Jack exhaustedly went to school to attend a class about Warrior after a life-draining night. His dull face made the teacher, Juan, frown during his lecture whenever he looked in Jack’s direction.
“Why the name Warrior?” Juan shouted.
“Because Warrior relates to war?” A student replied.
“Yeah, as if the Maester rats have nothing to do with it!” Juan mockingly said.
The class went silent. To agree with Juan was to wait for hell unleashed once Julia heard about this; to disagree was to witness hell unleashed right away.
“Jack,” Juan called out, “give me an answer, would you!”
Jack drowsily looked toward the teacher. Save for a tiny bit of consciousness he was using to process Presence of The Night, he wasn’t paying any attention to his surroundings.
As such, he gave out the worst answer possible.
“Whattt?”
The wheat-colored, crew-cut hair of the Warrior teacher suddenly rose up, moving as if being ruffled by the wind even though they were in a closed room.
Jack could feel an invisible pressure creeping forward. With his mind still drifting on the flow of memory from the Legacy Orb, he instinctively proceeded to hide his aura. “When danger approaches, the first and foremost action is to hide yourself,” said the teaching from the Divine.
Juan frowned and stopped his aura emission. His chestnut eyes seemed to be calming down, even somewhat brightening up, seeing how well a student could control his aura. Clumsy as it was, but impressive nonetheless.
Thomas, who was sitting on the side, nudged Jack hard on his ribs, whispering.
“He asked you why they are called Warrior?”
Regaining his senses, Jack listened. He gritted his teeth and stared at Thomas for the unexpected pain in his recovering wound.
Thomas hopped away a bit, putting his hands together apologizingly. He’d just elbowed Jack’s old wound.
Jack turned his eyes back on the teacher, who was still giving him a dangerous gaze. Jack recalled a definition he had read somewhere a long time ago.
“The one who wages war?”
Juan clapped his hand. The sound was so loud it felt like echoing through the whole school. The teacher enthusiastically pointed his hand at Jack, laughing and explaining to the class.
“There, that right there is the definition of a Warrior. Why settle for being a tool of war when you can be its initiator.”
Jack gulped, stopping his words from coming out. That was a bit off from his original explanation.
“Do you know who the Maesters are most wary of?”
Juan scanned the room, letting curiosity pervade the moment, then pridefully pointed his finger at himself.
“It is us, the Warrior,” Juan swiftly explained before the class’ skeptical expression. “An experienced Warrior possesses the ability to control his breathing and metabolism temporarily. And how do those weakling Maesters poison someone? Through any holes on your body or your skin, right? If a Warrior could block that, then they become a bunch of worthless good-for-nothing garbage.”
The class stayed silent as the teacher snorted just as loud as his previous clap. Some students were glancing at Jack, recalling the questions he had asked during Julia’s class. Among them was Pascal.
After assuming all the students had been startled in awe, Juan raised his voice.
“Like the definition Jack has given us,” he smiled, “I will let you play the game of war-waging. I will select a few pairs to come up here and do some combat. It won’t be for nothing, though. I’m going to be assessing your capability.”
As expected, Jack took the first hit. Juan waved his hand, calling for Jack, and he helplessly dragged himself up.
“Now,” Juan continued. “We shall need a pretext for war, right? So, whoever performs well today won’t be personally taken care of by me in the next lecture.”
A chill ran down everyone’s spine; half of it was because of this “personal care” from Juan, the other half from the odds of escaping it. In Juan’s class, the three whom he had the least chance to get his hand on were Jack, Thomas, and Pascal. They all had good physiques and, therefore, had been able to complete all of his practices decently well. People were usually impressed by Pascal's physical capacity, but Jack found it quite natural. Much like himself when first incarnated in World No.146, the fact that he had started with basically zero funds, zero support, zero relationships, and had to live by the day, hiding and scavenging had resulted in him being much more agile and resilient than his peers.
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“You,” Juan pointed at Pascal standing at the end of the line. “Come here!”
Pascal walked up with anxious steps. The pair of wild eyes staring at him in the basin of Lavia Garden still haunted his mind. Even so, Pascal could still barely contain a spark of excitement. The glory of taking down Jack Corvus in a duel lurked in his mind, and that was all it took for him to risk it all.
Jack leaned his head, looking at Pascal, smiling at the boy’s hunger for glory. He had been like that once, never missed a chance to show the world what he got. But, at the end of the day, he had also learned how to keep his head down.
What Pascal wasn’t noticing was the irritating look Patrick was giving him. It would be fine if he lost. But, if he somehow actually bested Jack, it would also be an insult to Patrick. Leaving right after seeing Jack’s bloodied image had done no good to Patrick‘s reputation. For Pascal, though, his master’s darkening face was the least of his concern as he walked up, facing Jack. Pascal regained some of his confidence, thinking he had had a month of training during his opponent’s bedridden time.
