The training grounds shimmered with heat, the late morning sun beating down on the packed dirt arena where dust settled from thirty punishing laps. Fin stood among the twenty-eight survivors of Gavric's initial culling, practice sword in hand, his breathing controlled where others still gasped.
Instructor Gavric loomed in the center of the arena, his massive greatsword glinting in the sunlight. The weapon looked like it should require two hands for most men to even lift, yet Gavric held it casually in one hand, resting the flat of the blade against his shoulder. His Tier Four mana signature was a steady thrum in the background of Fin's awareness, like distant thunder on a clear day, a constant reminder of the power gap between student and master.
"Listen up!" Gavric's voice rolled across the grounds, silencing even the labored breathing of the exhausted students. "Those tired legs mean real fightin' conditions. Sloppy's where you learn what you're made of." His eyes scanned the group, lingering briefly on those still struggling to stand upright. "But first, split yourselves. Who's had formal weapons trainin'? Masters, tutors, clan techniques? Step left. The rest of you, right."
Students shuffled across the dirt, forming two uneven groups. Fin stepped left without hesitation, his mind flashing to long hours with Donovan's master-at-arms, the tantō becoming an extension of his arm since the day his core had awakened. Annie moved left too, her stride crisp and purposeful, hinting at years of disciplined training. In total, eight students gathered on the left, five boys, three girls, all standing with the natural poise of those who'd wielded steel long before Haven's entrance exams.
The other twenty slumped to the right, a mixture of farmhands, street scrappers, and untrained nobles, their weapons held awkwardly in unpracticed grips. Some stood with false confidence; others didn't bother hiding their uncertainty.
Gavric's scarred grin flashed across his face as he assessed both groups. "Eight trained fighters, good. We can work with that." He planted his greatsword tip-first into the dirt, the blade sinking six inches deep without apparent effort. "Before we start breakin' down your bad habits, names and weapons. Speak clear, I ain't in the business of guessin'." He pointed across the line from left to right.
A lanky boy with sharp, calculating eyes stepped forward, a rapier gleaming at his side. He drew the slender blade with practiced fluidity, sunlight dancing along its polished surface. "Rylan Vex, rapier specialist, trained five years under House Vex swordmasters." The way he stressed his house name revealed noble origins, though his stance showed more confidence than skill.
A stocky girl with a blunt, practical braid followed, a flanged mace hanging heavy in her grip. Unlike the rapier boy, she made no flourish, just raised her weapon with steady hands. "Mili Korr, mace, three years with the Korr militia." Her forearms showed the muscle definition of someone who'd put in hard hours with a weighted weapon.
Two broad-shouldered boys nodded next, their longswords still sheathed out of proper warrior etiquette. "Tormund Forrester, longsword, four years with the Forrester guard," said the first, blond and square-jawed with the bearing of a soldier's son. "Bram Dren, longsword. five years," added the second, dark-haired and heavier set, his economy of words suggesting northern roots.
A thin girl with a tight bun and calculating eyes spun her staff with a practiced flourish, the wood whistling through the air. "Gracie Krumb, staff specialist, four years training." She offered no lineage or affiliation, but her grip on the weapon told its own story.
A wiry boy with quick hands and quicker eyes flicked twin daggers from concealed sheaths, the motion so fluid Fin almost missed it. "Jorin Pelt, daggers, three years." The calluses on his fingers weren't just from training, they were the hardened edges of someone who'd used those blades for survival before Haven.
Annie squared her shoulders when her turn came, her short sword held steady in a classic guard position. "Annie Shard, short sword, five years with the Shard clan warriors." Her chin lifted slightly at the mention of her clan, a subtle but unmistakable pride.
Fin went last, keeping his practice sword loose in a relaxed grip that betrayed none of his capabilities. "Fin Aodh, sword, House Aodh." He offered nothing more, no years of training, no masters named. Better to keep the specialized training to himself; specialized weapons drew attention he didn't need. Besides, Donovan had always stressed the importance of appearing unremarkable until the moment it mattered.
Gavric grunted, his eyes flickering over each of them with assessment that missed nothing. He was memorizing their stances, their comfort with their weapons, the subtle tells of experience or uncertainty. "Rest of you need basics before anything fancy," he said, waving a hand toward the larger group.
At his signal, a fourth-year jogged from the direction of the spire, nineteen or so, lean but solid, navy robe crisp despite the weather. Four stars adorned his collar. Short brown hair framed a serious face, a longsword hanging at his hip with the comfort of long familiarity. His mana pulsed at Mid Tier Two, steady but somewhat rough around the edges, strong but unrefined.
