“The year 767 was a year of sorrow for the entirety of Ceraviehl. Our esteemed founder, Gornatius Siti, passed away due to his advanced age. The great founder not only invented the first spell, but also taught hundreds of people what it meant to be a Mage.

We owe it solely to him and his research that thousands of practitioners have broken through to the stage of a User. Whereas the Guild was nothing but a small organization back then, it now has turned into a place of knowledge and community for Mages all over Ceraviehl. May the gods bless his soul.”

Excerpt from On the History of the Guild of Mages, written by Archmage Andrew Dross

It had been less than half a fortnight ago when Silas had agreed to be Tom’s apprentice, yet Silas already regretted his decision.

Tom hadn’t even started teaching him magic. “You need to learn the basics first,” the old man had said. And what was Silas doing now? Stabbing the air like an idiot. Spear held firmly in both hands, his whole body was drenched in sweat.

Short thrust, back. Long thrust, back. The two different thrusts didn’t differ that much from each other, Silas had learned. While the left hand stopped at the pelvis doing a short thrust, it extended all the way to the armpit when doing a long thrust.

After every thrust, the spear reverted to the basic position, which according to Tom, meant holding the spear by the waist and keeping the tip at eye level.

At the beginning, Silas had sometimes made the mistake to lower the spearhead after thrusting. The result had been a non-so gentle pat on the head with Tom’s staff. Silas had quickly learned his lesson. Pain was a very unforgiving teacher.

Tom stood off the side, leaning on his staff and watching Silas with a calm expression. The old man would sometimes strike at him without warning. “To test if you have learned your lesson.”

Silas knew he was lying. He simply liked hitting him. Silas could see it in the twinkling of Tom’s grey eyes every time he “tested him”.

Tom’s right hand holding the spear abruptly shot out, and he opened his mouth as if to say something. Silas tensed up, expecting another one of his tests. But the old man simply closed his eyes, yawning loudly.

Silas fumed inside. Tom even had the audacity to cock an eyebrow when Silas glanced at him with obvious anger.

“You seem a bit worked up, is something the matter?” Tom drawled.

“No, master,” Silas huffed.

That was another thing. The first thing Tom had told Silas was to address him as “master” or “master Tometheor”. Perplexed, Silas had asked him if that was necessary since Silas could just call him Tom.

“No,” Tom had said.

“Why not?” Silas had inquired.

“Wouldn’t you like to be called master as well?”

Silas hadn’t known what to respond to that. At least the food was good.

“Do another thirty thrusts, I’ll prepare lunch. And don’t think you can trick me, I have eyes on my back, you know,” Tom stated.

“Yes, master,” Silas replied obediently. A few days ago, he would have had laughed at that.

Now, he knew it to be true. Yesterday, he had been practicing while Tom had been cooking supper. Seeing how the old man had his back turned, Silas had tried to skip a dozen thrusts. Tom, without turning around, had then told Silas the exact amount of thrusts he had actually done.

“Since you obviously need to practice counting as well, start from zero again, why don’t you?” Tom had told him.

Silas wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He focused on his breathing as he completed the exercise. Thrust, breathe out. Pull back, breathe in. After lunch, the two of them went to a nearby creek to wash themselves before getting their gear and heading back into the woods. Gnarly immediately dove into the clear water, emerging a few feet downstream. “Creak!”

The creek was one of the many junctions from the Crystal river, the biggest river in Ceraviehl. Originating from the mountain range to the east, it flowed down towards Bryme and passed the Capital after a few hundred miles. The river eventually ended somewhere in the Marshlands far to the west, separating itself into countless smaller streams.

“The first thing you need to learn about hunting is how to walk silently,” Tom began. “Being a hunter is all about striking before the prey takes notice of your presence. Ever heard of the ranger’s step?” Silas frowned and shook his head. “It’s a technique to reduce noise when walking. I expect you to use this technique whenever you’re out in the forest. Which from now on, is all the time. Understood?“ Silas nodded hesitantly.

“I will only explain this once, so listen carefully,” Tom said, gesturing Silas to imitate him. “You start by bending your knees and shifting all of your weight onto your left leg. Then slowly put the right foot forward, placing it on the ground with the outer ball of your foot first. Afterwards you roll into the inner side of your foot, finishing the step with your heel,” Tom demonstrated. “If done right, not even a rabbit will be able to hear you sneak up on it. And they have pretty good ears.”

Of course it was about rabbits. Silas could already imagine the old man stalking the poor animals through the woods to strangle them with his bare hands.

