Word by word I worked, pen scratching, ripping into the paper before me. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead, for I'd been at this for hours, and while I loved this sort of thing, it was mentally taxing. My hand was cramping, eyes bothered by the constant staring at papers, for this had been going on for days. I thought I'd had it bad before, but this was simply pure torture.

All around the the other students were also crouched over their papers, eyes locked onto question after question and essay after essay. This world had unfortunately come up with the idea of final exams, chances for the teachers to figure out how much of their work you'd actually absorbed, not just short term memorized into one test or another.

There were some upsides though, for nobody had invented the hated bubble sheet yet, nor would they if I had any say in it. Who was I kidding though? At some point someone would get the bright idea of multiple choice questions, and from there it was such an easy jump into horrors beyond human imagining, such as standardized tests and odious government oversight of all education to the point of ineffectiveness.

Hours seemed to pass by while I worked, and before I knew it I'd reached the final question. No more paper left, no more queries to answer I briefly looked over my previous work. There wasn't anything I wanted to change, sure I knew the professor would disagree with a few of my works but they'd been well written out and argued of that I was sure. Our professors were also fairly good, grading less on what they thought we should think and more on how we reasoned and understood the material.

Satisfied I placed down my pen, capping the ink I'd had to reload into it several times now and waited. Many of my fellows were still working, still scribbling away as they worked their way through the sheafs of parchment to finish these exams, but I had managed to be done.

“Can I just say that I miss the practicals?” Simon complained as we found a spot on the grounds to lay down and unwind. “Those were way easier.”

“I'm going to disagree there with you on all points,” I griped. “I've still got one left too.”

“Which?” Simon inquired.

“Combat.”

“Those were two days ago though?” he questioned.

“Headmaster Logan is doing mine personally. I'm to meet with him this afternoon.”

“I'll tell the others, we shall mourn your loss my friend,” Simon said with mock solemnity.

“Ah, there you two are, ready to celebrate the end to this madness?” Lucas said as he located and plopped down next to us.

“No, we're planning Percival's funeral,” Simon answered. “Headmaster's doing his combat himself.”

“Do you have a preference on what flowers I should put on your grave?” Lucas joked.

“I'm sure it won't be that bad...”

When the time came I headed in one of the practice rooms, with a chuckle I remembered that this was the same one he'd beaten my ass in on my first day. Did he plan that? Perhaps, or perhaps this was just the most convenient one to his office.

The Headmaster and Sir Kendrick both entered not soon after, the former clad in a full suit of armor, the latter looking amused. Behind them came a smallish woman I didn't recognize.

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“I have been personally tasked with your progress, and we shall see how it has gone. Your instructors have given their reports, their opinions, but the time is now.” With those words a chest was slid across the floor to me.

Inside the box I found armor and weapons, and not just what I would have expected. The protection was not unlike what we normally used in classes, but I could tell that this was far more enchanted than was normal. Beside it, rather than a choice of weapons I was presented with a short sword and a revolver, along with a box of rounds.

“Guns are quite dangerous,” I pointed out to my opponent and I began putting the armor on. He'd be cross if I didn't get ready while voicing my concerns.

“I'm quite well aware Percival, and pleased to see you've learned to bring your worries to your superiors. Those rounds are loaded quite a bit lighter than is normal, they shall still function, but will be weaker. Similarly our armor is significantly reinforced, as has been the warding on the training area.”

“It's been tested?” I inquired.

“Of course, first on dummies, then upon myself. I even arranged for a priest, just in case something should go wrong.”

I didn't know if I should be reassured or worried. A healer on hand meant that there was no reason for him to hold back, but it also meant that I couldn't hold back. If something went wrong, it could go very, very wrong, and this seemed foolish to me.

“This still seems foolhardy,” I pointed out as I did the straps.

“If it bothers you so you may leave the firearm aside,” he finally answered, and I did appreciate that he was listening.

“I shall.”

“Very well, in that case you will need to demonstrate your proficiency later.”

I heard a chortle from the knight to the side and a sigh from the priestess as I picked up the practice sword.

“That sounds agreeable.”

Leaving the other weapon in the box and putting it to the side we took our places on the practice mat. It might have been reasonable to think he would take it easier on me since I was deliberately denying myself one of my weapons, but I knew better. If anything the Headmaster would only push harder, testing the very edge limits of what I could do.

At a motion from the observing knight we launched at each other. I would like to say that I won, that I'd grown enough to defeat the man who'd once so trounced me, but that would be a lie. At the first crossing of our blades it was clear he was still the superior here, the strike sending a wave up my arm. With a quick twist I brought the point of my weapon close to his chest, only for it to be parried away with contemptuous ease.

We fought again and again, parry, block, attack, counterattack, on and on. The practice weapons flashed as we struck, and were struck. I landed a few blows upon Headmaster Logan, but only a few here and there, quick moves into his guard where I could just hardly reach, but it was no war I could win.

I was better than I'd been, better than I'd ever been, but I was still a boy to him. My arms were shorter, reach lesser, movements slower, and I lacked the power the man I was fighting held. It would be years before I was yet fully grown. That wasn't all though, our headmaster was a master of his craft, with decades of experience that allowed him to exploit every weakness and no hesitation at all.

Standing before him my arms shook from the strain, sweat pouring down my head like a river. There were bruises, even under the armor, though I could tell he hadn't hit me as hard as he could have. In the end this was a test, not a beating, so he knew when and were exactly to push, and how hard. If I were less experienced I wouldn't have been able to tell, but now I could.

“Enough, you pass,” Logan finally declared, and I sunk to the floor.

“Thank you sir,” I said as I looked at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath.

“Ma'am see if you can get him back up and moving, I'd like to finish these tests today,” the headmaster said to the priestess, his voice taking on a gentleness I'd never heard directed at us.

She obliged, healing me, pumping me full of water and pickle juice (something I hated) and allowed the men to march me out to the shooting range. Of course our school had one of those as well, for guns were becoming ever more popular and even if few knights used them we were still expected to be familiar with them.

I did far better with the pistol than I had in the ring, nailing target after target. Some were thrown with a speed that would make pitchers on Earth weep in envy, some were stationary, but they broke one by one. A few did escape me, here and there, shots not led enough, angles I didn't expect, but I struck well over ninety percent of the various things we used.

And then it was done, I'd passed. As the others left Sir Kendrick came to my side.

“You know, if you had actually shot at him, it would have been a failure on your part,” he said.

“It would have been stupid, and needless,” I pointed out. “We don't use bombs at each other either.”

“That's why it would have been a failure, and you would have had to receive additional training.”

“Glad I didn't fail then, I'm quite busy enough.”

He laughed and patted my back. “We're always too busy. At least I can report to his Majesty that your training is proceeding well, enjoy your break Percival.”

The healing did wonders and while I was still tired that evening I was released to go home. Some of the students would stay for a day or two yet, for official graduations, or just the time it took for them to have arrangements made, but I had a place in the city, so I could leave promptly. Giving my goodbyes to my friends, and promises to meet up over the intervening season I got in a hired carriage and began my way back to Exion.

About halfway there the vehicle slowed to a stop and I felt something wash over me. A wave of drowsiness passed by and alarmed I grabbed the weapons I had on hand. Seldom did I now travel without both my cane and my pistol, and drawing them both I flew from the door, smashing it to bits as I prepared for violence.

“Peace,” a voice called out from the roadside, some hundred or so feet ahead, one I recognized. “I did not come here to fight you, but rather to talk.”