"This is Kellan, my assistant this term, fourth-year combat specialist," Gavric introduced with a dismissive wave. "He'll drill the green ones in the basics while I work with you eight. You…" he pointed at the untrained group, "need to learn how to hold a blade without losin' fingers before anything else."
Kellan nodded, sharp-eyed and attentive. "Yes, sir." He turned to the larger group, gesturing them toward the far corner of the training grounds. "Line up, we're starting with grips and basic stances. Move!" His voice cracked like a whip, firm but lighter than Gavric's thunder.
The twenty untrained students shuffled after him, some casting envious glances back at the "advanced" group, others clearly relieved to be starting with fundamentals rather than facing Gavric directly. Kellan began distributing dull practice blades from a nearby rack, his instructions carrying across the grounds as he corrected the first student's grip with methodical precision.
Gavric turned his full attention to the eight trained fighters, crossing massive arms across his chest. The scars that crisscrossed his forearms told stories of battles survived, lessons learned in blood. "Tournament," he announced without preamble. "Single elimination, four opening fights, then semis, then final. Tired legs or not, I want to see proper form. Pair up, now."
He barked the pairings without waiting for volunteers: "Rylan versus Mili, Fin versus Gracie, Annie versus Bram, Tormund versus Jorin. First pair to the center, rest of you, clear space."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The training ground reorganized itself within moments, a rough circle forming as students backed away from the center. Rylan and Mili stepped forward, weapons at the ready, circling each other with wary respect. Rylan rolled his shoulders, twirling his rapier in a showy flourish that made Gavric's eyes narrow with disapproval.
"Begin!" Gavric barked, stepping back to observe.
Rylan lunged immediately, quick but sloppy, overextending in his eagerness. Mili parried with a grunt, her mace crashing against his guard with controlled power. The rapier wavered, and Rylan stumbled back, his footwork faltering on the uneven ground. Mili pressed her advantage, feinting high before cracking her weapon against his knee with practiced precision.
"Out!" Gavric called as Rylan dropped to one knee, wincing in pain but maintaining enough composure not to curse aloud. Mili nodded once, stepping back without celebration, the mark of a disciplined fighter.
"Fin, Gracie, center!" Gavric pointed, and the pair moved forward as Rylan limped back to the sidelines, rubbing his bruised knee.
Gracie twirled her staff in an impressive display of control, the wooden weapon blurring around her in a protective circle. Her eyes narrowed, assessing Fin's relaxed stance with suspicion. The moment Gavric signaled the start, she attacked with a flurry of strikes, the staff whistling through the air with practiced precision.
But Fin simply sidestepped, Equilibrium smoothing his movement to liquid grace. He made no attempt to counter, just watched her pattern, learning her rhythm. Three strikes later, she overcommitted to a thrust, and Fin moved, not striking with his practice sword but instead tapping her wrist with two fingers at precisely the right pressure point. Her grip faltered, and the staff thudded to the dirt.
Gracie blinked, momentarily stunned by the effortless disarm. "Out!" Gavric grunted, his scarred brow furrowing slightly as he studied Fin with new interest. Fin maintained his calm demeanor, keeping his practice sword loose in his grip as he stepped back.
"Annie, Bram!" Gavric called, and the pair entered the circle.
Annie's mana flared immediately, her speed skill lighting her legs with a blue shimmer that left afterimages as she moved. Bram, solid and powerful but clearly slower, set his stance and readied his longsword with proper form. The moment the match began, Annie was a streak of motion, her short sword a blur. Bram swung wide, a defensive arc meant to create space, but she was inside his guard before the swing completed.
A flick of her wrist sent his longsword flying free, disarming him in seconds without a single clash of blades. "Out!" Gavric announced as Bram cursed under his breath, retreating with wounded pride. Annie's eyes flicked briefly to Fin, a quick assessment tinged with curiosity. She'd noticed his technique, or rather, his deliberate lack of showing any.
"Tormund, Jorin!" The final pair took their positions.
Tormund drew his longsword with practiced formality, whereas Jorin spun his twin daggers in a flourish meant to distract. When the match began, steel rang against steel as Tormund's heavy blade clashed against Jorin's crossed daggers. Jorin darted back, light on his feet, looking for an opening, but Tormund pressed forward with disciplined aggression.
Three exchanges later, Tormund feinted low then hooked Jorin's arm with his free hand, pinning the smaller boy's knife arm and pressing his blunted longsword against Jorin's throat. "Out!" Gavric called. Jorin scowled, daggers dropping to his sides as he backed away.
