The previous night had been a comfortable one for Klarion. Once they had returned from the Central Archive, he had taken the time to prepare another dinner for himself and Hatsune. The meal had passed in relative silence, but he could tell that the Leporine was gradually becoming more comfortable with him. After he had cleaned up, with Hatsune again helping him with the dishes, he had gone to his room while Hatsune had excused herself to take some time inspecting the various rooms and hidden corners of Blacksword Manor. She assured him that she would be back to the room before he turned in for the night.
For his part, Klarion thought that she was less interested in ensuring the security of the residence and more in seeking a break from his presence. He understood, so he gave her some space. While she was doing that, he had gotten ready for bed and focused his attention on his new Assessment Orb. Initially, he had some faint hope that he would be able to tap into an Essence immediately, but as the minutes passed, the sphere remained unresponsive. Frustration soon crept up on in, but rather than get upset he set it aside, resolving to continue trying each night before bed. Hatsune had come back to the room not much later, and after a brief goodnight, had taken what was fast becoming her regular spot on the couch. He wasn’t sure who fell asleep first.
When morning came, Klarion gave Hatsune some time to get dressed and went to the kitchen to prepare a hearty breakfast. In the process of pulling out some eggs, Klarion noticed that the food supply would last maybe the rest of the week. At that point, he would have to figure out a way to restock the kitchen. Perhaps he could ask a Sentinel later. He hadn’t been able to consider the issue further, as by that point Hatsune had shown up ready for breakfast and to escort him to his class for the day. Combat Studies.
Klarion felt a mixture of curiosity and apprehension for the upcoming course. He was by no means new to fighting, based on what had happened over the previous few weeks, but neither did he consider himself anything more than a beginner. Much of the experience he did have was shaped by the one-on-one training sessions with Rolfun. His half-ogre friend had taught him the basics of using a greatsword, from the precise weight distribution of a swing to the importance of footwork in maintaining balance, yet those lessons had been practical and straightforward. If he could guess, the class sessions in Combat Studies might be more unpredictable, and how well his training with Rolfun would translate remained to be seen.
Before long the stone walls of the Martial Hall loomed before them, dark and imposing. As they went inside, Klarion couldn’t help but look up at the intricate designs of the banners adorning the front of the building that fluttered in the breeze. The interior was much like he had expected, with intricate stonework and references to various battles and military figures from Imperial history. Or at least, that was what he guessed they were, as he had only the context of where he was to determine what was around him. Students, the majority in their first year based on their uniforms, moved through the halls to their classrooms.
When Klarion eventually found the room his Combat Studies class was supposed to be in, he was supposed to see that a note with rough handwriting had been placed on the door directing students down the hall to a gymnasium at the back of the Martial Hall. Exchanging a look with Hatsune, they made their way there. The closer they got to their destination, the clearer Klarion could make out the faint sounds of combat — sharply timed blows, the rhythm of feet shifting across the ground. He pushed a set of doors open that stood next to a placard that said they were at the right place. Contrary to the gyms he had been in back on Earth, the one in the Martial Hall was not an open space but rather seemed to be divided into four separate sections whose walls did not quite reach the ceiling. The sounds of combat were louder now, and faster, but all he saw in front of him was a group of students. Perhaps the sound was coming from one of the other areas.
Despite his interest in getting a glimpse of who was fighting, Klarion went in the direction of a gathered group of students who looked like they might be in his class. Before he could ask someone, he overheard confirmation that they had indeed come to the right spot. Standing at the back of the group, he noticed that scions and bodyguards alike were once again avoiding looking in his direction. After briefly confirming that Redrek and Valdre nor their bodyguards were present, he put it out of his mind. Instead, he focused on the space he and Hatsune were now in, hoping to get some insight into what class would be like.
The space practically reeked with the scent of sweat, wood, and metal. Scattered along the walls were various training equipment — dummies, stacks of sparring weapons, shields, and training armor. Across the floor were painted lines, but rather than the more familiar outlines of a basketball court, they were a confusing mix of circles and boxes. Used for sparring would be his guess. As he looked around, he heard the door to the gymnasium open again, so he turned to look, expecting that it was the Professor who was arriving in time to get the class started.
Instead, he saw Hector.
Much like every other time he had seen him, Hector carried himself with an air of confidence, his bodyguard close behind. The bodyguard gave him pause as he was a race Klarion had not yet seen. He was a towering figure cloaked in a dark, seamless robe that concealed a muscular frame. His blue scales shimmered faintly under the light while his slit-pupiled eyes surveyed the surroundings with an unsettling, predatory calm. A curved blade rested at his hip, its hilt shaped like the head of a serpent. The snakekin, for lack of a better word, had movements that were fluid and deliberate, bringing to mind a cobra uncoiled and ready to strike. Though silent, his presence exuded a quiet menace. He was dangerous.
Turning his attention back to Hector, Klarion made eye contact with the other scion. This time, unlike in their other shared class, when Hector saw him he did not head in his direction. Instead, he gave a casual wave and mouthed something about later. Perhaps he wanted to talk with Klarion after class? Unlike most of the others of noble lineage he had met so far, Hector had been nothing but helpful. Indeed, the other scion’s advice had been good and Klarion couldn’t deny that Hector had made an honest effort to be friendly. He would have to see what Hector wanted after class, but he still had hope that he might become, if not a friend, at least an ally for the rest of the year and beyond.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
“Looks like Hector wants to talk after class,” Klarion said quietly, turning to Hatsune, who was already watching the other scion with her usual sharp eye.
Hatsune’s ears shifted back towards the door, “That would make sense, as the Professor is about to arrive.”