Silas had listened attentively to Tom’s description, but the walking method was harder than it looked. Starting each step with the ball of your foot instead of your heel felt awkward, and it took Silas quite a bit of time to get used to. Apart from that, constantly putting all of your weight on one leg for every step you took was very exhausting.

“It’s not easy to learn, but once you get it, you will never forget it. It’s like shooting a bow,” Tom stated.

Silas’ mouth opened slightly. “Will you also teach me how to shoot a bow, master?”

Shooting a bow was something that had always fascinated him. The vibrating hum the bowstring made, that intense moment of focus before releasing. Although he had only done it a few times, Silas hoped he’d get the chance to really learn it.

“Yes,” Tom responded. “In fact, you are going to start training this evening.”

Silas' eyes went wide, and he had to stop himself from giggling. All of a sudden, staying with the old and grumpy man didn’t seem so bad anymore. Silas could hardly wait to start his training, a light spring in his step.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

A pat on his head shook him out of his daydreaming.

“You are making more noise than a Chimera, so watch your step!” Tom hissed at him. “We are supposed to be hunting, not dancing around!”

Glaring at Tom out of the corner of his eye, Silas concentrated on his steps. Tom abruptly stopped and gestured in front of him. A dozen or so tracks covered the ground before them.

“Which animal do these tracks belong to?” Tom asked Silas while keeping his voice low.

Silas shrugged his shoulders.

“Derots,” Tom stated. “See these small holes in the ground? That’s where their claws dug in,” he said, forming a three-fingered claw with his hand. “While one Derot is hardly a real danger, a whole pack is another thing entirely. If a couple of them reach you, you’re in serious trouble.”

“I understand, master,” Silas replied.

For a few hours, the two of them continued to walk through the dense woods. More than once, Silas broke a twig under his foot, earning him a stare from Tom. While Silas could do well without the hits on the back of his head, he was also surprised at how much the old man could read out of a single footprint.

With time, walking with his ball first became easier for Silas, although he still had to concentrate to avoid making too much noise. Meanwhile, Tom did not even need to look at the ground. The old man was completely silent, not a single sound betraying his presence. Silas followed his master closely to not lose sight of him.

They eventually stopped in front of a small plant with green-rimmed, fleshy leaves.

“This one is called Eastern Mantle,” Tom explained. ”It grows in almost any forest, and the sap of their leaves has antiseptic properties. It means it’s good against infection,” he added after seeing Silas confused look. “The name comes after their soft and thick oval leaves that seem to embrace the whole plant. Wring the leaves to extract their sap and then soak your bandages in it to speed up the healing process.”

Silas nodded, committing the image to memory. His master was not someone who liked to repeat himself, and Silas’ back head already hurt from all the “testing” Tom had done earlier.

Master and apprentice soon got back to the cabin, Silas’ legs wobbly from practicing the Ranger’s step. The old man disappeared into the cabin for a moment, emerging with a small recurve bow, a quiver and a weird-looking glove.

“Before shooting a bow, you need to learn how to string and unstring it. Watch closely.”

Silas observed with anticipation, holding his hand out when Tom had finished his demonstration. The bow was smaller than Tom’s, and its ends were curved elegantly. Completely made out of one piece, its limbs had the color of a light black. Oval-shaped patterns decorated the smooth-looking grip in the middle.

The patterns had different shades of brown and green which came together in a mesmerizing display of beauty. Looking at the work of art in his hands, Silas had a little tingling in his stomach. It reminded him of that one time where Isolda had kissed him, back in Bildsfell.

Carefully imitating Tom’s technique, Silas unstrung and strung the bow again. He struggled a bit at first, but managed to do so without one of its limbs slapping his arms or legs. The bow was surprisingly light, and he immediately put one finger on the draw string.

“Stop,” Tom broke in. “You never want to dry fire, since the bow needs an arrow to properly release the build-up tension. Apart from that, always use protection for your fingers. While you may not feel it immediately, prolonged shooting without it can lead to serious harm,” he cautioned Silas.

“I understand, master,” Silas replied in his most obedient tone. “Can you teach me how to shoot now?”

Grunting, Tom handed him the odd-looking leather gloves. They only covered three fingers, leaving the little finger and thumb open. Apparently, this was to ensure the flexibility of your hand while still protecting your fingers.

“Above the grip is a small carving called the arrow rest. As you may have guessed already, this is where you put each arrow before firing.”

Pulling an arrow out of the quiver, Tom laid it on the rest of his bow. “Draw the arrow to your anchor point, which tends to be your cheek. Look at the target before you release, and try to keep your hand as still as possible.”

