Thorne bowed to his mentor, “Thank you.” The training session had only lasted a measly two hours, but in that time, Thorne had learned so much. All he had known about fighting had been learned from the beasts in the forest, and he had never considered that intelligent cultivators fought so differently.
“Of course.” His mentor said, nodding at Thorne.
Throughout the two hours, Thorne had been beaten exactly fifty-three times. He knew this because every time he lost the duel, his mentor would only say one word: his number of losses. There was no advice or pointers past the first speech he gave. Only physical and verbal batterings were present during the two hours. Surprisingly, Thorne found that the method of training worked. During the beatings, he noticed several things:’ I grew faster and more proactive in my attacks.’ Thorne realized. Previously, during his six-month stint in the forest, he had fought as only a reaction to his enemy’s moves. Now, he flipped that style on its head and tried to be active in his choices. ‘Second, I thought more; I actually used my head.’ Thorne reflected, ‘This is the most important. How did I even survive before.’
Thorne remembered his past, fighting beasts every single day. Only occasionally would he try to outsmart the beasts, and in most cases, he was more animal than his opponent.
As Thorne walked back toward the teleporter, he heard someone speak; it was his mentor; “Thorne, I will say one thing that is of utmost importance regarding your training.” Thorne turned around swiftly and listened with total focus. “Three days of two-hour sessions is not enough.” He spoke, curling his lips in resignation, “It is as simple as that. Thus, I propose something else.”
Thorne nodded along and realized his mentor was telling the truth, ‘He’s right. I’ve made progress today, but It won’t be enough to conquer an entire world.’
Clearing his throat, his mentor’s eyes zeroed in on Thornes’s: “I propose two things. For one, you come to this session early, preferably no later than twelve-thirty UST. Is that acceptable?”
After thinking briefly, Thorne nodded, “Yes, that’s fine.” He confirmed, ‘Healing might be needed after training with Master Graald, but thirty minutes should be fine.’
“Good.” His mentor spoke curtly, with a slight smile, “For the second proposition, I believe you have a two-hour designated period for sparring. I propose that all that time be used for training. Of course, it will be similar to what we did today.”
Thorne smiled slightly. “That’s good.” He answered, now designating four and a half hours per day to this grueling training. But one thing still nagged at him. Perhaps it was his paranoia or general mistrust of people, but Thorne had to ask, “Why are you willing to spend so much time training me?” He asked, staring intensely at his mentor.
“I get paid to train you.” The man answered, not bothering to hide his intentions as he looked straight back at Thorne.
“Fair.” Thorne shrugged, and he walked off to the teleporter. ‘Well, if money’s on the line, then I know he won’t try to screw me over.’
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“Oh, what up, Thorne.” Zal said upon Thorne bursting into the room, “Damn, did you get hot by a space laser or something.”
Thorne stared at him, befuddled, “Space lasers exist?”
“Of course they do.” Zal laughed, patting Thorne’s shoulder. “Go and heal yourself, man. We've got team training in an hour.”
Thorne scowled, ‘Of course there are damn space lasers.’ He limped over to his bed and plopped down meditatively, beginning to circulate his amber energy.
It only took him around thirty minutes to heal his injury. The training session wasn’t too harmful because in almost all the battles, his mentor stopped once his blade was pointed against Thorne’s neck or heart. Only in some of the battles did Thorne actually get harmed, though when he did, it wasn’t pretty.
He walked over to the kitchen and settled himself in one of the seats. Zal was already seated and eating up some nasty-looking paste. Scoffing, Thorne pulled out his customary dinosaur meat and began to eat.
Soon, the allotted rest time was over, and the pair left the dorm to go to team training. “Have you met all of our teammates?” Thorne probed as they began to leave the dorm.
“No, not really.” Zal shrugged nonchalantly, “I’ve only really trained with other amber cultivators, and am not too social outside of…” He looked over his shoulder smirking at Thorne.
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“Whatever, let’s go,” Thorne said, ignoring Zal’s innuendo.
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Moravian Draker arrived at the training ground early. He was okay with waiting, especially when patience often yielded valuable information that one would not gain if one were tardy. Moravian sighed contently as he reran the information he had collected; ‘This group is strong, yes, but it seems that most of them are not so…disagreeable.’
Moravian himself had worked exceptionally hard to achieve a spot on this team, and he ensured he would not waste it. He had spent as much time as possible to gather as much intel on his teammates as possible.
‘Zal, I believe, is the strongest,’ Moravian remembered a recording he had seen of Zal sparring. It was terrifying; the man fought in such a strange way. He was neither fast nor strong nor even tricky or unpredictable. He instead moved with grace and confidence. When he watched the recordings, Moravian was struck by Zal’s ability to control the pace of the battle; if his opponent wanted to strike fast, that was fine since Zal would simply endure the hit and slowly chip away at the enemy.
