As the last embers on the training dummy faded, the weight of Evoker Malchus’s words settled over them. They stood in a silent line, processing everything he had shared. After a moment, Malchus surveyed them, his gaze assessing each student.
“Well,” he said, “theory alone won’t keep you alive on the battlefield. I want to see where each of you stands in practical skill.”
Leon felt a ripple of anticipation. This would be their first chance to face him, to test themselves against the seasoned Evoker in front of them. Malchus gestured to the sparring arena, a spacious, sandy ring enclosed by sturdy posts.
“Each of you will spar with me, one-on-one,” Malchus continued. “No need for anything too flashy. I’m here to gauge your basics, your strengths, and where you might falter.”
He walked over to one end of the sparring ring, his presence as commanding as ever. The group settled onto the nearby benches, some shuffling nervously as they prepared to watch their peers face off with the instructor.
But before Malchus could call the first name, Sibyl rose from her seat. She moved with quiet resolve, though her face held a trace of reluctance. Her fellow students exchanged glances, taken aback by her initiative.
Malchus’s eyebrow lifted as he watched her approach. He was silent for a beat, then let out a low chuckle, nodding knowingly. “Of course. I nearly forgot you had a glimpse of this moment, didn’t you?”
Sibyl met his gaze, her posture slightly tense. “One of my visions,” she admitted softly, her voice barely reaching the others. “I knew I’d be first.”
Leon watched her, intrigued. He wondered briefly what would happen if Sibyl chose to ignore one of her visions. Would it alter events, or would things shift back to fulfil the vision anyway? The idea lingered in his mind, but he pushed it aside as Malchus motioned her to step into the ring.
Malchus grinned, gesturing for her to take her stance. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Leon watched with interest as Sibyl drew her sword and took her stance, her movements careful and poised. She moved with a fluid grace that reminded him of flowing water, her footing light as if anticipating each step. Across the ring, Malchus’s stance shifted as well, his muscles subtly flexing as he drew mana into himself. Leon felt a thrill as he saw the faint shimmer of enhancement around the instructor’s body, knowing Malchus was bracing himself for a real fight.
The moment Sibyl moved forward, Leon recognized her approach—cautious, measured, built around evasion and careful attacks. Her movements flowed smoothly from one to the next, her blade aimed at Malchus with intent, but each strike was deflected by his sword as if it were an immovable wall. She struck with precision, aiming for openings, yet each one was anticipated and blocked without Malchus shifting even a single step back.
The duel continued, Sibyl’s attacks gracefully weaving together as she tried to find any weakness in his form. She moved like a dancer, each step calculated to avoid direct confrontation, but Malchus’s steady defence remained unfazed. He didn’t waver, his stance as unyielding as a mountain, a wall she couldn’t break through.
Finally, after what felt like a small eternity, Sibyl’s breathing grew heavier. Her strikes slowed, her footing losing its assured precision. Leon could tell her endurance was waning. At last, she lowered her weapon, panting slightly, and took a step back.
Malchus nodded in acknowledgment, lowering his own weapon. “Well done,” he said. “Your approach is controlled, methodical—qualities well-suited to a tactical mind. But remember, sometimes you’ll need to push forward rather than evade.”
With a small nod of appreciation, she gave him a respectful bow before hurrying back to the benches, her cheeks slightly flushed. As she took her seat, Kade and Elise leaned toward her, offering her murmured praise.
“That was impressive,” Kade whispered. “You looked calm the whole time.”
Sibyl gave a shy smile, still catching her breath. “Calm, maybe. But I’d prefer if my visions didn’t always put me in the spotlight.”
Elise chuckled softly. “Consider it a compliment—at least he didn’t toss you around.”
Malchus’s voice interrupted them. “Elise, your turn.”
Elise rose gracefully, her expression focused as she stepped into the ring. She reached to her side, unsheathing a sleek rapier. Leon noted the difference immediately—while Sibyl’s stance had been about fluidity, Elise looked poised for speed.
Malchus raised his own blade, giving her a nod. The moment he did, Elise launched forward, her movements quick and precise, each thrust carrying a sharp, snapping rhythm. The clash of metal echoed through the training grounds as she struck repeatedly, her rapier moving with a natural swiftness.
