The academy was a wonder to behold, almost like an entire city within itself. From the dining halls to the dorms, and even the forest outside the walls, everything had a specific function. No expense was spared when the academy was built, and each person, be they noble or commoner, received lessons and a place to call home, albeit temporarily.
A month has passed, and Tyrus had already gotten accustomed to his life here. The halls, grand as they were, had been a maze to him at first. He had spent the first week mapping the place in his mind, often stumbling into rooms where he didn’t belong and nearly being marked as late to lessons after taking one too many wrong turns. Usually he'd made it a point to arrive early, but there were two problems he hadn't expected to bite him in the butt later: Augmentation Mastery and Sorcerer Combat I.
"Come on, you unrefined gems!" Instructor Geroth barked. "Don't tell me this is all you got?"
The hardened man stood on top of the raised platform—designated as an instructor's perch—looming over the students like a mother bear protecting her young cubs. Every student, wearing the restriction rings around their ankles and wrists, was pressed to the ground.
"Up, down, up, down!"
Whenever Instructor Geroth let out a roar, everyone else would quickly lift themselves off the ground in response to his command before descending back down with a resounding thud. A few students would groan with reluctance as they were instructed to rise, and a couple even ended up face planting into the ground when their arms couldn't fully extend to lift them up. The students' arms trembled like those of a newborn learning to walk, as they struggled to maintain their balance on their palms.
Tyrus was one of the few who had no problem with strength training. Compared to surviving in the wild for years and hunting for food on his own, this was child's play. His body, honed by necessity, moved with practiced ease despite the restriction rings that weighed down his limbs. Each push-up felt like a controlled exertion rather than a desperate struggle. While others gasped for air and faltered, he maintained his rhythm, his breaths steady and even.
That wasn’t to say it was easy. The restriction rings drained energy in a way that no natural hardship could replicate. It was like dragging invisible weights with every movement. Still, Tyrus had endured worse. The wilds had no mercy, and neither did Instructor Geroth, but Tyrus knew how to endure.
“Keep it up, Tyrus!” Instructor Geroth barked, his tone edged with both approval and a challenge. “You think you’re special because you’re not flat on your face like the rest of them? Let’s see if you’re still standing by the end!”
Tyrus didn’t respond, nor did he allow his expression to betray any emotion. He simply kept moving, letting the rhythm of the exercise drown out the instructor’s taunts. If the instructor wanted him to falter, he would be disappointed.
Nearby, a student named Elias—scrawny and short—let out a frustrated grunt as his arms gave out beneath him, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “I can’t,” Elias muttered, his face red with exertion.
“You can and you will!” the instructor replied, striding over to stare down at him. “Tell me, son, what is your number one goal in life?"
Elias looked up and hesitated before saying, "I... I want to be as big as you and be with a beautiful woman who would kill to be with me!"
Instructor Geroth threw his head back and cackled. "Hah! What a mighty fine dream! Alas, to achieve that goal, you must push through your limits to earn the finest woman in Dharmere. Push through, and that dream of yours will come true."
Elias' eyes sparkled with renewed vigor as he pushed himself back into his trembling arms. "Yes, sir!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
The room rippled with quiet laughter from a few students, but Instructor Geroth silenced them with a single glare. "Laugh if you want," he growled, "but dreams are what drive us to greatness. What are your dreams, hmm? Or do you not have any worth fighting for?"
The laughter died immediately, replaced by awkward silence. Tyrus kept his focus on the floor, his arms rising and falling in rhythm. He hoped that Instructor Geroth wouldn't pick on him to share his dreams out loud in front of the class. It wasn't that he was embarrassed about them, but more so that he had multiple. Picking which one to be more important than the other was the same as picking between which leg he favored. Although he used one more often, he required both to remain upright. His dreams were intertwined, each supporting the other, forming the foundation of who he wanted to become.
Still, having a dream of wanting to be friends with a beautiful woman was an odd one to have. Why not have a dream of becoming the strongest in the world, becoming an explorer, or even becoming a royal knight? Tyrus couldn't understand why Elias would choose something so... simple.
By the time Instructor Geroth reached the number thirty, many of the students had collapsed onto the floor, their arms trembling and bodies slick with sweat. Groans and labored breaths filled the room as some struggled to push themselves back up, only to fail again.
Only a handful remained, that being Tyrus, Aeithen, Elias, whose face was beet red, and a girl who was quite tall for her age. Her teeth were clenched and her eyes turned to steel as she continued, her expression churning despite the strain of the exercise. A few minutes passed, and the number fifty was shouted. The instructor then ordered everyone still left to rest, in which they complied immediately.
For the past month, Instructor Geroth had been pushing them through rigorous training, building their bodies through the Trials of Persistence, he called it. For an hour, they were focused on muscle training and stamina, forbidden from using augmentation to lessen its effectivity. He said the rings would benefit them in the long term and that it was important to learn to use their bodies without mana to assist them.
Elias plopped down beside him, wiping the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand. “I think my arms are about to detach and run away in protest."
