, had a note to meet at Martial Courtyard Six.
Like the cultivation courtyards, areas like this were set up throughout the sect to practice various techniques. His map marked the first three martial courtyards as general use and listed the rest as restricted.
Martial Courtyard Six was an open grassy area a little larger than a football field. A stern-looking man in the Core Formation realm was already there, pacing back and forth. Ten empty desks stood on the bare Earth behind him.
MAR-101 seemed to have a much healthier attendance number, with thirty people spread out across the area. By the time the clock ticked to one PM, the number had exceeded forty.
Ten Energy Gathering cultivators also arrived just in time, each walking around the back and taking a desk.
“Welcome to MAR-101,” the Core Formation cultivator said, pausing his pacing and standing with arms behind his back. “I am Elder Johnson of the outer sect, a combat expert and prominent martial arts scholar.”
With his graying crew cut and light lines on his otherwise perfect face, the elder looked to be in his mid-forties. Given the level of Qi floating through his body, he had to be a lot older than that.
Kevin’s eyes narrowed, even as he hurried to form a line at the man’s shouted demand. So there were elders who hadn’t reached Golden Core. Was that why the man was an outer sect elder?
Foster had also been in the Core Formation realm but had introduced him as a senior inner sect disciple. Were positions in the outer sect a step lower then? Or did the man’s self-proclaimed combat expertise qualify him for a higher position?
“Some of you are here because you lack experience,” Elder Johnson said once they’d formed five rows. Kevin couldn’t shake the feeling that the man stared his way as he said that.
“Others are seeking a new style from the sect. We will cater to both kinds in this class.”
“From next week, I will be holding lectures on the general principles of combat. Even those with experience will find them well worth attending. Today, I will gauge your current level and select an appropriate style for you.”
The elder half-turned, gesturing to the desks and their seated occupants. “Behind me are ten assistants drafted for the day. As slots become free, I will direct you to them to discuss your particular needs and desires. Be honest with them; the information they gather will inform my decision.”
“Questions?” Johnson turned back to stare at the lines of disciples as he finished.
A male voice shouted from somewhere on the right. “We won’t be picking our styles then?”
“Not if you want my expertise,” the elder’s tone was flat as he responded. “You will have significant input, but I have grown tired of disciples making poor decisions out of nostalgia or because they wanted something ‘flashy.’”
“The sect always supports the free choice of our disciples; however,” Johnson’s face shifted into a scowl. “So you are free to depart for the library if you wish. They will release a style of your choice for free, within reason.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd, but only a single disciple slipped out of line and departed. The elder paused for a few moments, then spoke again. “Very well. Front ten disciples move to the desks, everyone else spread out and warm up.”
Kevin hurried to an empty spot and began moving through his stretching routine. His martial arts teacher in Ostale had given him one, which he’d practiced once since then.
He was cursing himself for not practicing more over the last couple of days. He’d focused so much on cultivation that he’d missed the obvious. Of course, they would check a student’s current proficiency.
Sure, it might not change much, but it would have been nice not to be as embarrassed. The feeling worsened after the initial warmup when the more advanced students filling the field started showing off fancy techniques.
Throughout the lesson, Elder Johnson seemed to be everywhere at once. Here, he flickered over to correct a movement; there, he watched a student’s form; then, he was back at the desks, demonstrating a different style each time.
More than once, Kevin would have sworn that the man was in two places at the same time. Perhaps he was; there might well be some kind of multi-body technique out there.
He was the target for plenty of the elder’s corrections, most of them with a disapproving frown. It seemed he was doing almost every technique incorrectly, and the man made sure he knew it.
About halfway through the class, the elder returned to his side and sent him to an empty desk. The disciple behind it introduced himself as Francis, a senior outer sect disciple.
After a quick introduction, the man began grilling Kevin on every aspect of his experience and what he wanted from a martial arts style.
The intense discussion lasted about twenty minutes and resulted in Francis taking four pages of notes. Moments after they finished, Elder Johnson stepped into view and swiped the pages off the desk.
“Kevin Blake,” the elder muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the pages at speed. “No useful experience. Wants to use his martial arts as a defensive and delaying tactic while setting up formations.”
“Understood,” Elder Johnson said a few moments later as he tossed the pages back on the desk. With deft movements, he skipped several steps backward. “Come over here and punch me."
Kevin blinked at the sudden shift but knew better than to argue. Moving over, he took his stance and fired a left jab at the man’s face.
The elder pivoted left around the punch, ending with his chest facing Kevin. Now, parallel to Kevin’s extended arm, Johnson’s left hand reached out and gripped his sleeve.
With a smooth motion, the man gave a light tug, pulling Kevin forward and off balance. The elder released his sleeve a moment later, letting momentum take its course.
Kevin stumbled forward, losing his stance and struggling to maintain his balance. From his current position, a follow-up strike was impossible. His left arm was too extended, and he couldn’t punch across his own body with his right.
Worse, his head and ribs were open to Johnson’s attacks. The man held back; instead, he kept his position as Kevin struggled to spin and regain his stance.
Johnson beckoned him forward. “Keep going.”
Kevin complied, trying every one of his limited techniques. Another shift, or parry, countered each attempt, each dragging him forward and breaking his stance,
It wasn’t because of overwhelming speed on the elder’s part but pure technique. The man even slowed down over time until Kevin’s speed surpassed him. Every attack felt closer and closer, yet not one made it.
After several struggling minutes, the elder gestured for him to stop. “Enough.”
Panting, Kevin stopped, barely maintaining the presence of mind to keep his guard up.
“That was the Sinking Sands style,” Johnson said. “If I were on the offensive, I would have pummelled you with every redirect. You would have felt stifled, overpowered, and as if you were being dragged into hell. Liking sinking into the worst quicksand.
“However, that requires you to be more capable than your opponent, which is unlikely to be the case. Instead, I showed you the defensive version. What did you feel?”
Kevin licked his lips, “frustrated, but also excited. Like I was just on the verge of hitting. Then there was a growing anger as you continued pulling me around without ever landing a hit.”
“Good,” Johnson responded, opening his arms. “And where are you?”
“Well, I’m,” Kevin paused, eyes widening as he glanced back. Somehow, they’d come over thirty feet from the desk, moving back and left.
“Where you are is exactly where I wanted you to be,” the elder said, mouth twitching into a smile for the first time. “I’m sure you can see how that would be useful.”
“Yes,” Kevin breathed, a broad grin crossing his face. “That’s perfect.”