The training field pulsed with life; students flocked like eager bark sparrows, their faces flush with a cocktail of excitement and enthusiasm, engaging in dedicated practice. Overhead, the dual suns cast a blanket of warmth over the vast open spcae. The summer season was at its peak, with the scorching heat enveloping the surroundings that seemed to paint everything in a shimmering haze.
Teachers, figures of wisdom and experience, meandered among the hives of students, their very presence exuding an unspoken authority. They shared pockets of knowledge, offering insight into the intricate art of energy manipulation and weapon mastery.
A few teachers meandered among the hives of students, their very presence exuding an unspoken authority. They shared pockets of knowledge, providing assistance in honing the students' skills in energy manipulation and weapon mastery.
Cain, one among them, was lost in his own world. He was focused on swinging his sword, making each of his strikes with intent. A determined furrow marked his brow, and sweat gathered in gleaming droplets.
He took a moment to steady his breath, feeling the weight of the weapon in his hands. He planted his feet apart, firm against the sun-baked ground, feeling the gritty dust beneath his boots.
In a swift, almost poetic motion, he sent the sword cutting through the air, tracing an elegant controlled arc. The blade whistled as it cleaved the air, a quiet hum that was quickly swallowed by the background cacophony of the training field.
“Father said I can unleash about 60% of my combat potential into actual battle…. that’s not enough," Cain mused, an undercurrent of determination strengthening his resolve. “I am refining my tendons, so my combat efficiency is already pretty high. However, I need to do better. I need to exceed expectations, not just meet them." Driven by his inner reflections, his swings grew fiercer, and the pace of his footwork quickened, a ballet of lethal precision.
His body moved in harmony with the blade, a symphony of controlled power and agility. The swing began from his core, transferring through his arms, and culminated in a swift extension of his wrists, adding finesse to the strike.
As he honed his technique, Cain's focus sharpened. He visualized the imaginary opponents in his mind, anticipating their every move. With each swing, he executed precise strikes, envisioning himself engaging in a deadly dance of combat, his body mirroring the rhythm of combat.
His movements were a dance between power and finesse, an intricate choreography where the sword was his partner. The force of his strikes originated from the solid base of his core, channeling through his arms, and erupting into a deadly flourish of the blade.
Glucia, sat alone amidst the bustle, sat engrossed in a thick tome. Her eyes flitted across the pages, absorbing information like a sponge, occasionally stealing glances at the duels that painted the training field.
Immersed in her book, she mused aloud, tracing the details with her fingertips.
“Mr. Bagus told me to memorize the entirety of the book.”
“Chapter 5: Edible Plants”
"The Spiked Ghostroot, native to the vicinity of the Hyrind Cavelands, with its seductive display of ghostly white flowers. Although fierce looking, not toxic" Her finger danced to an accompanying illustration, an eerie, luminescent blossom set against a backdrop of ominous caves.
“Chapter 6: Wildlife”
She turned the page, her brow creasing at the details of another deadly plant, "Thornwhisper Vine, thriving in the shadowed undergrowth between the Dwindling Peaks... Its thin, wiry branches bear thorns that can penetrate skin with a mere touch, causing delirium." An intricate sketch filled the page, showing a vine dense with wicked thorns snaking up a jagged mountain face.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
She then shifted to the creatures that populated the forest. "The Razorclaw Lynx, famed for its silvery coat and deadly claws, prowls the high terrain near the twin peaks," she muttered, eyes tracing the artist's rendering of the majestic beast. "While the Nightrider Bat makes its home in the darker recesses of the Hyrind Cavelands, feared for its blood-draining bite."
As she turned the page, her eyes grew wide.
“Chapter 9: Forbidden Zones.”
"The Cursed Glades, a stretch of land tainted by dark magic, is home to grotesque creatures, the forest's own brand of twisted monstrosities..." Glcuia's voice trailed off as she examined the crude maps and the chilling warnings that marked these locations.
She whispered to herself, her fingers lightly tracing the chilling drawings, "The Veil Mire is the most treacherous of them all, a huge infected site where dangeruous creatures lurk ." The illustrated swamp seemed to whisper horrors from the page, daring her to read more.
This book was not just about nature; it was given to her so that she would be able to lead her team to survival.
As the last tendrils of daylight surrendered to twilight's gentle invasion, the sky took on hues of deep, majestic oranges and purples.
After a satisfying practice session, Cain strode over to Glucia, settling beside her on the warm grass, his sword resting gently on his lap. Casually, he sucked on a twig of timblegrass, the minty flavour mingling with the lingering dust from the training ground.
Breaking the comfortable silence, he ventured, "So, did you give my proposal any thought?"
Glucia continued her gaze at the far-off skirmishes but nodded in response. Her voice, soft but assured, cut through the evening's tranquillity, "I'm in. Who else do we need on the team?"
Cain began to explain the battle formation, "Well, we’ve got you as rear support and pathfinder. I'll handle the vanguard. But we still need a flanker and another skirmisher."
He continued, his voice firm and thoughtful, "I was considering inviting Osric as a skirmisher. As for the flanker, I'm still fishing for options."
Glucia, finally turning away from the distant scenes, looked at Cain, her brows furrowed in concern. "Have you been able to reach Osric? He’s been holed up in his house for the past week. I tried reaching out but got no response. He promised better communication... Seems like he needs a lesson in manners." She clenched her fists, a brewing storm beneath her calm facade.
Cain’s face contorted into an awkward grimace, "Heh, well... That's kind of my fault. He did tell me to let you know, but... I got caught up in my training and mission planning."
She turned to him slowly, her stare pointed. "So, I should direct my anger at you, then?" she edged closer, her question barely above a whisper.
"No, no, no!" Cain chuckled nervously, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. "In the end, it’s Osric's fault. He should have informed you himself!" His words were hurried, an unsuccessful attempt at shifting blame away from himself.
***
“Who are the candidates?” Mr. Gautier inquired, his seasoned hands delicately tending to the vibrant blossoms in his garden. The sunlight danced off his weathered skin as he cradled a fragile bloom, the labor of his love.
“We've selected ten seeds, in accordance with our agreement. Five are of B aptitude, three of C, and two D-grades. They have been supplied with the necessary resources, except for Osric. Our recruitment efforts during the ceremony yielded no results," the attendant explained, unrolling a parchment list. "We also went to his house to talk with him further, but he has been holding himself in seclusion from what I can gather. So no luck there,”
Mr. Gautier absorbed the update, his back turned to the attendant, his attention seemingly riveted to the intricate dance of petals and leaves before him. He digested the information in silence, his response punctuated by the rhythmic snipping of his gardening shears. After what seemed an eternity, he finally broke his silence. "Hmm. No need for undue concern about the boy. Markus’s seeds share a similar aptitude profile. Our contribution in terms of resources hasn't been lacking."
Yet he turned around, hands clasped behind his back, an air of authority emanating from his tall figure. " It's the boy's loss if he rejects this golden opportunity. Dismiss him from your tasks. The bet rests on the performance of the highest-ranking seed. Our faith lies with the remaining seeds; their growth is our priority."
A note of confusion entered the attendant’s voice, "Why don’t we simply expel the boy from our roster?"
"The original wager came from him and Finn facing in the tournament. Our bet with Markus is merely an extension of that rivalry. So he is important." Mr. Gautier responded, his voice echoing through the garden. He began to stride away, his parting words carried on the wind,
"Ensure our seeds are nurtured well."