“They’ll stay attached,” Tyrus replied. “You’re just not used to this yet.”
Elias groaned. “Used to this? Tyrus, you make it sound like we’re going to be doing this forever.”
Tyrus smirked faintly but didn’t answer. Elias was one of the new friends he had made over the month. Surprisingly enough, it was he who approached Tyrus, and it was all because of his little show on the first day of class. The boy was fascinated by how long Tyrus maintained augmentation, especially when others couldn't hold it longer for a minute. Elias even went as far to ask for any tips and secrets that could be shared to him.
There weren’t any secrets that Tyrus could offer, though. His ability to maintain augmentation wasn’t a matter of technique but of practice and the conditions he grew up in. What Instructor Geroth had them go through was nothing in the face of the brutal reality of surviving in the wild.
The stark difference between his life before the academy and his life now was like night and day. Before, he had to constantly stay on guard, eat every morsel he could find, and make sure no one discovered his secret. Now, he could have as much as he wanted, even if it was considered a delicacy for the rich. The structured lessons, the friends he made, the meals served three times a day—it was like stepping into an entirely different world. Yet, for all its comforts, the academy was still a test to overcome, a constant challenge to grow stronger and know more about sorcery.
"Alright, break's over," the instructor said.
More groans filled the air as everyone rose to their feet, arms hung to the sides like limp fish. They filed into a single row, watching with bated breath as Instructor Geroth paced back and forth, arms crossed as his gaze swept over each face.
"Now that warm-ups are finished, it's time to get straight to the lesson," he said.
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"Can we finally take these restriction rings off?" one of the students—a girl with short red hair—piped up.
Instructor Geroth shook his head and said, "They need to stay with you until the end of class. Only when I am confident in your abilities, can you take them off."
She groaned. "Pardon me, instructor, but isn't this Augmentation Mastery? We have yet to use augmentation once in this class! All we've been doing so far is working on our stamina and muscle training. If I wanted to do just that, I would've applied to join the city guard!"
"Valid point," he acknowledged, with a slight pause. "However, there is one small flaw. You see, in order to truly master something, you must first establish a solid foundation. Have you ever considered what happens to those who attempt to enhance frail bodies?" he asked, imitating an explosion with his hands, though not in a playful manner. "Believe me, becoming a cautionary tale is not something you desire."
"Each specialization has their own risks to take note of, and while augmentation seems like the most simple one, it is just as dangerous as the others. Remember: Overload your body, and you'll pop like a bubble."
Her shoulders slumped, and she muttered a resigned, “Yes, sir.”
Geroth clapped her on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. “That’s the spirit! Now, everyone, listen up! Today's lesson will now shift. You will now begin dipping your toes into augmentation. Now, let’s talk about the three basics: strength, speed, and stamina. Each one requires a different approach to mana flow. Pay attention, because this is where things get interesting.”
He raised his arms and began pointing, first at his arms, then legs, and motioning to his entire body. "Strength is straightforward. You’re channeling mana into your muscles to make them stronger. Speed is about directing mana to your legs and reflex pathways. You’re not just running faster; you’re reacting faster. Too much, and you’ll be tripping over yourself. And stamina is all about endurance. You’re spreading your mana evenly throughout your body, reinforcing every part. It’s subtle but vital, especially in prolonged fights."
The same girl raised her hand, her earlier frustration replaced by curiosity. “How do we know if we’re using too much mana?”
“Ah, excellent question!” Geroth said, pointing at her with a grin. “Your body will tell you—if you’re listening. Burning too much mana feels like trying to sprint uphill with a sack of rocks on your back. Either that or your mana heart will explode if you go over your limit. Not fun, is it? That is why your bodies must be strong to handle any strain."
"Now, to the nitty-gritty of augmentation. Who here knows how mana travels through your body?"
Tyrus raised his hand and said, "Through our vessels. Since mana is found in our hearts, the vessels carry mana throughout the body. That's what vessels do."
Instructor Geroth gave a nod of understanding. "Mana flows within the blood vessels, also known as mana pathways, in the case of sorcerers. These pathways transport your mana to any part of your body—be it your arms, legs, or even a single toe. If these pathways become blocked, strained, or poorly maintained, they can either burst or cause excruciating cramps, making you feel as though you've been pricked by countless needles. Therefore, it is crucial to have control and take proper care of your vessel. You must guide your mana with ease, akin to water flowing smoothly in a stream, rather than like a turbulent flood."
He stepped back, crossing his arms as he surveyed the class. “Here’s where things get tricky. Everyone’s mana channels are unique. Some of you might have wide, sturdy channels, able to handle a lot of flow. Others might have narrower ones, requiring more finesse. It’s up to you to figure out what works for your body.”
Elias raised a wobbly arm and said, “How do we figure that out?”
“Practice,” Geroth said with a dramatic sigh, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Trial, error, and a whole lot of patience. But! I’ll give you a starting point. Controlled breathing. Breathing isn’t just for staying alive—it’s the rhythm of your mana flow. Deep, steady breaths help you gather and direct your energy. Shallow or erratic breathing? That’s a recipe for disaster. Any questions?"
