“Come on now… I know you can do it…”
“Yes, yes, I know… Just give me.. ‘hah’.. a second…”
Sam had once thought the pretty boy was just like him, but day after day, he proved to be a monster just like the rest of them. Breathing heavily, Sam got up and started running again. This was their 7th lap. Demon Captain Mira had made 6 laps the regular routine, and now the 7th was added to test their limits once more. Sam managed the first 6 without falling even once, but the 7th lap?
That needed some curses to get through, but get through it he did.
He wouldn’t fall now, not when he wasn’t there to carry him anymore.
“You guys go on… I’ll sleep here for a while,” Yovan said, breathing hard as he collapsed onto the snow. But before he could fall completely, Geldric grabbed him and supported him as they all ran one more lap, finishing their morning training.
After resting and cursing some more, they did their morning routine and gathered back at the dining tent for breakfast. Half the benches were empty. The first thing Valoris had done once the lord was dead and command was in his hands was to send the requested reinforcement that Lady Vidalia’s forces had asked for. They left the very next day with half the camp’s soldiers.
If he hadn’t done that, Sam knew they could have won against the cowardly noble’s troops and avoided their demands. But then again, Valoris and the other captains weren’t much certain about Maximus’s presence here, so maybe the outcome would have been the same.
As a replacement and for security, many knights in house Kiyama’s service and other allied houses had lent troops to the camp to prevent any other lords from taking control of the army for their own benefit. The chances were low, though, and it was just a precaution.
“At last, something rewarding after wasting so much time on nothing,” Yovan said while eating his breakfast.
“You mean learning new spells?” Jorven asked.
“Ah, but Captain Valoris isn’t here… I wonder who will take his lesson,” Einar added.
“Is captain Royce a good mage?” Sam asked, curious.
“Oh yeah… He’s pretty well known. They call him the Golden Mage. I’ve never seen it, but they say he’s a light attribute user. It makes his spells golden,” Yovan gushed about the fellow Pyron city mage.
Sam didn’t know much about mages, but he knew the light attribute was pretty rare, and they were usually trained as healers.
“Light attribute? He’s a healer?” Sam asked.
“No, not all light users become healers… Some choose different paths. Royce uses it to enhance his main style,” Yovan explained.
“Main style?” Geldric asked, intrigued.
“He’s a wood style user,” Yovan said.
“Phpffffhhh!” Sam almost spit out the mouthful of soup he was eating.
He had heard Maximus cry about wood style as if it was his long-lost love. If Maximus knew he missed a chance to be taught by someone like Royce, well it might be a good thing he’d never know. Whenever they went into the city, Maximus would always find some weird wooden building and start complimenting the design and structure, going on and on.
The guy wouldn’t shut up once he started rambling about spells.
“You okay there?” Jorven asked, placing a hand on his back.
“Hmm… I’m good.”
Finishing their breakfast amidst the constant chatter of soldiers and knights, it was time for their specific class lessons.
Einar and Sam went to the same place where Valoris had tested Sam for the spellsword class. Two of those green-haired bastards were also in the group for spellsword lessons. Sam couldn’t help but glare at them, gritting his teeth.
After the incident, the noble brats had returned to the camp, continuing their training to join the army. The incident had been proven bad for them too. Their parents had lost their source of arrogance, their closeness to the lord, and with him gone and the city in turmoil, even they had to look out for themselves.
The brats weren’t that dumb and understood the situation, so they didn’t give Captain Royce and Captain Mira any reason to send them home. They had become quite obedient bastards. But Sam knew what they truly were, and he was always cautious of them.
The captains, learning their lessons and having command over the whole camp, had assigned two guards to their tent at all times to prevent bullying and fighting. If this had been done from the start, Maximus would still be here. But well, who could change the past? If Maximus was here, Sam was sure he would have said, ‘Focus on the lesson and forget those extras…’
The training grounds were prepared as Sam and Einar took their places among the other students in the spellsword lessons. Their instructor sergeant, a seasoned warrior, strode to the center of the circle. His presence commanded attention, his grizzled face framed by a mane of silver hair. A sword hung at his side, its hilt gleaming with runes that pulsed faintly with an inner light.
