Tyrus stood off to the side, arms crossed and his wooden sword resting against his shoulder. Around him, the other students were paired off, attempting to practice the graceful, flowing movements of River Stance. The results were… less than impressive.

A boy with sandy blonde hair lunged forward with all the subtlety of a rampaging bull, his opponent scrambling to parry but nearly losing their grip in the process. The wooden blades clacked together awkwardly, and the clash ended with both students tripping over each other’s feet.

"Come on!" the sandy-haired boy shouted. "You’re supposed to counter, not just stand there like a statue!"

“I’m trying!” the other snapped, their face red with frustration.

Tyrus shook his head and turned his attention to another pair. A girl with curly black hair swung her sword in exaggerated arcs, each strike loud but painfully telegraphed. Her partner, a stocky boy, shuffled around as if he were wading through mud, barely managing to dodge before taking a wild swing of his own. It wasn’t clear who was leading or what they were trying to accomplish.

Across the room, two second-years—who should’ve been more skilled—were faring only slightly better. Their movements were faster, sure, but lacked the fluidity River Stance required. One leaned too far into their attacks, while the other kept retreating in a straight line, eventually bumping into the wall.

Tyrus sighed softly. Was that how I looked when I first held a sword? I can see why I couldn't win a fight with it.

It wasn’t that Tyrus thought of himself above them—not exactly. He simply couldn’t understand how so many of his peers struggled with the basics of balance and precision. River stance wasn’t about brute strength or speed; it was about flow. About reading your opponent and responding in kind, like water adapting to the shape of its container.

One pair near him finally caught his attention. A tall girl with auburn hair and sharp green eyes moved with more intent than the others. Her strikes weren’t perfect, but they were measured, and her footwork carried a faint echo of the stance’s principles. Her partner—a wiry boy with smooth skin—countered with surprising grace, though his movements were a little stiff.

“They might have some experience with swordsmanship,” Tyrus murmured, nodding slightly.

Mr. Chimp had been circling the sparring pairs like a predator stalking prey, his hands clasped behind his back and his sharp eyes darting from one student to the next. Occasionally, he’d pause to scrutinize a pair more closely, his expression a mixture of disdain and disappointment. After some barking and correcting later, he'd go on to his next victims, repeating the cycle.

The instructor would use his own legs to correct a student's form or stance, and the poor, unfortunate souls would yelp in pain. He also gave some students the opportunity to strike him with a quick attack. Those that even managed to get close were the ones with a bit of sword training, or even some fighting experience.

One pair caught his attention—a first-year boy lunging wildly at his partner, his strikes erratic and clumsy. Mr. Chimp stopped behind him, watching for a moment before his deep voice boomed across the room.

"Stop."

The boy froze mid-swing, nearly losing his balance as he stumbled forward. His partner, wide-eyed, lowered their sword hesitantly.

"Is that what you think river stance looks like?" Mr. Chimp asked, his tone cold and cutting. "Because I assure you, if you attempted that nonsense in a real fight, you'd be dead before you finished your first swing."

The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Chimp held up a hand to silence him. "Your footwork is abysmal, your strikes are predictable, and you look like you're trying to hack down a tree, not spar with an opponent. Do it again, and this time, use that pea-sized brain of yours."

Without waiting for a reply, Mr. Chimp moved on, his gaze now fixed on a pair near the center of the room. The auburn-haired girl and her wiry partner were doing better than most, but their movements were still too rigid. He stopped in front of them, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Not terrible," he said, his tone almost begrudging. "But not good either. River stance is about flow, not stiffness. You're thinking too much about your next move and not enough about adapting to your opponent. Loosen up, or you'll break like a brittle branch."

The girl nodded quickly, adjusting her grip, while her partner shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

What a harsh instructor, Tyrus thought. He could understand the instructor's intention, but the way he went about it left much to be desired. Every word of his was a blade, meant to cut and wound. It was particularly awful when that blade was used against a child, who are more vulnerable than adults. That man did not care in the slightest if there was a chance a student might quit because of his methods.

