Sirius was waiting for Penny and Zeek in front of the dormitory, dressed in fitted pants and a shirt like his father wore. He didn’t look like he was heading to a bootcamp, more like a garden party with a bit of light exercise after. Zeek wore his robe—not his new one that Sirius bought, but the old ragged one the academy provided. Penny rolled her eyes at the pair; they looked like a knight and his squire going for a walk around the palace.

They split ways in the center of campus, Zeek and Sirius headed to the barracks. Which looked like a dormitory, except for the training grounds behind it filled with sweating, grunting, stone-faced young men and piles of wooden swords. Old John grinned at the pair as they approached.

“You made it, kid. Great! And you must be Earl Yenson’s son, I haven’t seen you since you were about as tall as my knees.” He reached out and patted Sirius on the head like he was a baby. Zeek chuckled.

“Sir Sampson, thank you for letting us join. What do we have in store this week?” Sirius asked. Old John’s grin grew wider as he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. From somewhere in the pack of trainees, two monsters emerged. Like raw muscle that formed the shape of a human, barely remembering to add teeth and eyes. The two men were nearly a foot taller than Sirius.

“This is Pebble and that’s his brother Acorn. They’ll be training you most of the week. I’ll stop by for swordsmanship pointers occasionally,” John answered.

“Which is which?” Zeek asked.

“That one’s Pebble and this is Acorn,“ John said, pointing at the men in turn. Zeek still couldn’t tell the difference, they were twins after all. The men grunted as he introduced them. Maybe they hadn’t learned words yet? Zeek wasn’t sure.

“Today they’ll teach you how to train your body. Tomorrow, if you can still walk, you’ll start sparring with them. Zeek, you’ll use the forms I taught you and focus on getting more comfortable with a sword. Sirius, you’ll get an extra lesson today so you’re caught up.”

Old John patted each of the men and whispered something in their ears. They had smiles like wild animals, more like snarls really. Zeek followed his mentor, while Sirius went the other way.

“So…Pebble, are you a knight?” Zeek asked.

“I’m Acorn,“ the man grunted as he led Zeek to an obstacle course set up on the side of the barracks.

“Right, right. Is that a family name?” Zeek wondered.

“Don’t remember,“ Acorn replied. The rest of their conversation resorted to Zeek asking questions and Acorn nodding, grunting, or making a guttural noise as they walked the course once. When they returned to the starting line, Acorn crossed his arms and pointed to the ground.

“Push-ups,“ he said.

Zeek nodded and began, trying to impress the muscle head as he managed to complete thirty before his arms gave out. He leaned back on his knees, gasping for breath, and looked up at Acorn, who had a snarl on his face again.

“Weak mage. Do one hundred.” Zeek clicked his tongue and pushed a bit of mana into his arms. Wiping away fatigue and completing them quickly, he smirked at Acorn when he leaned back again. Acorn’s snarl was still present.

“Holding back? One hundred more.”

Zeek made it to three hundred before his arms turned to jelly and his mana stopped flowing into them properly. He could barely push himself up when Acorn finally grunted in approval.

“Good warm up. Time for a jog. Follow,” Acorn said.

Zeek learned to regret using mana for anything that day. They jogged for miles, but the massive man barely broke a sweat. Or maybe his muscles just always glistened? Zeek honestly didn’t care. He pushed his body too far again and collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath and clutching his stomach. This process was repeated for every exercise imaginable, then some more.

Jogging turned to jumping jacks, to side shuffles, to pull-ups, to sit-ups, and continued until the sun was blazing hot and Zeek felt faint.

By the time Acorn brought him lunch, he was sitting in a comatose state on the ground. His body felt sluggish and weak, a symptom of overusing mana strengthening and abusing his body. Zeek’s robe was lying in a pile in the grass nearby, his pants and undershirt clinging to him, completely soaked in sweat. Acorn laughed as he handed him a bowl of meat and potatoes.

“You don’t eat in the dining hall?” Zeek asked.

“Meat and milk for muscles, vegetables for long life. Mage food makes you fat,“ he answered as he pointed at the slight bulge on Zeek’s stomach. Zeek gritted his teeth, embarrassed, as the large man chuckled. A deep grating chuckle like stones smacking together.

He still ate the food.

After lunch came the obstacle course. A hellscape designed with Old John’s loving touch. Zeek crawled through dirt under coarse rope that burned his skin if he brushed against it. He lunged from bar to bar as he hung over a pit of mud. His fingers bled as he used a knotted rope to scale a large wooden wall shaped like a battlement. Acorn was pleased with his progress, so he added a bit of challenge to it by throwing small stones at Zeek, forcing him to focus on dodging them while navigating the course. By the end of the day, he was bruised, burnt, and barely able to stand.

