[15]

“Strike!” Master Rohan yelled.

Oh, how I wished I could go back to the gentle instruction Master Rohan had given before the class started. Rather, all I had for teaching was the dummy in front of me. The magical dummy that doubled as a torture device.

A ghostly image shot forward in a textbook perfect chop. I tried to imitate the ghost, but my right elbow stuck out a little too far. Burning phantom pain attacked the out-of-place limb until I fixed the miniscule mistake in my form. I did not make a sound, but others around me screamed out in pain, as they too made mistakes with their new weapons.

“Strike!” Master Rohan yelled.

Again, I made a mistake, but this time it was my foot placement.

“Strike!”

How much longer will this madness continue? Why does the sadist never tire of screaming that word?

My swing was off from my tired, sore arms. Fire licked at my chest for not keeping correct posture.

“Strike!”

The exercise left no part of me feeling unburned. It went on for three solid hours, but felt like an age. Three people, including dainty Lady Elaine Highrow, had passed out from the pain. If I had not dumped two points into my constitution, I would have shared their fate. In fact, I was so thankful for those points, I would have put everything into it if I could go back in time.

By the end of the exercise, I had real hate for that abyss born Tiger beastman. His every utterance filled me with an equal measure of dread and fury. Nothing could be worth this pain!

“Rest up. Everyone drinks water, even if you don’t feel thirsty. We are going into wrestling next. Find someone about your weight and height.” Master Rohan said.

Like a spell ended, my sight blurred, and I dropped the wooden poleaxe right there in the sand and fell to my knees. Just breathe, I repeated over and over in my head. Around ten minutes later, I felt restored enough to stand up on shaky legs and make my way over to the water bucket.

I sipped the water, making sure not to drink too much. After the first water break, I drank too much and learned the hard way by covering the sand I had to stand in with vomit. So much for eating a bunch of meat! Master Rohan thought it was the height of humor and laughed and pointed out every person who puked; which by the end was almost everyone.

On the other side of the pit, there was a more advanced group that included Reynold Kestev and his ogre-looking human friend. They had spent the entire three hours sparring with each other, rotating partners every fifteen minutes. I envied them at first, but after getting a second look, they did not look too much better off than the beginner class.

It made sense when I thought about it. Lollygagging on Rohan was probably a terrible idea. The orange bastard saw everywhere and seemed to be everywhere.

I did not know how long we had to rest, but I planned on doing so until the very last minute. Propped up against one of the evil combat dummies, I focused on keeping my breathing even. Saewulf had taught me the trick, explaining that it was one of the most important things a soldier had to learn.

All too soon, the break ended, and Rohan called out, “All right, find a partner!”

Out of the combined military studies and ascendant class, there were only a few students as tall as my six foot three inches. So, I scanned over the heads of the rest of the class until I spotted a red-robed student only an inch in height less than me. Like myself, he had a lithe, undeveloped build. Unlike me, he had darker olive colored skin and blonde hair, which marked him as a citizen of the Republic of Jalma to the far south.

We noticed each other about the same time, and he gave me a smile. As we headed toward one another, a motion to my side caught my attention. Reynold Kestev stalked through the rest of the class, heading toward me like a sent arrow.

I tried not to roll my eyes.

“You and me,” Reynold said, pointing up to me from his five foot nine. Not that I had a problem with his height; it wasn’t long ago I was once a respectable five foot five.

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I scoffed at him, knowing it would make him angry. “No, thanks.”

“You aren’t scared, are you?” Reynold asked in a practiced stage voice.

“Are you deaf and an idiot?” asked the boy from Jalma. “Master Rohan said to find someone near to height and build. You are neither. Begone.”

Reynold bristled angrily, turning red. He was about to spit something else out, which was sure to be hurtful, but Master Rohan interrupted him.

“If you can’t find a partner your height and weight, come stand by me.” Master Rohan called out.

“Thanks for that.” I said to the Jalma boy. “I’m Harald.” I held out my elbow for a bump, as was the custom for greeting others in Jalma.

The Republic of Jalma used to be a vassal of Ergentein until they slaughtered all the nobles thirty years ago. Though things were peaceful between our two nations now, the Jalmese still had an ingrained cultural dislike of the nobility. Some merchants my father dealt with regularly were from Jalma, so I was a little more informed about their culture and politics.