Tyrus sighed, about to watch another pair, only for rapid footsteps to catch his ear. He turned just in time to see a wooden sword swinging toward his head. He sidestepped the swing, watching the wooden sword dropping to the floor as he moved. Tyrus looked up to see Dasan preparing for another attack with a smirk on his face.

"That was just luck," he taunted. "You should be paying attention to your opponent instead of looking around with a stupid look on your face!"

Dasan stepped forward and swung his wooden sword with unnecessary force. His movements were stiff, and his overextension left him completely open. Tyrus sidestepped the blow with ease, his own movements fluid and controlled.

"You’re wide open," Tyrus muttered as he brought his wooden blade up in a simple, defensive arc, knocking Dasan's sword off its trajectory.

Dasan stumbled slightly but quickly recovered, his face flushing with frustration. "You just got lucky again!" he spat, tightening his grip and lunging forward. This time, he aimed for Tyrus's torso, swinging with brute strength instead of precision.

Tyrus calmly deflected the attack, stepping back just enough to avoid the full force of the blow. "Luck has nothing to do with it," he said, his voice steady. "You’re swinging wildly without thinking. If this were a real fight, you’d already be in trouble."

Dasan growled, his attacks becoming more reckless. He charged again, this time attempting to overwhelm Tyrus with a flurry of strikes. However, his inexperience was glaringly obvious—his strikes lacked rhythm, his grip was uneven, and he telegraphed every movement.

Tyrus, though only two and a half months into his sword practice, had spent that time honing the basics and understanding the importance of balance and precision. He sidestepped, parried, and redirected Dasan's blows, conserving energy with each motion. Every time Dasan attacked, Tyrus flowed around him like water, never wasting movement.

"Stop dodging and fight me properly!" Dasan snarled, his frustration boiling over.

Tyrus raised an eyebrow, his wooden sword still resting at the ready. "This is proper fighting," he said calmly. "You're the one ignoring what we’re supposed to be practicing. River stance isn’t about brute force—it’s about control and taking advantage of openings. You’re not giving me much of a challenge. I was just like you when starting out."

That last comment seemed to have done the trick. Dasan's face turned red with anger, and he charged again, only to overextend once more. This time, Tyrus stepped in close and lightly tapped Dasan's wrist with his blade, forcing him to drop his weapon. The wooden sword clattered to the ground, and Dasan froze, stunned.

"You’re too focused on attacking," Tyrus said, stepping back and lowering his blade. "You’re leaving yourself wide open every time. If you don’t learn to stay balanced, you’ll lose before the fight even starts."

Before Dasan could retort, Mr. Chimp’s sharp voice rang out. "What is this nonsense?"

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Both turned to see the instructor stalking toward them, his expression cold and stern. The room had fallen silent, yet all eyes had already shifted to the unfolding scene because of Dasan's shouting.

Good, it looks like everyone was paying attention to the fight. Everyone is going according to plan.

"You," Mr. Chimp said, his tone laced with irritation directly at Dasan, "you fight like a drunken bear. Flailing about with no strategy or discipline will get you killed—or worse, humiliated in a sparring match, as you just were."

Dasan’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He picked up his wooden sword with trembling hands, his face a mixture of anger and embarrassment. His ego was definitely bruised after losing like that. If he was smart, he'd realize his mistakes and fix them, but Tyrus knew from experience that the boy didn't seem the brightest. Perhaps now he'd know how far the gap between them was and decide to leave him alone. Forever.

"As for you," Mr. Chimp said, turning to Tyrus. "It appears you have some semblance of sword training. Quite surprising, I will say. Yet your movements reek of arrogance over your opponent. I'll be sure to knock that out of you over the coming months."

Tyrus resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and merely nodded and watched the instructor stalk away.

"Reset your positions," Mr. Chimp barked. "Practice properly, or you’ll both be running laps until the moon rises next class!"

Dasan reluctantly took his place again, his grip tightening on his weapon. Tyrus inhaled deeply and adjusted his stance, this time focusing on the flow of his movements instead of proving a point. As they squared off once more, the tension between them remained, but the lesson was clear: mastery required discipline—and neither of them was there yet.

