Volithur slept through dinner that day and didn’t wake until the wake-up call the next morning. As he devoured the rice porridge with toppings of tiny hard-boiled quail eggs, mushrooms, chives, and hot pepper flakes, the Sergeant called for their attention and announced that the thirty-second son was staying at the fifth household. That man’s son, a grandchild of the Lord General, would be joining them for sparring.
A collective groan met the announcement.
The Sergeant spoke over their complaints. “You know what he will want, so be sure to give it to him. Energetic, highly technical matches. Pull your punches, but don’t be obvious about it. If he hits hard, do not let yourself respond in kind. Take your lumps like a man and after you have reached your limit you are to surrender the match. Additionally, I expect all of you to dominate the militia members with hard rounds. We must be seen to be strong.”
Unspoken was ‘but not too strong’. The soldiers were simultaneously expected to be capable underlings and nonthreatening to their masters. From what Volithur had heard from the previous time nobles from the first household had visited, the soldiers took a lot of minor injuries and on occasion major ones. Broken limbs were to be expected when they had special visitors.
They filed outside to do morning exercises, which they then halted when a procession of figures arrived from the direction of the palace. The Sergeant had everyone bow and remain that way as the Marshal become recognizable among the other figures.
The Marshal cleared his throat. “Assembly, greet Master Aramar, the thirty-second son of the Lord General and his son, Master Dorian.” The man glowed bright enough to put any level six to shame. Volithur estimated he was at least level eight.
Everyone chanted out “Greetings, Master Aramar. Greetings, Master Dorian.”
“These masters will judge our readiness to serve the Lord General. Please separate into your experience level groups for sparring. The beginner group will be performing weaponless combat. The intermediate group will be engaging in spear combat. The advanced group will be sparring in airborne combat, which will include domain and weapons.”
“No,” Master Aramar interrupted. “First you will face off with my son in front of your men, Marshal. I have heard of your prowess from the Marshal of the first household. You are a master of the spear with a potent chaos bolt. I expect you to easily beat my son. If you cannot, or will not, then I will see that you are removed from your role.”
Volithur recognized the man’s son, Master Dorian, as the new member of his class from the previous day. Currently, Master Dorian stood at attention, glaring intently into the distance.
“Master Aramar…” began the Marshal.
“You have heard my demands, Marshal. Trainee Dorian, face your opponent. Your fight begins on my command.”
Master Dorian turned to face the Marshal. Though both of them glowed with the might of level six souls, the Marshal was the larger man by more than a little. The boy took a combat stance, feet planted, chin tucked, hands raised to shoulder level. A spear made of light manifested over his shoulder, levitating with its point aimed at his opponent’s heart.
The Marshal slowly turned to face the boy, and the reluctance on his face morphed into stoic acceptance. Master Aramar barked “begin!”
Events happened in rapid succession. The spear of light lurched forward. The Marshal’s body shot sideways several feet. Master Dorian snapped a foot out in a powerful kick. The spear spun and reoriented upon its target. The Marshal raised a hand and a pencil-thin beam of purple shot from his palm towards Master Dorian and then exploded, sending his opponent to the ground.
The spear of light puffed into sparkles that fizzled out as Master Dorian groaned from his place on the ground. “On your feet,” Master Aramar snapped, and his son hurried to stand, stumbling in his haste and barely managing to keep his feet.
“Excellent, Marshal. And now, to inspire your troops to work hard, the two of us will have a spar. I will be disappointed if you hold back, Marshal.” Master Aramar strode to where his son had fallen and took a stance. “Instead of a countdown, you have the first move, Marshal.”
The Marshal bowed deeply, then straightened. He stepped forward, drew his fist back dramatically, and threw a punch. At the same time, his other hand opened up to release a purple beam at point blank range.
The bolt struck Master Aramar’s aura and exploded. The fist struck the aura with the snap of breaking bones. Then Master Aramar struck out with a single elbow that knocked the Marshal unconscious. The noble pointed to the Sergeant. “Remove your superior from the field. His underlings should not see him in his current state.
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“To the rest of you, I say this. Become stronger. Your value to my father the Lord General is based on how much power you have. None of you meet my standard.” Master Aramar glanced pointedly at his own son. “None of you. These weaknesses must be addressed. Now line up across from a regular training partner. Start with hard weaponless sparring. Do not pull your punches.”
