Nursing a sore arm and a headache that threatened to split his mind in two, Florian walked between his students the fledgling wizards of Leeds. They all sat as they always did, their hands resting in their laps as they contemplated the mysteries of the Universe. The thought brought a smile to Florian’s lips, and he watched on with great interest. Though he couldn’t meditate to sense the mana in the room given the poor state of his focus, he trusted that they were making progress.
The students – disciples – in the front of the room nearest to a large glass window were consistently able to find the mana around them, though their meditations were always short, leading them to spend maybe five minutes interacting with the mana for every hour they sat in the room resting. One of them, a young woman who always wore a serious expression, was able to barely hold out for ten minutes before sweat began to pour down her forehead in streams.
“This is too slow,” Florian muttered to himself. For the past day, he’d been toying with the idea of revealing the effectiveness of Hellwolf meat consumption. On the one hand, it would be opening Pandora’s Box. None of these disciples were Warriors, and so none of them had likely had the opportunity or even the desire to try eating the strange monsters.
Instead, they were all more than likely Jones’ creatures, those that “exceptions” to the rules that Jones had set for the rest of them. He imagined that they were similar to Joel, occupying choice positions away from danger and away from manual labor. Anything he shared with them would most definitely benefit Jones and his powerbase, and Florian had little love for the selfish man. Still, Hornbeck needed them ready, and that wasn’t even mentioning that the sooner he had them capable of casting a fireball, the sooner his leg would be healed.
Florian decided to hold his tongue for the moment, promising to speak to Anna the following day and get her opinion on the matter. She would know more. For the moment, Florian settled with answering the occasional question, his responses lacking the wealth of experience Theo no doubt had, but he hoped they were more friendly and helpful. Wesley in particular seemed to benefit from them, his own meditations lasting nearly as long as the more established disciples. He didn’t know how they separated themselves, but it was a miraculous seating arrangement; all the most capable students sat at the front near the window and the door, while those struggling the most were at the back. Florian wondered if it had anything to do with talent, but then Theo wouldn’t have wasted time with subpar disciples. Joe could attest to that.
Wesley was the notable exception, his growth exceeding those around him by leaps and bounds. It had only been the better half of a week since he’d learned to sense mana, and now he was holding onto it for close to five minutes. That growth was not so dissimilar from Joe’s, though it still fell shy of his own. Either way, Florian focused on figuring out why Wesley was improving so quickly so that he could apply it to the other disciples.
When the student had decided to take a rest, Florian sat down next to him. “I’ve noticed that you’re improving a lot, Wesley. Great work!” he praised, the other man’s smile growing wide.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Thanks, Senior Disciple Cale.” Florian winced; it just sounded so awkward. “After I got to sensing mana, I’ve been following what Master Theodosius said about allowing the Universe to embrace me. Seeing the mana lets me just wrap them around me like a giant hug,” he explained quickly, as if waiting to see if he was doing it right. Florian nodded, noticing Wesley let go of a breath he had been holding.
“However you’re doing it, it’s working. Keep it up, and you’ll be casting real magic in no time,” Florian gave the older man a thumbs-up. Wesley settled back into a meditation position, trying to interact with the mana again. Mentally, Florian approved. It would hurt, and Wesley wouldn’t be able to push himself too much further, but effort was the mother of all success.
The class ended in the late afternoon as the sun began to fall towards the horizon. Florian stood by the window as the class shuffled out, catching the occasional whisper about their progress and regular old gossip. He even caught wind of “The Hero” said in hushed tones. Having no idea what that meant, Florian found it interesting enough, swinging around to find whoever said it but coming face to face with an empty room. Sighing, Florian quashed his curiosity, turning back to watch the sunset. It was beautiful as it always had been, even if it heralded death.
As he made to leave, Florian’s eyes caught on an interesting sight. The gates to the walls were still open despite the late hour, and what looked like a caravan was coming through. A few pickup trucks – real, operational pickup trucks – drove into the center of Leeds Castle, their beds filled with all kinds of materials and tools. When the last of them drove through the gate, it slammed shut quickly. Crowds gathered around the trucks, many people waving various kinds of trade goods at the men and women now piling out of the vehicles.
Those that came out of the trucks wore little in the way of armor, and a few even had rifles slung over their shoulders. Interesting, Florian thought. The rifles were prohibitively expensive to operate, all the old ammunition foundries being shut down or destroyed in the wake of Worldbreak. They wouldn’t be economic weapons against the masses of Hellwolves. No, these weapons weren’t meant to defend them against the beasts. These were meant to stop humans.
As the sky turned pink, Florian realized he had run out of time to spectate the scene playing out in front of him. He hurried out of the keep, nodding in greeting to Larry and Terry – the two guards at the door to the structure – and speed-walked over to the barracks where he’d find his weapon and armor. In his haste, he collided with multiple members of the crowd that had amassed outside, earning himself some glares. An old lady had even cussed him out in such a manner that made him blush. By the time he made it back to the barracks, his ego was bruised, but his headache had in large part abated and his aches from earlier in the morning had receded.
Putting on the armor was a tedious process, but it was one that he had practiced on one of his afternoons off, devoting the entire time to learning how to efficiently put on the armor and take it off. He spent more time standing in front of the mostly-empty weapons rack, his hands reaching for Bludgeon even as he looked at one of the remaining steel-tipped spears. That time will come, Florian thought. Though he had practiced some, and Florian understood why it might prove a better weapon for him in the long-term, Florian knew that he was still much, much deadlier with Bludgeon.
Decision made, Florian exited the barracks to the sound of wolves howling. It sounded even louder than the previous two nights. It’ll be a long one, then. Florian sighed and ascended the wall.