***

Sorcerer Combat ended in a not so good fashion. Almost everyone was panting heavily, their brows glistening with sweat, as they leaned against the wall or lay sprawled on the ground. Tyrus and Igneal stood slightly apart from the others, noticeably less exhausted and relatively clean and dry.

Igneal scowled and said, "As I expected, this class is nothing special. I have been practicing with the sword ever since I could hold a sword. There is nothing to learn when I have already been taught by experts."

"You could always ask the headmaster or Mr. Chimp to ascend to a higher class," Tyrus suggested.

Igneal looked at him weirdly. "...Mr. Chimp?"

"You don't see the resemblance. Doesn't Instructor Malvil's face look like a chimp? Even the hair and nose are the same!"

"A crude description, but I do see the resemblance."

"Anyway, if you ask, I'm sure they'll move you up," Tyrus continued. "That's what Instructor Alveria said she will do for me. Apparently, Elemental Mastery is reserved for Fledgeling Sorcerers or those near that level in terms of skill. Since I have four branches and know silent casting, she deemed it better for me to rise up."

Igneal's expression was a mixture of surprise and disgust. "My skills are not those of a Fledgeling Sorcerer. If what you say is true, then there is no reason for me to participate in that class."

Just then, a bell rang, signaling the end of class. The other students reluctantly rose from their spots, stretching and exchanging tired looks. Tyrus looked at the exit. "I have Augmentation Mastery now. See you later."

"Wait," Igneal said, pausing for a moment. "What you did back there... That was intentional. You deliberately picked the center of the tower, ensuring that all eyes were on your fight. You purposely provoked that feeble opponent and goaded him into attacking you, all to embarrass him in front of everyone."

Tyrus chuckled. "Was it that obvious? Well, I wasn't trying to humiliate him. I needed someone to serve as an example to not look down at me and he so happened to be the perfect choice. At first, I thought of choosing you to make a point, but—"

His voice trailed at the thought of what might have happened if he had chosen Igneal. "I realized that might not be the smartest decision. You wouldn't take it lightly, and let's be honest, sparring with you would have been an actual challenge. But that guy? He was easy, and I knew he wouldn't pass up a chance to puff his chest in front of everyone."

Igneal crossed his arms, his gaze sharp. "You preach my personality is terrible, yet you flaunt your skills in front of everyone."

"Our situations were different," Tyrus shrugged. "Anyway, good luck with whatever you're doing next."

With that, Tyrus turned and walked toward the exit, leaving Igneal standing in place, his expression unreadable. As the students began shuffling out of the tower, Igneal muttered under his breath, "He does have a point. I don't belong to these beginner classes. If he can ascend, then so can I."

Tyrus left Igneal alone to his mumbling and went straight for the exit. Mr. Chimp stood by, watching the students leave with a critical eye. He spared Tyrus not a single glance as he strode past.

It didn't take Tyrus long to locate his next class, Augmentation Mastery, since it was held a few towers down the path. While he still had half an hour until the lesson began, it would still be best to arrive early. There was no harm in getting to know the instructors beforehand if they were already in their rooms.

Also, since Sir Geroth—or Instructor Geroth—was teaching now, Tyrus had been wanting to meet him again for a while now. Grant's father was one of the better people he had met, and Tyrus didn't mind talking with him. Throughout their interactions, he seemed like a nice man. Though he could be quite boisterous at times, the knight was kind and thoughtful.

As Tyrus expected, he was the first to arrive at the tower. However, while all the towers had the same outward appearance and probably the interior as well, this one differed significantly from Sorcerer Combat. There were still the weapon racks and Power Reflectors, but this tower had a sense of order and meticulous care that was absent in the previous one. The racks were polished to a mirror shine, each weapon perfectly aligned and gleaming as though freshly forged, and several training dummies stood upright, their armor pristine and unscuffed.

Up a small set of stairs and up the platform, a bunch of chests were open, its contents almost spilling all over the floor. Tyrus recognized orbs, metallic bands, and many trinkets and items he'd never seen before.