Thassily grabbed Volithur and the two of them started to train at their usual intensity. It took only five minutes for Master Aramar to descend upon them. “You two! What kind of amateur display is this?” The noble seized them with his domain and dragged them to face him on their knees. “A second level and a first level. What are the two of you, charity cases from the militia?”
“We are new wards, Master Aramar,” Volithur announced with a quick bow from his knees.
“Wards being trained as soldiers,” Master Aramar muttered. “I expect better effort from those shown such a kindness by my father.” He paused, staring at Volithur. “You look remarkably similar to a man I once knew. He was a steadfast warrior, unlike yourself.”
Master Aramar dragged his son over. “Dorian, you’re sparring these two.”
“Consecutively or in parallel, father?”
“In parallel, using only your left arm. Begin once they stand.”
Master Dorian’s hard eyes bored into them as he gestured impatiently for them to get up. Thassily gulped loud enough that Volithur heard him, then jumped to his feet and charged in with his hands up. Master Dorian shifted his feet with small steps to avoid each strike, then jumped in on a stiff jab to shatter Thassily’s nose.
Volithur had been charging forward a step behind his friend. He tackled Master Dorian, arms wrapping around waist as he dove, and an elbow to the back of his skull made the world go black for a few seconds. He came back to himself with a face full of grass and struggled upright.
Master Aramar had gone already. Master Dorian gazed down on them like they were raw sewage. “You reinforce my negative impression of this place.”
They were able to go back to their light sparring, though on occasion Thassily would spot attention directed their way and hit Volithur hard enough to send him to the ground. On those occasions, Thassily would apologize by offering a hand up. The kindness did nothing to alleviate his bruising.
Once the nobles lost interest, the Sergeant called a halt to their training and sent them to private time. Volithur started to enter the dining hall for his lesson, but the Sergeant told him not to bother. “Your private lessons are done for now. We won’t place you on the duty roster so you can have time to cultivate.”
The news didn’t have an immediate impact on his plans, since he felt certain he could make it to level three without problem. Still…. “Sergeant, will I be given further lessons once I improve?”
“I don’t know, Ward Harridan. Master Aramar has directed us to focus our attention on the most promising students. That is what we will do now. I cannot predict what guidance we will receive in the future, but… you should assume your privileges, other than the education, will be reduced.”
So Volithur showered, changed clothes, and sat outside to cultivate. He tried to start with his aura, but he didn’t have enough cosmic energy in his soul to get started after his advancement had drained him. So he began with mental cultivation, then halfway through was able to switch to his preferred method.
The entire time he worked at gathering energy, his body grew stiff and tender as the results of a morning of hard sparring became evident upon him. When he walked to the palace after lunch, his gait resembled that of an old man and his nose whistled every time he breathed.
He gratefully sat down in the back row of desks. Hazen flinched when he saw Volithur’s face, muttering something about ‘foolish fighters’. He received a few other strange looks, but most people never bothered glancing in his direction. He was mostly invisible.
Mostly. The arrival of Master Dorian proved that there were exceptions. The stern boy noticed him immediately and his face reddened in anger. Master Dorian stomped towards him as if intending to throw hands.
Volithur reacted in the least bad way he could formulate in his panic. He stood, bowed, and waited for whatever terribleness came his way with obedient passivity.
“What are you doing in this room?” Spittle from Master Dorian sprayed his face.
The Head Scribe attempted to salvage the situation. “Master Dorian, the Lord General specified that Ward Harridan receive an education.”
“No.”
Just that. One single word. The Head Scribe, expression panicked, cleared his throat. “Ward Harridan, you have learned enough that I consider your education complete. I request you leave the classroom at once and not return.”
Volithur bowed to Master Dorian, the Head Scribe, and the class in general, then turned to go without another word. He found himself tripped by a cord of power from Master Dorian. As he scrambled back to his feet, Master Dorian brought his knee up with fierce speed to contact Volithur’s ribs. He sprawled back to the ground.
The casual knockdowns continued as Volithur fled the room, his escape interrupted by constant injury. When he finally passed the threshold, Master Dorian called for him to stop and apologize to him.
As Volithur executed a wobbly bow, he caught sight of the faces that had minutes ago belonged to fellow students. Most of them seemed amused, but he caught some with a worse emotion. Pity. Because he was, indeed, a pitiable creature. The beautiful Rolanda looked like she wanted to run out to offer comfort.
“I humbly apologize, Master Dorian.”
“The two of us will spar again tomorrow morning.”