The training grounds were not what Snowflake had envisioned. There were scant few things he would consider mystical or useful in mastering the arcane arts. To say it paled compared to the Academy where he learned magic back home would be a generous conclusion. The Academy had an arcane maze, brimming with dark secrets, ancient texts, and dangerous opportunities. This was a sectioned field, more akin to a playground than a learning center.
It was a large, mostly grassy area separated into uneven parts. A multi-tiered obstacle course dominated most of the field. Snowflake was sure his warrior minded acquaintances back home would have adored it. Off to one side was a small, sandy arena. Given how deadly a misfired spell could be, it seemed impractical at best.
To the other side was a practice range. This Snowflake approved of. Spells needed rigorous testing. It looked very similar to the gun range in the Armory, filled with dummies of various materials and ringed by a sturdy wall.
Snowflake felt himself smiling as he imagined the havoc he would wreak on those unsuspecting practice dummies. It would be glorious.
He glanced around again, searching. His smile dimmed. He thought his first impression might be wrong, but the only thing magical he could see was a small covered alcove off to the side. It featured more of those moving images.
“Honey!” Angosin called out, leading Snowflake toward a figure standing in the sparring area.
As they drew closer, the figure resolved into a woman wearing close fitting black and grey clothes with white trim. She was short and lean, but Snowflake would be hard pressed to describe her as slight or slender. Standing there, she radiated strength, confidence, and grace. Her muscles rippled as she shifted her weight. She had dusky brown skin and what appeared to be white war paint. Her hair was long, straight, and black, contained in a loose braid hanging over one shoulder. It has two thick, white streaks that aligned with her war paint to make them appear continuous and connected.
Her reply was curt and clipped.
“Angosin.”
“Snowflake,” Angosin said. He seemed unaffected by her aggressive stance or unfriendly tone. “This is Honey, your chief instructor. She is the Guild’s one and only [Kinetic Battlemage]! A true paragon of taking multiple classes and consolidating them into something better. Honestly, I think it is a waste to split your focus. Instead, I advocate for dedicating yourself to a single path and following it to the end. However, she is living testimony that some people can make it work. Let it be said that I can admit when I am wrong.”
This time her voice was more growl than anything.
“Angosin.”
“Oh, right.” Angosin nudged Snowflake. “Don’t ask anyone their Class or Classes. If they volunteer the information, that’s fine. Think of it like Unique Skills. Some people can be sensitive if they’ve chosen to gamble on ranking up or consolidating generic classes instead of holding out for a rarer one. There isn’t anything wrong with the strategy per se. I myself have a generic, low-level class, but-“
“Enough,” Honey strode over to Snowflake and reached her hand out to grasp his. “My name is Honey and we have a lot of work to do.”
“Snowflake,” he introduced himself and did his best to return her firm handshake. “I understand you will teach me how to use magic?”
She must have sensed the doubt in his words because her grip went from firm to crushing. Her expression did not waver.
“I will teach you how to defend yourself and use the basic cantrips.” Her deep brown eyes bore into his as if searching for something. “My job is to make sure you have the tools you need to be an asset to the Guild. No more, no less.”
Snowflake wilted under Honey’s intensity.
“Don’t worry about her,” Angosin’s stage whisper cut through the tension. He left much to be desired in terms of subtlety, but Snowflake was grateful as Honey’s unwavering stare broke away from his. “She isn’t exactly the Guild’s biggest fan. If she wasn’t so competent there is no way they would leave her near newly arrived Awakened. That said, she takes this job seriously and between her and Mordai you’ll be in fighting shape in no time.”
“Who is Mordai?” Snowflake whispered back. He considered whether he should try to wrangle his hand free of Honey’s grip. Thankfully, she let go before he could build up the courage.
“My co-instructor.” Honey’s expression furrowed into a scowl as she changed focus to Angosin. She glanced back at Snowflake. “He is training your classmates on Core and Class theory at the moment. Like I said, we have a lot of work to do. Your Guild evaluation is in less than a month and you are already behind.”