When no one spoke, he continued, "Good, because now it’s time to put theory into practice. You all have already used augmentation and appear to have a feel for it. Now, instead of augmenting the entire body, you will focus on one limb. Spread out and begin practicing!"
"Finally, we can take these stupid things off!" one student commented.
As most of the students removed the restriction rings, Instructor Geroth’s clearing throat was anything but subtle—a loud, theatrical ahem that echoed across the tower and froze the students mid-action. He crossed his arms and tilted his head, an exaggerated expression of mock disappointment on his face.
"I am sure I said those rings stay on until the end of class, or that I deem you ready without them."
Elias' face fell. "B-But, I can barely move with them on!"
“Barely moving means you’re working harder," the instructor said. "And working harder means you’re growing stronger. See how that works?” He stepped back and gestured to the restriction rings with a flourish. “These little beauties are your best friends, even if they feel like your worst enemies right now.”
Elias groaned, slumping his shoulders. “I’m not sure my body agrees.”
Geroth barked a laugh, clapping his hands together. “Well, your body doesn’t get a vote. Now, no more whining—let’s see some focus! One limb, people. Start channeling, even if it feels like blowing air through a clogged tube. Don't rush it, either—work at a pace that allows your body to become accustomed to your new vessel. Now, go!"
Doubt etched on their faces, they slowly shuffled away. Elias gave the instructor one final pained look before stumbling away to a spot.
Throughout the lecture, Tyrus had been long in thought, mulling over the teachings of the instructor and trying to put them into practice. Never had he thought of using augmentation for one limb before. Wasn't augmentation all about increasing someone's strength and speed as a whole? Augmenting his entire body had always been instinctual, an all-encompassing burst of power when he needed it most. Why bother isolating one part of the vessel? Wouldn’t that create an imbalance?
This is a royal knight we're talking about. He knows a lot more about augmentation than I do. Doubting his teachings would be stupid. There must be something crucial I'm missing.
He flexed his fingers absently, the restriction rings dragging on his movements like invisible chains. Tyrus flicked his eyes toward everyone else, watching them do the exercise. Some students wore furrowed brows as they focused on channeling mana into a single limb. Others looked frustrated, their glows flickering inconsistently or vanishing entirely in two seconds flat. Every time they tried to augment one limb, more sweat would appear, and their chests would heave with the effort to move it. It seemed the more they struggled, the worse it got.
Tyrus then looked over to his right; Aeithen stood near a Power Reflector Dummy. The Askelian had his eyes closed, his posture tall and at ease. A few seconds had passed before he slowly opened his eyes and raised his arm toward the dummy. He got into a stance Tyrus hadn't seen before: he stood sideways with his left leg forward and slightly bent and his right leg angled behind him, his weight distributed evenly.
With his right hand leveled near his torso and the other at his chin, Aeithen instilled mana into his left fist, forgoing augmenting the entire limb. The entire process took only a moment before Aeithen struck the dummy with the back of his left hand. The dummy shook, then fell backward as the cube in its cavity turned yellow. Aeithen pulled back, letting his hands fall to his sides as he calmly observed his work.
Instead of infusing mana into his entire left arm, he only focused it into a single, precise point: his fist.
The glow was subtle, concentrated, and far more efficient than the erratic bursts Tyrus had seen from the other students. Aeithen had channeled just enough energy to achieve his goal without wasting a drop.
That’s it, Tyrus realized. It’s not about doing everything at once—it’s about doing what’s necessary, exactly where it’s needed. He's wisely preserving his mana, using it only where essential. No wonder Instructor Geroth preached about control and preserving your vessel. If you waste energy trying to power everything at once, you’ll burn out before the real fight begins. But focusing it... that’s how you last. That’s how your chances of victory increases.
Tyrus clenched his fist, his thoughts filled with newfound possibilities as he hurried over to a Power Reflector Dummy. He positioned himself before the dummy, letting his breathing steady as he flexed his fingers. The restriction rings dragged on his limbs, but instead of fighting against the weight, Tyrus let it ground him, forcing his movements to slow and focus.
Inhale. Gather the mana. Exhale. Guide it.
He channeled his energy toward his right hand, keeping the flow concentrated. The glow began faintly, building gradually as he let it settle into his palm. It felt different—lighter, more controlled. Instead of the all-consuming energy of full-body augmentation, this precise enhancement left him feeling intensely sharp, as if honed to a keen edge.
Tyrus lifted his fist, mimicking Aeithen's posture. He steadied himself, firmly planting his feet and finding his balance. Taking a deep breath to center his focus, he delivered a precise punch to the dummy, making contact with a smooth and intentional motion. The dummy trembled, its enchantments activating as the cube within its hollow flickered between green and yellow before eventually settling on green. Gradually, the radiance faded into pale gray.
"That was... easier than I thought."