"Aha! I knew you'd come!"

Tyrus flinched at the voice that echoed all around him. Looking up, his jaw slightly parted open at the sight. Metal poles dug within the walls, each one deliberately placed all around, rising until it reached the top. Each of those poles had a platform big enough to fit a man, and at the end were tightropes that led to the other platforms.

What caught him off-guard wasn't the odd display, but Instructor Geroth dangling off a pole near the top. With a grunt, he swung his body upward, pulling himself to the platform where the pole connected. Unbothered by the height, the man waved at him with a grin and simply jumped off the platform. The man's feet touched the ground with a loud thud, shaking the earth slightly.

"Well, if it isn't young Tyrus!" Geroth boomed. "You're early, lad! I like that! Shows initiative. Shows you’re ready to put in the work!"

Tyrus couldn't help but smile at the man's infectious enthusiasm. "I figured it’d be good to get here ahead of time. I didn’t want to miss anything."

"Good, good! That’s the spirit!" Geroth strode over, clapping Tyrus on the shoulder with enough force to nearly knock him off balance. "Welcome to Augmentation Mastery, the finest class you’ll ever attend at this academy. Of course, I may be a bit biased, but I’m not wrong!"

Tyrus nodded, rubbing his shoulder. "It definitely looks more organized than Sorcerer Combat."

"Organized, disciplined, and rigorous," Geroth said with pride. "We don’t just train here, Tyrus; we transform. Every student who walks through these doors becomes stronger, faster, sharper. And I don’t just mean in body, lad. Augmentation is about pushing your very essence to its limits. You’ll learn to enhance not just your strength, but your reflexes, your endurance, and even your mind."

"Sounds intense."

"It is intense!" Geroth's grin widened, his energy somehow increasing. "And that’s why it’s the best. I expect you to give me everything you’ve got, Tyrus. While our interactions have been short and minimal, I've heard a lot about you from my son! And going by your display in the physical exam, I can say with confidence that you and I will enjoy ourselves a lot here."

Tyrus's cheeks turned pink at the compliment. "I'll make sure not to disappoint you, then."

Geroth roared with laughter and patted Tyrus on the shoulder, this time with less force. "Don't worry about disappointing me, lad," he said, his grin widening. "Just focus on learning what I have to teach, and you won't regret it. Augmentation might sound simple—infusing the body with mana to strengthen your attacks or defenses. But there's a lot more to it than that. There's a lot more you can do with augmentation and I'm here to show you the way."

Tyrus pointed at the poles and platforms above them. "Does it involve dangling on tightropes for three hours straight?"

"A good idea I haven't thought of, but no. Once class begins, I'll explain what augmentation is and what we will be doing in the coming months. For now, go and familiarize yourself with the equipment and practice as we wait. If you have any questions, don't be afraid to... Oh? Another early bird?"

Tyrus followed his gaze to the entrance and saw a familiar bronze-skinned person walking forward with an air of quiet confidence. Sharp eyes scanned the room as though assessing every corner and piece of equipment. His angular face was calm but held an intensity that made him stand out. Tyrus felt a flicker of recognition—this was Aeithen, if he remembered his name correctly.

Aeithen’s gaze finally settled on Instructor Geroth, and he offered a slight bow, his movements fluid and practiced. "Yasaluh," he said with a heavy accent. "I hope my early arrival does not inconvenience you."

"Inconvenience me? Ha! Not at all. I respect anyone who’s eager to learn. What’s your name?"

"Aeithen Sahrfur from the Scarlet Sands," he replied simply.

The instructor strokes his chin. "Askelian, eh? That explains the accent. Welcome to Augmenation Mastery, Aeithen. While you wait, why don’t you join Tyrus here? Familiarize yourself with the equipment and with each other while we wait for the others. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must finish the inspections!"

Instructor Geroth made a powerful leap and quickly grasped the closest pole, effortlessly ascending with the agility and swiftness of a monkey. He vanished into the upper platforms, his enthusiastic humming resonating through the room.