"Semi-finals," Gavric announced. "Mili versus Fin!"
Mili stepped forward, adjusting her grip on her mace, studying Fin with newfound wariness after witnessing his effortless victory. She was smarter than Rylan, no reckless charge, just measured steps as they circled. When she finally attacked, it was with a controlled overhead swing meant to force him to block rather than dodge.
But Fin saw the telegraphed move, sidestepping just enough for the mace to miss by inches. As the weapon's momentum carried it downward, he tapped her wrist with the same precision he'd used against Gracie. The mace hit the dust, and Mili's eyes widened in surprise.
"Out," Gavric said, his tone flatter now, assessing rather than instructing. Mili huffed but nodded respectfully, stepping aside without complaint.
"Annie, Tormund!" The next semi-final commenced with a flash of blue as Annie activated her speed skill again, burning mana more intensely than before. Tormund set himself in a defensive stance, longsword held in both hands, waiting for her rush rather than meeting it.
It was a solid strategy for facing a faster opponent, but Annie was prepared. She shimmered blue, faster still than in her previous match, darting in at an angle. Tormund thrust with perfect timing, a solid strike that would have caught most opponents, but she sidestepped with preternatural speed, her blade nicking his grip as she passed. The precise strike numbed his fingers, and his longsword fell to the dirt.
"Out!" Gavric announced as Tormund glared, backing off with grudging respect. Annie's breathing had deepened slightly, a sign that maintaining that level of speed was taxing her reserves.
The finals loomed, and the training ground fell silent as Fin and Annie took their positions in the center of the arena. Dust swirled around their feet, the untrained students abandoning Kellan's drills to gawk at the final match. Annie adjusted her grip, eyes narrowing, quick, assessing, calculating odds and angles.
"Been holdin' back?" she asked, voice low enough that only Fin could hear. There was no taunt in her tone, just a professional probe.
Fin shrugged, keeping his practice sword loose in his grip. "Maybe." Equilibrium hummed beneath his skin, the skill operating at minimal power. He'd run second in the laps, fought clean but unremarkably in his matches. No active skills yet, no need to show his hand.
Gavric clapped once, the sound like a thundercrack in the silence. "Begin!"
Annie lunged immediately, blue flare erupting around her legs, faster than during the laps, faster even than her previous matches. She was a streak of motion, her short sword cutting through the air with lethal precision. Fin's eyebrows ticked up fractionally, a Tier One core shouldn't be able to sustain that level of skill activation, not with such sharpness of effect.
His Electromagnetic Perception pinged subtly, her mana pulsed thick around her core, denser than most Tier Ones he'd encountered. Still, not dense enough to make her a threat. Not to him.
He sidestepped, his higher than normal reflexes snapping into action without visible effort, her blade grazed air where he'd stood a heartbeat before. She spun immediately, slashing horizontally, quick, precise, and remarkably controlled for someone moving at such speed. He ducked under the strike, parrying her follow-up with a casual flick of his practice sword. Steel clanged against steel, the impact rattling up her arm but leaving him unmoved.
Her speed pressed harder, blue skill flaring brighter as she gritted her teeth, pushing her mana to its limits. Three strikes in rapid succession, left, right, thrust, each one perfectly placed to corner an ordinary opponent. But Fin moved like water, Equilibrium making his transitions fluid and untouchable, each step precisely where it needed to be.
On her third combination, she overextended, just slightly, a fraction of an inch too far on her lunge. He pivoted on his back foot, tapping her wrist with perfect pressure. Her sword spun free, thudding into the dust at her feet. She froze, panting, eyes widening as she processed what had happened. Silence fell across the training grounds, broken only by Gavric's grunt, "Out."
Fin straightened, showing no sweat, no strain, pure physicality with his mana still coiled tight within his core, barely tapped. Annie retrieved her blade from the dirt, muttering, "Too fast," under her breath as she stepped back. There was no resentment in her tone, just honest assessment and perhaps a flicker of respect.
Gavric strode forward, his greatsword retrieved from where it had stood embedded in the earth. His grin widened, scarred and predatory, as he assessed Fin with new interest. The other students backed away instinctively, sensing what was coming.
"Aodh, clean wins, no unnecessary flair. Good." His mana pulsed, the weight of his Tier Four presence pressing against the training grounds like an invisible storm. "Now, spar me."
Fin's face slowly morphed into a feral smile. This is interesting. The class stilled completely, even Kellan's drills paused, twenty-eight pairs of eyes locked on the center of the arena. Gavric towered over Fin, a mountain daring him to climb, his scarred face alight with challenge and curiosity.