“That’s my cue,” Angosin said, beaming at Honey and Snowflake. “Good luck, Snowflake. I will give your problem some thought and get ahold of you in a few days!”
Snowflake gave him a halfhearted wave goodbye. With each new encounter, things seemed to get further and further from his platonic ideal of learning magic. Out of habit, he reached up to his shoulder to touch his cloak. When things got rough, the cloak of the man who murdered his family would always remind him why he was forcing himself to-
Oh, right. The cloak was gone. His former life was a lie.
“Prepare yourself,” Honey said, unslinging a belt from her waist. Two single-bladed swords hung from it. They curved in, with the blade near the tip being thicker and wider; a pair of heavy chopping blades. If he had to guess, he would say they were an oversized pair of kukris. Swords had never been his strong point.
Disarmed, Honey settled into a fighting stance and stalked closer.
“Um, should we go over those basic cantrips first or…?” Snowflake took several steps back from his combative instructor. He reached for his magic and- Nothing. The blunt reminder cut at him.
With a heavy heart, he raised his hands into a rough approximation of a fist-fighting stance he saw once. Having a boxing match with a dangerous-looking woman bearing the title of [Kinetic Battlemage] was low on his list of things he would enjoy on a normal day. Today, he felt as though he had already endured his fair share of beatings. Both emotional and verbal. He had no desire to gain the trifecta.
Ignorant or uncaring of Snowflake’s internal dilemmas, Honey advanced. She quickened her approach, circling closer.
“When your weapon breaks,” she said. “Skills fail, and magic runs dry, your body will be the only thing that stands between you and death.”
That rang true to Snowflake. Without his magic, he was helpless. He was alone here. Powerless.
Snowflake envisioned a flame in his mind and fed his helplessness to it. He would learn magic in this new world, forge himself anew, and repay his debt to the goddess.
Memories of a promise rose to the forefront of his mind. In soft tones, meant only for himself, he repeated the words he had said that day.
“I will overcome, even if the gods, or reality itself, stand in my way,”
He gritted his teeth, hardened his heart, and prepared himself. The most powerful being in his old world, strange mystical women aside, had died at his hand. They formed armies at his call. Vast and ancient beings bound themselves to his will. Even without magic, he would be damned before he gave up without a fight.
Thinking fast, he reached up and pulled his satchel from his shoulder. Honey’s eyes followed the movement. Her expression was one of smug confidence. She was at ease.
Snowflake made to fling the bag off to the side, mimicking the way Honey had flung away her swords. With a flick of his wrist, he whipped the bag around by its strap and tossed it in her face. He rushed in behind it, a half-formed plan in his mind.
She swatted the bag down with ease. Her stance looked balanced and ready to move; her face, unimpressed. Still running, he flicked his left hand toward her eyes as fast as he could. It was a feint. She would blink and he would duck down to lift her off her feet. From what he understood of Angosin’s brief lecture on chemical energy, she would be many times stronger than him despite her small stature. However, he was still bigger and heavier.
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He ducked down, arms outstretched to grab her legs and hug them to his chest. Once he got her to the ground, he would use his superior mass to-
Honey put her hands on his back and used his own unbalanced momentum to drive him straight into the dirt.
She took a step back and waited for him to rise.
“Odd,” she said, as if examining a strange bug. “Most Awakened had some sort of martial accomplishment in their past life. Were you a scholar? Did you weather the conflicts of your world from an isolated monastery somewhere?”
Sprawled on the ground, Snowflake bristled at the insults. He had lived a life of strife and upheaval! Just because he had no skill in unarmed combat did not mean he was some sort of sheltered wastrel. The words stung, and the bored, dispassionate inflection of her tone made the bite of them that much sharper.
He wasted no time in getting back to his feet and squaring off against her. Thoughts of defending his incompetence flashed through his mind, but he dismissed them. Excuses would make him seem weaker. Besides, despite his irritation, he needed to make a good impression. This person was going to help him regain his magic, once he convinced her wrestling in the dirt was a waste of time.