“Nicolai,” said the Jalmese boy, bumping his elbow into mine. “No thanks needed, I love watching a bruise sputter.” “Bruise” was a slur the Jalmese had for nobility, because of their purple hair. And of course, because they had beaten all of theirs to death. They had a saying that a noble’s skin should match his hair. I found it rather ironic because every Jalmese person I had met had dark skin but light hair.

Everyone spread out around the pit in pairs, but I noticed Reynold had not strayed far from me.

“Most of you are new here and probably wondering why we will spend the rest of the class wrestling. That is because wrestling is about using your momentum, leverage, and balance. In a fight of equal skill, it is more often the case than not, that those three things will decide who is still alive at the end. Further, a good warrior knows plans and techniques will always fail at some point. When that happens, or when you get ambushed, or even overwhelmed, it is wrestling that will help you come out on top.”

Master Rohan led us through a series of roll drills on the ground. He stressed the importance of landing right, ambushing and picking up the more advanced students with one arm and tossing them in the air occasionally to emphasize his point. Of all the things I expected to learn in Ashmere, tumbling was not even on the list.

But it was fun!

Or, it would have been, if could have practiced the material in peace. Reynold, now with a chip on his shoulder big enough for two people that towered over him, found whatever excuse he could to throw himself at us.

Each time it happened, Nicolai would say something and Reynold would just shrug. I thought it was petty and planned on ignoring it until Reynold took it too far.

After rolling, we moved on to practicing shoulder throws. I had just tossed Nicolai into the sand, when I spotted Reynold flying over his partner to land on my grounded new friend. Reynold came down heavily on Nicolai’s outstretched arm, causing the Jalmese boy to yelp in pain.

The much larger Reynold stood up on Nicolai’s wrist, causing him to yell out in pain even with the sand acting as a cushion.

Suddenly, I saw red. I had gotten used to being picked on. It had happened so often in my life that it was almost like the background chatter of the wind. Nicolai, who I did not know stood up for me. Sure, it might have been because of an irrational hatred of all people with purple hair, but at that moment, that did not matter. All I saw was a “bully” picking on friends.

Before I knew what I was doing, I leapt across the sand and ran my shoulder into Reynold’s back at a full forced run. I felt the weight of my body crash into him, almost sending his head back like cocked whip. His muscles were much bigger than mine, but between the strength of my hit and the slipperiness of the sand, Reynold stumbled forward, unable to stop himself before crashing headfirst into a practice dummy.

For a moment, I thought I had knocked him out. Reynold ended that hope by standing up, albeit in a daze. Then, he turned to me and I saw blood gushing out of his nose.

“You! Y-you piece of filth, I’m going to crush you! You are dead now.” Reynold screamed at me, eyes full of fury.

“Reynold.” The voice of Master Rohan called out. “Surely, you do not intend on trying to murder one of your fellow students on his very first day of combat training.”

“Did you see what he did? He attacked me for a nothing accident. I demand he be punished! I demand satisfaction!” Reynold said in a nasal voice. I think the break in his nose had thrown off the acoustics somewhat.

“You seek a duel of honor?” Master Rohan said.

Reynold suddenly smiled at me. No, it was not at me; I realized. It was at the idea that Master Rohan had put forth.

“Yes, I want to show this coward what happens when you attack your better.” Reynold said.

“He has no skill with a weapon. You cannot find honor defeating him. If you had just done a forward roll properly, you would have saved yourself from pain and embarrassment. Therefore, I believe the fault lies with you.” Master Rohan said.

“What?” Reynold screeched. “B-but, he attacked me from behind!”

I cut off their argument. “What’s in it for me Reynold?”

Reynold turned back to me, still bloody and now even more angry. “What’s in it for you? To prove that you aren’t a sneak attacking coward? Is your pissant peasant reputation worth nothing?” he asked.

I saw Elaine try to come between us.

“I don’t care about reputation. So, if there is nothing else?” I said.

“Fine. I’ll bet you all one thousand of my contribution points if you face me like a man.” Reynold said.

“First blood only,” Master Rohan said.

“Fine, we will fight to the first blood,” I agreed, smiling wickedly.