Zeek and Sirius leaned into each other as they listened to Old John address the new trainees. Zeek was better off than most of them, Sirius was worse off. The young noble’s luster was totally gone, replaced with pale white skin and dead eyes. He hadn’t said a word to Zeek since they met up. It was the longest Zeek had ever seen him go without talking.

Old John and the other instructors stood on a raised platform addressing the recruits. “Well done today. Training should always be hard. The pain you feel now is pain you won’t have to feel in battle. Tomorrow we begin sword training, but don’t think it’s going to be easier. It won’t. Now go home and return at sunrise. Oh and remember, you can drop out at any time, but there are no second chances. You fail this, you’ll never be a knight,” he said with a smile as several recruits grasped. Zeek thought he might have even heard someone weep.

As tired as Zeek was, Sirius could barely walk. He wrapped his arm around the young noble’s shoulder and slowly stumbled back to the dormitory. Zeek had his robe draped over his shoulder, and Sirius looked like he’d been in a fight. His fine shirt was untucked, and his pants were covered in tears and dirt. Possibly even some blood, but the black fabric hid it nicely. That was probably why Earl Yenson preferred the color.

Penny saw them and burst out laughing.

“You two look terrible,“ she chided as her shoulders shook. Sirius just nodded and fell onto the bench next to her, closing his eyes immediately. Zeek ignored the comment.

“Take a note to his house. Tell them he was training so hard he wants to spend the week on campus and focus,” Zeek said. Penny laughed again as she turned and walked towards the city. Zeek could see the nightlamps being lit through the academy gate as the capital prepared for darkness.

Sirius didn’t respond when Zeek shook him, so he carried him inside, up the steps, and down the hall. He checked Penny’s door, which she left unlocked. Silly country girl, he smirked. After tucking Sirius into her bed, he hurried back to his room, locked the door, and went to sleep. The sound of her shriek was the last thing he heard before night took him.

Zeek awoke to Sirius apologizing profusely in the hall.

“I’m very sorry, Penny. I don’t remember coming here. I meant nothing by it. I swear on my honor I’ll make this up to you.” The young noble was bowing so low that his face was level with his hips. Penny, who looked haggard from sleeping on the floor, sighed and waved him away. Zeek took the moment to step into the hall with a set of towels.

“Oh, it’s not your fault. I know how you got here. I had a spare set of blankets anyway, so sleeping on the floor one night is fine,” she replied, scowling at Zeek. A few other mages in the hall were glancing at the three of them through cracked doors.

Zeek met her eyes briefly, then a wink and a smirk later he led Sirius to the bathroom to get him cleaned up before training started. They didn’t see Penny again that morning, but they arrived at the barracks just in time to start.

Sirius was in good spirits, despite several comments about sleeping in a young woman’s bed. And several more comments swearing Zeek to secrecy, especially from his mother. Which Zeek half-committed to, finding extreme amusement in Sirius’s awkwardness.

Old John greeted them while checking over the returning recruits. A few were missing from the previous day. Mostly the ones who had fancy clothes on like Sirius. Acorn grunted a hello as he led Zeek to a circle of dirt near the central training ground. The wooden swords were a higher quality than the stick he’d used when traveling and shaped more like the dueling sword John had told him about.

Acorn had a wooden short sword, which looked like a toothpick in his huge hands. He made Zeek begin with the same drill he’d done previously, downward strikes and stabs, mixing them when it felt right. Zeek paced himself today, choosing to save mana strengthening.

One difference was blocking. Acorn took a swing at him occasionally, and he was supposed to block or parry the swings before returning to his drill. Zeek couldn’t tell if the man was trying to hit him hard, but every time their swords met, he could feel his teeth chatter.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The random swings served the additional purpose of teaching Zeek new forms. A side swing for power, an uppercut, a diagonal strike coming from each shoulder. He began to mimic them as he started to feel the flow of Acorn’s sword. Just when he’d start getting comfortable, though, a new strike would appear or the timing would change, forcing him to dodge or take the hit. To Acorn’s credit, he was an excellent teacher. He wasn’t as fluid as Old John, who made you feel like you were just swinging at air. But he was far above Zeek’s level.

Zeek knew the man could beat him down with the wooden sword whenever he wanted, and he wouldn’t be able to put up much of a defense. They continued like this for an hour, till Zeek’s fatigue started to set in. Acorn noticed, but he didn’t let up; instead, he started attacking harder.

“Aren’t you supposed to go easy on me?” Zeek panted.

“Build instincts when tired,” Acorn replied as his diagonal slash pushed Zeek’s sword back and smacked his shoulder. Zeek fell to one knee, trying to keep both hands on his sword to push the blow back, but he didn’t have the strength.

So he started to fill his limbs with mana.