“Good, good,” Juan said, “I like the attitude of you two. Now, what are the rules again? No rules?”
The teacher hesitated as if waiting for one of the two combatants to continue his words, but the only sound they were making was their breathing.
“Then,” he clicked his tongue, “no rules. You do what you want.”
Juan moved back, leaving behind the space for battle. Jack took a deep breath, trying to stay as focused as possible. On the other side, Pascal bent himself forward, his breaths undisrupted, his foot slowly making its way toward his opponent as if he had done this so many times.
Jack did a slight nod of appreciation as the boy had displayed his prudency. Still, it would not be sufficient. The fight between kids usually started with a scouting phase, which Jack liked to call “flirting” as both sides wanted to be the aggressor but were still too scared to make the first move and just did some back and forth. Inside, they probably both wished for a nonviolent resolution, afraid of getting hurt. That hesitation would eventually be slowly removed as kids grew up, but for now, it was Pascal's most apparent weakness.
Jack channeled some mana into his legs and launched forward. His speed wasn’t too fast, but enough to surprise Pascal. He had never started a fight without ample scouting first. As Jack’s leg was swinging at his left cheek, Pascal clumsily raised his arm and blocked it, then quickly hopped to the side to steady himself.
Of course, Jack wouldn’t let his opponent get a chance to recoup. He spun, circling another kick, this time aiming for the chest. Pascal instinctively shielded himself with both arms and, before he knew it, found an upside-down blue sky before his eyes. He hit the ground with a thump, lying on his back. Jack had taken advantage of Pascal blocking his own vision with his arms to perform the good old leg sweep.
Jack stepped backward, waiting for the ending signal from Juan. Yet, the teacher was too busy indulging in watching this battle to stop it, as he completely ignored Jack’s unpleasant face.
Pascal fumblingly stood up, eyes wide open, not understanding what had just happened to him. He had never been knocked out that quickly. Usually, either it wasn’t him who was lying on the ground, or he would be able to hold his own and escape when needed. Here, after just three moves, he had just been completely defeated.
“Fight back,” Jack growled. “If not, you don’t stand a chance.”
Pascal was obviously confused. Attacking a maniac? The fear of the Jack in the basin and the echo of the Cavernwraith shrouded his mind. He was stupefied, but that was exactly what he needed.
Jack launched forward again, realizing Pascal’s response was faster this time. The kid was no longer thinking, his body moving with instinct, much like Jack himself when pressed against the wall. Going ham, Jack called it.
However, Jack was not one of those rich, violent, power-showing, family-depending kids that Pascal had met all his life. Pascal’s moves were mere child play against Jack. Jack personally thought he hadn’t yet mastered his body, but every single of his punches and kicks was way more thoughtful and tactical. He didn’t let any more blows be landed on Pascal anymore; they were all stopped a hair away from making contact.
The battle proceeded as Pascal was clearly overwhelmed. The students were terrified by all of Jack’s would-be hits, questioning Juan’s decision of not stopping this right now.
Then, at one point, Jack lost it. Covering his fist with mana, he went straight for Pascal’s body, right at the solar plexus. It wasn’t until now that Juan jumped between the two and stopped them both in a blink of an eye,
“You should know when to stop,” Juan frowned.
“And you should know your student’s limit,” Jack growled back.
Jack frustratingly left in front of the bewildered eyes of everyone as nobody was noticing Juan’s exhilarated expression. Pascal finally sat down, breathing heavily. Nobody was sure what was in his mind.
Juan had forced one of his students to face utter panic and desperation. The more frightened he was, the more motivation he would gain. Juan was delighted with his teaching. Of course, there would be a risk that Pascal would never get over it and turn out to be nothing. If so, Juan would just cut his interest. He knew the real world would be way crueler than himself here.
Juan ignored Jack’s disrespectful words, for he had put Jack up to fight with one of his archenemies. A small compensation, he thought it was. During the match, the teacher understood Jack wouldn’t back down, and if he had chosen to resist and stopped after knocking Pascal to the ground, Juan would have had other ways to force his hand. Being a Warrior of Crusader rank, quarreling and taunting was in his blood.
Though, the way Jack had glanced at him with every single attack on Pascal still gave him a chill. Each blow had been aimed at a critical spot like a trained assassin, testing the limit of the peculiar teacher. He wouldn’t have spent so much effort if it had been a regular class with their catfights, but when watching Jack, Thomas, and Pascal, he had always wanted to bring out the best and worst of them.
Wages war, but not for me, Juan satisfyingly thought.