Leon watched, transfixed. Elise’s attacks were much faster, each one pushing the tempo, trying to find a gap in Malchus’s defences. But even under the relentless flurry of blows, Malchus moved with an unnatural agility, his body still enhanced with mana. Each parry was precise, each deflection effortless, the clang of steel on steel punctuating their duel in a steady chorus.
As the sparring continued, Leon noticed a subtle strain building in Elise’s posture. Her rapid style, though impressive, demanded a high level of energy, and he could see her slowing with each strike. Finally, her breaths grew heavier, and her stance faltered.
Malchus held up a hand, halting the duel. “Good work. Your speed is impressive,” he noted, “but remember that against a demon, especially one with tough hide or armour, you may need stamina to hold out. A rapid style like yours won’t last in a prolonged fight.”
Elise nodded, her expression thoughtful as she absorbed his words. As she returned to the benches, she straightened, maintaining her composure despite the exhaustion evident in her face.
Kade nudged her with a grin as she sat down. “Not bad,” he whispered. “You were holding your own there.”
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Elise gave him a tired smile. “I’ll have to work on the stamina part, I suppose.”
Malchus’s voice called again, pulling their attention back. “Kade. You’re up.”
As Kade approached Malchus, he hefted his hefty hammer with a grin. “You can take the man out of the blacksmith’s…” he joked, giving the weapon a quick swing, his casual demeanour at odds with its weight.
The moment the duel began, Kade lunged forward with a powerful swing. Leon was ready for a heavy clash, but something caught his attention—Malchus’s blade, gleaming faintly. It seemed the instructor was not only enhancing himself but also his weapon.
Leon’s eyes narrowed as he observed, briefly allowing his Mana Sight to flicker on. Sure enough, he could see a soft shimmer around Malchus’s sword, the Enhancement Sigil amplifying its strength. It was a subtle touch but reinforced just how adaptable Malchus was in combat.
The sounds that echoed with each clash were almost deafening, the resounding clangs reminiscent of hammer striking an anvil. Kade’s heavy swings met Malchus’s enhanced blade, sending vibrations through the ground. But as their weapons met again and again, it was clear that Kade’s relentless force was met with calculated precision.
Finally, after deflecting a particularly heavy swing, Malchus sidestepped one of Kade’s lunges and smoothly swept his leg, sending Kade off balance.
Malchus gave a nod, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Standing still may serve a blacksmith, but it won’t help an Evoker. Work on your footwork, and you’ll find your strikes much harder to counter.”
Kade straightened, nodding in appreciation. “Guess I’ll take that advice to heart,” he said, accepting the critique with a grin as he returned to the benches. He settled down with a sense of satisfaction, accepting friendly pats from the others. Cyrus, however, gave him an appraising look, eyebrow raised.
As Kade settled back on the bench, Malchus turned his gaze toward Leon. “You’re next,” he announced, gesturing for him to step forward.
Leon took a deep breath, stood up, and gripped his sword tightly as he walked to face Malchus. The weight of the blade felt grounding in his hand, a familiar presence that calmed his nerves. He could feel the eyes of the other students on him, and a wave of anticipation stirred in his chest.
He took his stance, trying to clear his mind and focus. Reaching for his ability, he tried recalling details from the previous fights, hoping to gain some insight. But Malchus’s style had been so impenetrable, so unwavering, that it was hard to draw any clear pattern or form.
Deciding to rely on what he’d learned with Loren, Leon launched into an attack. He moved forward with a steady rhythm, his blade sweeping and cutting as he tried to push Malchus back. Each strike met resistance, but he noticed Malchus was responding, making small adjustments as he blocked or deflected Leon’s strikes. Leon felt himself falling into the familiar rhythm of a duel, the quiet focus that came with a clash of blades.
He pressed on, attempting to wear down Malchus’s defence, finally setting up for a feint that would lead into a tricky parry. He swung his sword down, twisting his wrist slightly at the last moment to change the angle.