Doing his best to recall the fist fights he had witnessed in the past, he advanced on her with his hands raised.
“Do we truly need to do this? I wish to learn magic, not fisticuffs.”
He bobbed left and right, throwing punches. She danced out of the way with ease. Desperate to add more strength and speed to his strikes, he rolled his shoulder into them, like he’d seen brawlers do.
“Oh, a mage,” she said, her upper lip curling into a sneer. “Why learn how to fight when you can look down at the world from your tower?”
Snowflake huffed at that. The Emperor had looked down upon a suffering world from his tower, not him! He had brought that tower crumbling down around his arrogant ears.
Headless of Snowflake’s indignation, Honey toyed with him like a cat with a mouse. Using deft touches of her hand, she would push him off balance or stop his swings before they could fully form. She did not strike him. Instead, she would give him light but noticeable taps where she could have hit him. Three times she slapped him across the face with her open palm. It was embarrassing and degrading.
Snowflake’s fury rose. His chest heaved like a bellows and his face flushed with shame and anger.
Frustrated, he tried his initial strategy again. He lessened the force of his punches, knowing that they would never hit. Instead, he threw as many light punches at her face as he could, to obscure her vision.
More balanced and prepared for her response, he once again ducked down to sweep her off her feet. Honey’s knee rose to meet his face.
***
“Come on, let’s go.”
Snowflake woke up with a jolt. Far above he could see a blue sky that felt far too vast. The clouds were too far away and- Well, he was no expert on the sky so he was having a hard time pointing out what was wrong, but it felt wrong. The clouds were less of a cover and more a series of unworldly cathedrals built into the sky; unnatural monuments of impossible size.
Come to think of it, even though the clouds seemed to move, there was a peculiar lack of wind in this world. In his old world there was always wind. He could not think of a time when there wasn’t a breeze at his back or wind in his hair. It was a constant companion.
Just another thing that the celestial had ripped from him.
Staring into the vast sky, Snowflake felt tears welling in his eyes. He brought the sleeve of his new shirt across his face. It was rough. He missed his robe.
“Alright Snowflake, here we go.”
Two powerful arms wrapped under his armpits from behind and hauled him upright. They lingered for a second, sending a wave of invigorating energy through him.
“I should not have hit you so hard,” Honey said, turning him around to face her. “You are scrappy, I will give you that. However, your unarmed combat experience is abysmal.”
Right. He rushed her, and she laid him out. Their fight was akin to a warrior dueling a child. It was not the first impression he wanted to make. He opened his mouth to admit his complete and total lack of melee skills, but paused. Weak is not how he would describe himself, and it felt wrong to undersell his capabilities to someone who was supposed to help him realize his new potential.
Now that he thought of it, she was not apologizing for going too hard on him. She was apologizing for overestimating his ability. After she had made a show of embarrassing him, she said that it was her fault for thinking too highly of him?
Even if this world had stripped him of his power, it had not stripped him of his pride!
“I slew my greatest enemies with a sword of light.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they appeared defensive. But technically it was true! He remembered the moment he slew the Emperor as clear as he remembered his own name. His given name. He was still adjusting to Snowflake. So, he was not lying, even if the implication that he could wield a sword with competence was less true than he would like.
“Sounds like a mighty spell. Mordai does something similar.” Honey nodded along, her eyes all too knowing for Snowflake’s liking, not unlike Angosin’s knowing looks. “I don’t suppose this sword of light had any weight or ability to cut its wielder?”
Snowflake considered that. His mind drew a blank.
“Um.”
Honey smirked and did not wait for him to think of an answer. Instead, she strode over to a rack of various weapons. She examined a few before selecting two of what looked to be a straight wooden bar that thickened toward the end. They had leather wrapped handles, but no guard. She handed one to him.
“This is a club, filled with lead. The whole thing weights about the same as your average one-handed sword, but it has no sharp edges to hurt yourself with.”