“Today’s lesson,” he began, his voice carrying easily across the whole ground, “will focus on the harmony between blade and magic. A spellsword must master both, for only then can you truly wield power.”
He unsheathed his sword with a sharp ring, the blade catching the light as it emerged. With a flick of his wrist, the runes along the blade flared to life, casting a faint blue glow. “Observe,” he commanded.
In a fluid motion, The sergeant shifted his stance, his feet grounding firmly into the earth. He swung the sword in a broad arc, and as he did, a trail of blue light followed the blade’s edge, leaving a shimmering afterimage. The energy was not merely for show; it crackled with magical potency, distorting the air around it.
“Magic enhances the strength of your strikes,” The sergeant explained, his eyes scanning the recruits. “But it also serves to protect, to deflect. Watch closely.”
He stepped forward into a defensive stance, and with a swift upward slash, he channeled a shield of ethereal light that materialized in front of him, blocking an imagined strike. The shield dissolved just as quickly, the energy returning to the sword.
Sam and Einar, standing side by side, exchanged glances. This was what they had been training for, to combine their physical prowess with their magical abilities. Sam knew he couldn’t use magic, but there was something else he could use. After studying with Maximus, Sam had at least understood his power, even if he hadn’t fully grasped it.
He could feel it inside his body, in his veins, the energy running wild. It felt like he could access it, but it was just an illusion. Whenever he tried to force it out, it dissipated. Maximus had reasoned that it might be due to the low quantity of electricity in him. Once “charged” again (Sam had no idea what he meant by that), he could at least try to control it.
Sam had also thought about going out to find lightning, but where exactly would he find lightning? There was no rain here, and he couldn’t go to the ocean on a ship for it. Even if he did, being struck by lightning with people around was just a recipe for disaster.
“You two, step forward,” The sergeant called. Sam and Einar did as instructed, gripping their practice swords.
“Focus on the flow of mana,” The sergeant instructed. “Feel it in the core of your being, and let it guide your movements.”
Einar closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. Then, opening his eyes and taking a deep breath, he raised his sword.
Sam did the same, though his grip was a bit more hesitant. He knew swordsmanship and magic would never combine for him, but learning the sword was necessary, and he was determined to master it.
“Now, attack!” the sergeant commanded.
Einar moved first, his sword slicing through the air with practiced precision. He willed the magic to follow his blade, and a faint trail of red light echoed his movements. The energy wasn’t as bright or potent as the sergeant’s, but it was there, a testament to his growing skill.
Sam followed, his strike less confident and devoid of any magic. His blade left no streak in the air, just slicing through with speed.
“Good,” the sergeant nodded approvingly. “But remember, your magic must be an extension of your will. It must flow like water, seamlessly with your blade. Again!”
They repeated the movements, each time the trail left behind by Einar’s blade growing stronger, the magic more responsive. Sam’s strikes became more fluid, still with no trace of magic. But Sam was neither embarrassed nor discouraged.
He wasn’t like them. His struggles were different; if they had to jump two steps, Sam had to jump ten to match their efforts. But that was fine. As Maximus had once told him, showing off was for kids. The real students learned in silence, struggled in silence, and succeeded in silence, where no one praised their efforts or applauded.
But those lessons remained with them for a lifetime and served their purpose.
After several rounds, the sergeant called a halt. “Well done,” he said, sheathing his sword. “You are progressing well. But remember, a spellsword is not just a warrior who wields magic. You are a conduit, a bridge between the physical and the magical. Master this, and you will be a force to be reckoned with.”
Einar and Sam nodded, their bodies tired but their spirits high. The lesson had been intense, but they had learned much. As they left the training grounds, they knew they were one step closer to mastering the path of the spellsword.