The arrow embedded itself with an audible thud in the wall of the shed, the fletching vibrating for a moment before coming still.

“Your turn.”

Finally. Silas pulled the first arrow out of the quiver.

“I want you to put an arrow within an inch of mine. Put one finger above the string and two below. Remember to not aim with the arrow, but point at your target.”

“Yes, master,” Silas responded, already pulling the first arrow out of the quiver beside him.

His fingers tingled with anticipation. Putting the arrow on the string, he started to slowly draw the bow. To his disappointment, the arrow didn’t even land close to its mark. In fact, he barely hit the wall of the shed. His second try was even worse, as Silas’ hand somehow slipped while drawing. The arrow fell to the ground in front of him, the string almost slapping his lower arm.

Sighing, Silas shook his right arm to loosen it up. He already felt the strain, so he retrieved the arrows and put them back into the quiver.

“The good thing is, there is a lot of room for improvement,” Tom declared. The boy flinched.

“Your stance and posture need some work. First of all, always stand perpendicular to your target, and put an equal amount of weight on both feet,” the old man said.

“Perpen what?” Silas asked with confusion.

“Perpendicular,” Tom enounced slowly. “In this case, it means the outer edge of your right foot points towards your target instead of your toes. This way you can’t lose balance after shooting,” he explained. Tom then corrected Silas’ posture, straightening his back with a few pats.

“Try again.”

Taking a deep breath, Silas pulled another arrow from the quiver. He nocked it, paying attention to keep his back straight.

“Draw the arrow towards your chin and keep your eyes on the target, not the arrow.”

Silas pulled the arrow as far as he could without losing control and closed one eye to aim. He released and the arrow spun towards the shed, coming to a stop near Tom’s arrow.

“Creak!” Gnarly imitated the motion of drawing and releasing an arrow from atop Silas’ shoulder, creaking again as the imaginary arrow flew through the air.

A proud smile formed itself on Silas’ face. His arrow wasn’t that far off from the one Tom had shot. He turned his head to glance at his master. The old man looked at him expressionlessly. The two stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment.

“How did I do, master?” Silas eventually asked.

“You successfully shot the wall without hurting yourself,” Tom replied in a deadpan voice. “But never close one eye to aim. You’re a human, not a Cyclops.”

“But master, many people close one eye before shooting! I have even seen hunters do it,” Silas argued.

“Watch.” Hefting his bow, the old man pulled five arrows out of the quiver, holding them in the same hand he held the bow with. A couple of branches lying around suddenly flew towards the wall of the shed.

Then, the old man started shooting.

He was so fast Silas could hardly follow the movement of his hands. One after the other, the arrows struck the flying branches, nailing them to the wall of the shed with an audible thud. Silas barely had time to open his mouth before the last of the arrows was fired.

“Don’t trust in what other people do, trust your instincts. Most people are idiots, anyway. Closing one eye gives you an illusion of better aim, while in reality, all you’re doing is handicapping yourself,” Tom explained.

“But I do aim better with one eye!” Silas replied stubbornly.

Sighing, Tom picked up two hand-sized stones from nearby.

“I want you to throw this stone at the tree over there,” he said, pointing at a large oak standing to the right of the shed.

Silas frowned, not understanding what Tom was getting at. He threw the stone, hitting the tree without problems.

“Now do it again, but close one eye,” Tom said, handing the second stone to Silas.

Taking a second to aim, Silas threw the second stone. This time the stone missed the tree by a few feet, landing to the left of it.

“Closing one eye does not make your aim better. You will also have noticed how you didn’t need to look at the stone to throw it at your target. The same goes for archery. Don’t look at the arrow, look at where you shoot. Your body knows what to do, so trust it. Concentrate on your target, and the arrow will follow. While closing one eye may seem like a good option at first, it’s a bad and dangerous habit to develop,” his master lectured him. “Apart from ruining your balance, you’re also limiting your field of vision. Which is not something you should ever do, especially not in a battle.”

Maybe the old man had a point. Also, getting shot because he couldn’t dodge an incoming arrow because he had closed one eye would be a really dumb way to die.

“I understand, master,” Silas said.

Tom nodded, holding out his hand to retrieve the bow he had given Silas.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to practice more tomorrow,” Tom told him after seeing Silas’ hesitation to give the bow back. “From now on, you will practice with both spear and bow while also joining me hunting from time to time.”

While joining the old man on his personal vendetta against rabbits wasn’t something Silas was overly excited about, shooting the bow had always been something he’d wanted to learn properly. He’d just have to endure his master’s antics in the meantime.