He targeted his arms at first, just using the technique to give him an edge when blocking or trying to deflect Acorn’s sword. In his exhaustion, he could feel which of the muscles in his back and legs were used depending on the type of slash he was blocking. His focus heightened as he targeted those areas with mana just before each blow.

It was a delicate process, balancing his concentration, his body, and his mana, and keeping his eyes on the fight. If he’d had to learn this in real combat, he’d be dead fast. But Acorn was keeping a rhythm to his swings, varying some, but giving Zeek time to learn each time a swing wasn’t correctly executed or blocked.

Despite his fatigue, Zeek noticed his mana was easier to control today, and faster. He’d suspected, after he first learned the technique, that stressing his body would help with control. Practicing magic under calm, peaceful circumstances led to worse results. The exercise combined with a new challenge pushed him to think about how he moved and used his strength, forcing him to be precise and smooth when flooding his body with mana. As he got better at blocking, he started working on attacks.

He made the same mistakes at first, just pushing mana into his arms. Then he realized stronger swings used the hips, the stabs used his lower body as he lunged, the overhead swing used his back muscles. He was nowhere near perfect, but by the end of the second hour, Acorn had a disturbing smile on his face as his hits became stronger and faster. He’d even stopped parrying every strike, choosing to block occasionally. The harder Zeek hit him, the more he smiled.

Well, snarled really.

Another benefit of practice, Zeek realized, was it also let him experience slowing his mana down without fainting. He felt himself going through the mana in his core quickly as he’d fill each limb and let it dissipate. But he could save wasted mana if he forced the extra back to his core.

The technique he’d learned felt so simple, but the more he focused on how he used it, he realized he was still at a beginner level. He wasted mana, was awful at recycling what he used, lacked precision, and a host of other issues. A true master would be able to fight with superhuman abilities for extended periods of time.

Despite the pain. Despite the exhaustion. Despite the midday heat. Despite the massive man he could barely hit. Despite his complete lack of experience.

Zeek began to snarl back.

Without thinking, he began to lunge faster and strike harder. When Acorn used footwork to shuffle around him, he copied it. Fighting for control of the rhythm. They circled each other in the small ring, swinging and blocking and turning each other’s strikes away with flourishes. The larger man was still barely sweating, but he rewarded Zeek by showing him a bit of strength. The chattering teeth became shaking arms and splintered wood as they increased the pace. Zeek relied on more mana, losing even more precision as the speed increased. Realizing he was going to run out of mana if he kept this pace up, he tried to set up a strike.

He moved forward as if to stab, waiting for Acorn to bring his sword up and direct it away. But as the large man responded, Zeek put the last bit of his mana into his arms and twisted his lunge into a horizontal slash across the man’s chest. He used mana in his legs to push his body forward at a new speed, hoping to catch Acorn off guard.

It didn’t work.

Acorn dodged backward a half step, perfectly judging the depth of Zeek’s swing. As Zeek moved forward, the giant kicked him square in the gut. He felt his feet leave the ground as he flew backward and tumbled into the grass nearby. He gasped for breath after the wind was knocked out of him. Acorn started laughing; he sounded like a bear gloating over a fresh kill.

“I thought this was sword training,“ Zeek said between ragged breaths.

“It’s sword fighting, kid,“ Old John said as he walked over, nodding to Acorn. “Sword’s the first word but fight’s the last. It was good thinking to try to set him up like that, but you have more ways to hurt someone than just the sword.”

“Do all knights kick as hard as horses?” Zeek joked, and Acorn laughed even harder. He liked the compliment.

“Just this one and his brother. So tell me, what mistake did you make?” Old John asked.

“I should have punched him?”

“No, your mistake was getting close. Mages get used to overwhelming people with power, so they don’t have to consider the strength of a single enemy because they normally fight in large units. But a soldier has to judge the person in front of them. If this was life or death, a good fighter would keep Acorn here at range and try to whittle him down. Most men will never be able to win against him in hand-to-hand combat, myself included. Those muscles are great for bursts of strength, but they don’t help with speed,” Old John explained.

“So he was actually baiting me into getting close,“ Zeek remarked.

“Yes, that’s his style. Trick his opponents into getting too close and overwhelming them with force. It’s beautifully effective on a crowded battlefield. When you get more experienced, you’ll learn to judge fighting styles quickly and adapt. Today was an easy victory for him.”

“Set me up to get my ass kicked, didn’t you,“ Zeek muttered. Acorn grinned and gave him a pat of encouragement, driving him to his knees again.

“Well, that was part of it, but Acorn here has a good fighting style for the type of war mage the earl and I want to train. Imagine how deadly you could be, zipping around behind casting spells and getting a slash or two in when someone tries to flank him,” Old John explained.

“But I’m not a war mage,“ Zeek countered.

“Not yet,“ Old John winked.

“You’re as bad as that old noble, aren’t you?”