Snowflake lifted it in his hand. He could see that it was a far inferior weapon to a sword. It had no tip and no sharp edges. If it was anymore simple, it may as well be a branch that a child picked up to play pretend with. In no way was it a blunt weapon of war. Maces had flangs or spikes to make them lethal and a war-club would have a heavy knot to focus the force.
A training sword with blunted edges would be more deadly than this.
Something inside him screamed to rush at her. To show her just how dangerous he could be with a weapon in hand. She was looking down on him, he could feel it. It seeped from her every smirk.
He forced himself to close his eyes, bringing the flame to the forefront of his mind. He fed his emotions to it. All of them. It was a temporary measure, but it brought clarity.
He hefted the club and gave it a few practice swings. For as long as he must, he would play this game until the time came to learn what he was here for. The club whistled through the air as he practiced the few swipes and flourishes he knew, or could remember his more martial companions doing. There was not much variety, and he was quick to fall into a repetitive rhythm.
The motion got his blood flowing and thoughts moving. Mere minutes ago, he had resolved to put effort into remaking himself in this new world. He would be powerful enough to be independent, to pursue the meaning of the goddess’ words to him.
Angosin implied everyone went through this basic training and moved on, focusing on the more powerful path of Classes and Skills. If he followed that implication to its conclusion, it meant that every single person he passed in the street, even a merchant or beggar, could defeat him as handily as Honey had.
As things stood, he would not be able to resist a street urchin with a gun, a coward’s weapon.
He considered Honey’s intentions. Based on their last interaction, she intended to make him passable, if not competent, in hand-to-hand combat, equipped melee, and the basic cantrips. All of that, in less than a month. That was a monstrous amount of work. His talent for magic would not help him learn the sword. It would be even more work if he was prideful and stubborn about it.
Yes, he had been a god among men, but that may as well have been a lifetime ago. Clinging to the past, even if it was only a few hours ago, would not help him here.
He let the blunt tip of the club hang down and leaned against it. His chest heaved, his breath came fast. He used the damp sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. A cool breeze blew by, washing over him.
Feelings rose in his breast once again. Frustration and sorrow gnawed at him in equal measures. His sleeve brushed by his eyes once again. With a minor effort of will, he slowed his breathing to take a single large breath, held it for a moment, and exhaled with controlled purpose. As he exhaled, he fed his frustrations to the flame.
Snowflake felt his mind grow clearer once again. He put it to work.
Honey must have an ulterior motive here. She forced him to spar with her to gauge his unarmed combat skills. However, other than a single solid hit, all she did was make it clear she outclassed him in every way. She insulted his ability, unbalanced him, and flaunted his weakness. Now, she handed him a weapon designed to hurt but never kill. It could break a bone, yes. But outside of a solid blow to the head, it was relatively safe. She was holding one too.
Honey was goading him. Pushing him to see what he was made of? No.
She was going to beat him, badly. It was all too clear.
It made a sick sort of sense. When building a new structure over an old one, the first step was always to destroy what was there. Any architect would tell you to break down and smash the foundation so you can rebuild it stronger and better in every way.
He thought back to when he learned magic for the first time. The Academy had a similar tendency to break any self-taught or weak mages of their bad habits. They thrust them into the Maze. There the spectres would shatter the mind of anyone lacking in magic. Every time, the Academy would be there to pick up the pieces; to rebuild them into the perfect Imperial Mages. They were magic wielding fanatics, as loyal and obedient as any soldier.
He had slain them by the score.
Thankfully, he had never been the victim of such blatant brainwashing, no matter how they tried. He refused to start now.
“Honey,” he said. She was still standing there, watching and waiting. “Hypothetically, if you were going to teach an Awakened to wield a weapon from scratch, with less than a month to do so, which weapon would you recommend?”
Her half-lidded smirk twisted up into a genuine smile; her teeth were sharper than he expected.
“I may have something in mind.”
Snowflake nodded. It was better to bend than break.