For the first time, Malchus shifted his stance, stepping to intercept. Leon’s heart raced, a thrill of accomplishment flickering through him—only to be cut short as Malchus moved with swift precision, his blade flashing as it struck Leon’s wrist. With a fluid motion, he disarmed him, sending Leon’s sword clattering to the ground.
Lowering his blade, Malchus regarded him with an approving nod. “Impressive,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of respect. “Your technique has a raw efficiency—a lack of frills. I’d wager you were trained by someone who’s seen real combat.”
Leon nodded, pride mingling with a sense of awe. Loren’s influence was woven into every strike, and hearing that acknowledged by Malchus felt like a silent affirmation of his training.
As he returned to the bench, he caught Cyrus watching him with narrowed eyes, a simmering resentment clear in his expression. Sena, however, regarded him with a slight nod, her gaze appraising. The others offered him supportive pats and murmurs of encouragement, their approval easing the sting of the swift disarm.
Malchus turned to Sena next. “Your turn.”
Sena rose, her expression calm as she unstrapped a long, dark blade from her back—a black longsword with an unusual sheen. As she held it, the others looked on with newfound interest.
Malchus’s gaze shifted to her weapon, and he nodded in understanding. “A Valentium sword. Makes sense, coming from the Valen family.” His tone carried a note of recognition. “Most would struggle with a blade of that weight.”
Sena didn’t respond, but her grip on the blade was steady, and Leon noted the ease with which she held it. Valentium was renowned for its density, making the blade heavier than standard steel—a weapon that would challenge even experienced fighters. But Sena’s natural Evoker constitution allowed her to wield it with seemingly little effort.
Malchus enhanced himself once more, the faint shimmer of mana surrounding him as he prepared for the duel. Their blades met, the clash ringing through the grounds as Sena launched into a calculated series of strikes. Her technique was deliberate, each swing powerful yet controlled, a rhythm that showed her depth of training.
Malchus absorbed each blow, his defence steady as he parried with ease. Though he didn’t yield, it was clear Sena was no novice—her strikes held force, and her form was well-practised. The duel continued until, with a final clash, they broke apart, Malchus giving her an approving nod.
“Well done,” he remarked. “You’re well-suited to that blade. Keep honing your skills with it—it’s a rare weapon for a rare talent.”
Sena offered a nod in response and returned to the bench, where Leon congratulated her with a quiet “Good job.” She acknowledged him with a brief nod, her expression reserved. Cyrus, however, looked at her with clear admiration, impressed by her performance.
Finally, Malchus’s gaze settled on Cyrus, who was already on his feet, his expression set in fierce determination.
Without waiting for any further instruction, Cyrus activated his Aspect, a faint aura of flame flickering around him. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable, and Leon could feel the raw, heated power radiating from him, stronger than he remembered. Cyrus had changed since their last encounter, his Aspect refined and intensified.
Without hesitation, Cyrus charged forward, each step amplifying his strength and speed as the fire around him flared. He attacked with unrestrained ferocity, forcing Malchus onto the defensive for the first time. Their blades clashed in a fierce rhythm, metal ringing out as Cyrus’s fiery aura fueled each strike.
Leon watched as Cyrus’s attacks grew more relentless, his Aspect lending power to each swing. For a brief moment, it looked as though he might even gain the upper hand.
But Malchus, with a quick, decisive movement, sidestepped and disarmed him, ending the duel abruptly.
Straightening, Malchus looked at Cyrus with an appraising nod. “Your Aspect is well-suited to close combat. Once you reach the First Circle and can enhance yourself, you’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”
Cyrus picked up his sword, his jaw set, determination burning in his eyes. Malchus continued, “But remember, you won’t always be fighting up close. You’ll need to be prepared for ranged attacks, especially from demons. We’ll be focusing on training you to counter those as well.”
As Cyrus returned to the bench, Malchus stepped forward, his expression serious. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll begin preparing for the Circle Ritual,” he announced. “But not with me. Chosen Lysandra Teren herself will be guiding you.”
Leon felt a flicker of recognition—she was the one who had delivered the welcome speech, her presence commanding the room even then.
Malchus gave a brief, satisfied nod. “This is where your real journey begins.”