“Worse. I don’t have a she-devil ordering me around at home.” Zeek laughed out loud as he glanced towards Sirius, who was throwing up while Pebble frowned over him. It was going to be a long week, but the results from just two days were amazing. How far could he progress by the end of the week?

The second part of the day made him reconsider, as Acorn ran him till he nearly passed out. Then made him do the obstacle course while dodging rocks. Then made him do more exercise. Then made him do the course again with bigger rocks. Then…well you get the idea.

It was hell.

Sirius and Zeek wobbled home using their arms to support each other. Penny was waiting on the bench again and burst out laughing, again. So did her guest, Earl Yenson. Zeek wanted to curse at them both, but Sirius’s face turned beet-red as they approached.

“Father,” Sirius said.

“Looks like your secret mission is a success, my boy. Don’t worry, I told your mother I’d come check on you and report back how much progress you made in your magical studies.” He emphasized the last two words as Penny smirked. “And I’ll keep her off your back this week, so enjoy yourself.”

He handed Penny a bag with a few changes of clothes and a bedroll for Sirius. The earl stood up, patted his son on the back, and bid them goodnight. Penny waved as he strolled into the city, whistling happily.

The three of them made it to the dining hall and took a table in the corner. The two oddball lovers from last week were alone across the room, giving them questioning glances as they pecked at trays of food. Sirius didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to. When he finally got into his seat, Penny got food for the two young men and they talked over the day’s progress.

“Find a spell model yet, Penny?” Zeek asked while guzzling a glass of milk.

“No, but the earl gave me a suggestion I plan on looking into tomorrow. It’s very promising.”

“Father recommended something? That’s unusual,” Sirius replied.

“Really? He offered when I told him I’d been studying while you two were off playing knight.”

“So what did he recommend?” Zeek asked.

“It’s called Lesser Mending. It’s a beginner healing model. He said it develops into a series of spells that provide a huge toolkit to heal wounds and some sicknesses,” she answered.

“Of course he did,“ Sirius muttered. Penny raised her eyebrow.

Sirius sighed before explaining, “Most healing is handled by the clergy. The Goddess of Light gives them a few spells for that purpose. But mages can learn a type of healing, although very few actually do it since priests are always with the army. It’s a lucrative choice, especially if you end up working in a hospital here. But the war mages also prefer to bring one of their own healers along if possible, something about mage healing working better on mages than other things.”

“So he was convincing me to do something that would take me to a battlefield,” Penny scoffed.

“Yes, technically. But healers never leave the main encampment. There are old stories of mages from the Lost Age healing impossible wounds in battle, but that’s just fantasy. The benefit to it is you’re allowed to travel outside the capital. Traveling healers build goodwill, so it’s encouraged unless there’s a plague or war somewhere,” Sirius replied.

“The Lost Age?” Penny wondered.

“Supposedly mages could do miracles hundreds or thousands of years ago. No one’s really sure, but it’s generally thought to just be embellished legends at this point. There’s a small section in the library on it,” Zeek said.

“The archmages are all obsessed with it. It’s a big hobby in their circle, collecting art, stories, and relics that supposedly existed back then. Father’s one of the worst for it,” Sirius added.

“I’m surprised you know anything about that, Zeek,“ Penny remarked.

“I may have gotten distracted in the library a few days and read a bunch of legends. They’re pretty interesting.”

“That’s true. Father used to read them to me as bedtime stories. But they’ll come up in the academy since old noble families like to claim they originated from mythical figures from that era,” Sirius said.

“Your family doesn’t do the same?” Zeek asked.

“No, we’ve only been nobles for a few generations. My great-great-grandfather was the son of a cobbler in the southern part of the kingdom.”

“Earl Yenson mentioned you aren’t landowning nobles to us at lunch. So that’s what he meant?” Penny asked.

Sirius frowned briefly but he didn’t appear sad. Just very tired. Zeek and Penny glanced at each other before the young noble spoke. “Yes. We’re only nobility so long as my father is alive. Unless I earn a title from the king. That’s why I have to become a war mage.”

“What does nobility have to do with war mages?” Zeek asked.

“Only a few war mages graduate the academy each year. Sometimes none. But those who do are granted the title of viscount. You can gain standing by achieving victory in combat,” Sirius explained.

“But your family have been nobles for generations, there’s no way to make it permanent?” Penny asked.

Sirius shook his head. “Bloodline nobles inherit their titles. But the king doesn’t add to those ranks. For everyone else, you have to earn it.”

“You’ve already learned a combat spell, though, so aren’t you guaranteed to become a viscount?” Zeek wondered.

“Yes, but if that’s all I achieve, my life will change. We’ll earn substantially less money and be forced to move out of the manor I grew up in unless I reach Father’s level.”

Zeek gave him a reassuring smile when the book began vibrating.