‘He’s like an unstoppable force that you know is coming but can't do anything about, but luckily, he has a weakness…’ Moravian smiled, his bony physique glinting in the wake of the artificial sun, ‘He’s too kind.’ From what Moravian had seen, Zal would never maim or kill, which was perfect. ‘He won't try to dominate the group or be selfish.’ Moravian was relieved when he learned of Zal’s weakness. If Zal had been the arrogant, authoritative type, Moravian knew there was little he could do.
Moravian looked slowly over as a whooshing noise permeated the desert training area. A petite, blue-spectrum girl walked with grace out of the teleporter. She wore an extravagant blue robe embroiled with symbols of crashing waves. With a practiced nod at Moravian, she walked past him and seated herself in one of the six seats arranged before her.
‘Lyra Valtear, what an interesting person.’ Moravian smirked, ‘She’s powerful and might try to assume leadership, but she's not a threat.’ He thought in assurance, ‘She’s too sheltered after all.’
‘Her fighting style will be useful, though.’ Moravian thought, ‘It's rare to find a good battlefield facilitator, and she seems to be quite proficient at it.’
In Moravian's recordings, Lyra was a constant pest to her opponents. She would summon large waves that crashed through her enemies or shoot small bursts of pressurized water at an enemy's legs. She was a perfect, versatile battle controller and would be invaluable in large-scale conflicts.
‘Oh, and there's the next one.’ Moravian nodded at the new arrival, ‘the direct opposite to Lyra, Procka.’
The rocky figure of Procka stomped through the sand. Every step she took burned the sand black, creating an unhealable indent in the ground. ‘She’s a wild card.’ Moravian sighed, ‘If only she talked more. But at least she’ll be useful in combat. A pure orange spectrum damage dealer never hurts unless you’re her enemy.’
Moravian chuckled, a raspy noise that cut through the air. His two teammates looked over at him. Lyra held her nose haughtily upright, while Procka gave him one simple glance before looking away and seating herself.
‘Now for the last one.’ Moravian rubbed his bony hands, excited though slightly scared of who would step through the teleporter next. ‘I do not understand how no one, not even my master, knows anything about this, Thorne Kramer.’ He thought, shaking his head in disgust. For months, he had tried to locate information after his master had given him the name of the fifth team member. But there was nothing. Even during the meeting with all the masters and the headmaster, he couldn’t see Thorne due to Moravian being positioned at the opposite end of the line of students. All he could make out of him was that he seemed to be human, but nothing else; ‘It's almost like he doesn’t even go to the academy.’
Whoosh!
The teleporter sounded, and Moravian peered wide at the upcoming arrivals. ‘Wow.’ His bony mouth grew wide, exposing his sharp yellow teeth, ‘so he’s one of the dual cultivators, how interesting.’
Thorne and Zal walked out of the teleporter together. The pair whispered to each other as they walked away from the teleporter, and Thorne seemed somewhat uncomfortable as he gripped his stomach and slowed his walking.
Moravian peered with interest at Thorne, ‘So, he's not yet used to the teleporters.’ He shook his scaly head, ‘Just where has he been this semester.’
Thorne glanced around at the three seated students, and Moravian gauged the reactions of his two peers with great studiousness.
Procka, of course, gave him one look before entirely ignoring him. Lyra, as well, was customary in her reaction; she upturned her nose and scoffed at Thorne.
‘She seems to disregard him quite highly,’ Moravian chuckled, seeing that Lyra was acting more arrogant than usual.
Then it was his turn; Thorne’s multicolored eyes locked with Moravian's deep black pits. Moravian leaned forward in interest as he stared at Thorne before nodding robotically up and down. In return, Thorne nodded, though he did raise his eyebrows ever so slightly as he saw Moravian. ‘I need to know more about him.’ Moravian realized, ‘They would not just let any dual cultivator in for the sake of it. He has to have something else about him.’
Sighing, he looked away from the dual cultivator, and reconsidered his plans slightly, 'Hopefully, he isn't a threat.' he thought, his sinking eyes flitting over to the now-seated Thorne.
“Hello, class!” A loud voice boomed as the teleporter whooshed once again. Strolling out of it, was a fast-paced human. ‘Is that a woman, or a man.’ Moravian questioned, as he peered at the newcomer. It was a human wearing a yellow robe. Their hair was pure blond, almost to the extent that Moravians thought it was dyed or altered with technology. The hair stood tall in a puffy afro and was nearly the same size as the head it rested upon.
“I will facilitate this training session.” The teacher spoke in a rushed tone. They walked with fast steps, overcoming their lack of height with constant and quick movement, “I am the grade three lighting Master Jacky O’lagolol.” They smiled wide, bowing extravagantly in front of the five seated students, “Let's get started.”