The door opened yet again, and the room fell silent as a man who could only be their Professor strode to the center of the gymnasium, his boots echoing sharply against the floor. Murmuring picked up as his dark eyes surveyed the gathered students, scrutinizing each one as though he could already measure their potential — or lack thereof. Klarion felt Hatsune stiffen at his side when those eyes drifted over them.
“Gather ‘round,” the professor barked, his grizzled voice cutting through the renewed murmurs. The students shuffled closer, forming a loose semi-circle around him.
“I am Professor Ardek Thrain,” he began, his tone as sharp as the blade strapped to his side. “For those of you who don’t know my name, which should be all of you first years,” he said with a sharp grin, “you’ll learn to respect it before long. This is Combat Studies, the foundation of your ability to survive and thrive in the Academy — and beyond.”
He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “This course is not about some fancy tricks or showmanship,” he growled, “and if you want that, I encourage you to go back home to hire one of the armsmasters that subscribe to that nonsense. No, this class is about the art of war, plain and simple. Combat is chaos. It doesn’t care how noble your house is, how fancy your style is, or how clever you think you are. It cares only about one thing: who’s left standing at the end.”
Thrain crossed his arms, his muscular frame a testament to the training he put in to stay combat-ready. His gaze swept across the students again, lingering momentarily on a few, including Klarion. “In this class, you’ll learn to fight. Not just to swing a weapon or throw a punch, but to understand combat — how to read your opponent, how to exploit weaknesses, and how to turn even the worst situation to your advantage. And let me be clear: I expect each and every one of you to give your all. Anything less is a waste of my time — and yours.”
Thrain’s eyes shifted to the bodyguards standing alongside their scions. “Now, some of you may think that your bodyguard’s job is to handle all the fighting while you stand back and watch. Let me disabuse you of that notion right now. A scion that can’t defend themselves is a liability, no matter how powerful their bodyguard might be. In this course, both scions and bodyguards will train together. You’ll spar together, strategize together, and, ultimately, fight together.”
Klarion felt a flicker of anticipation as Thrain continued. “Bodyguards, your role is crucial. You’re not just a shield; you’re an extension of your scion. Your skill and strength should complement theirs, and vice versa. But don’t think for a moment that this means scions can slack off. If anything, you’ll be held to an even higher standard. After all, your name carries weight, and that weight will either elevate you — or crush you.”
Thrain began to pace slowly across the front of the group of gathered scions and bodyguards. “This course will test your ability to work as a team. It will test your trust, your communication, and your willingness to put everything on the line for each other. Because, let me tell you, out there—” he gestured broadly as if to encompass the entire Academy and beyond— “there are no second chances. If you fail, you die. And if you die, you drag your House and your legacy down with you.”
Thrain stopped pacing and faced the group directly. “With that being said, Combat Studies is divided into three main components. The first is skill development. This includes weapon training, hand-to-hand combat, and, eventually, the use of magical and Essence-based attacks in battle. Though the latter two might well take you until the second year or later to begin doing. Regardless, whether you wield a weapon, cast spells, or rely on raw strength, you will refine your techniques to a razor’s edge.”
“The second component,” he continued, “is tactics. Knowing how to fight is one thing; knowing how to win is another. You’ll study battlefield scenarios, learn to anticipate your opponent’s moves, and adapt to changing circumstances. We’ll cover everything from one-on-one duels to the roles of individuals in large-scale engagements, so be prepared to think as much as you sweat.”
“And finally,” Thrain’s voice hardened, “there’s survival. Combat isn’t just about defeating your enemy; it’s about enduring the fight. You’ll learn how to push past your limits, manage your resources, and recover from setbacks. Because in the real world, there’s no such thing as a fair fight.”
The emphasis that Thrain was putting on the individual made sense to Klarion after a moment of thinking about it. While he was just as excited to get started learning about the Empire’s wars and battles of the past, his brief time learning how to fight with Rolfun had shown him that before he could lead others, he first needed to understand the proper way to fight himself. Given how magic and Essences existed here and how levels could push capabilities far beyond that of soldiers on Earth, Klarion was, in a way, relieved that he would be taking time to understand the basics a bit more before diving into the more complicated topics. Based on the groans around him, he was only one of the few that felt that way, however.
Thrain’s lips curled into a grim smile. “Now, let’s talk about your final exam. By the end of this course, you’ll be expected to put everything you’ve learned to the ultimate test — a Dungeon run.”
A murmur of surprise rippled through the group, but Thrain silenced it with a raised hand. “For the unaware, which I hope is very few of you, Dungeons offer a perfect setting to assess how well you have learned what I will be teaching you. They are unpredictable, dangerous, and unforgiving. Each one is unique, filled with traps, monsters, and challenges designed to test your every skill. For this exam, you and your bodyguard will form a party and descend into the Pit, the Academy’s designated first-year training Dungeon. Make no mistake, this will be one of the most challenging experiences of your first year. Much like the enemies of the Empire beyond this Academy, Dungeons do not care about your lineage or your potential. I encourage you all to pay attention during class so that don’t find out what it is like to lose someone on a Dungeon run.”
The professor let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing once more. “The stakes are high, but so are the rewards. Those who excel in Combat Studies gain more than just a grade. You’ll earn respect, recognition, and opportunities that could shape your future. And for those of you who aspire to greatness, let me remind you that nothing worth having comes without risk.” He glanced at a few scions who appeared particularly nervous. “If you’re afraid, good. Fear keeps you sharp. But don’t let it control you. Channel it. Use it. Because in this class, fear is just another weapon that you will learn to wield.”
Thrain took a step back, his gaze sweeping over the group one final time. “This is your chance to prove yourselves. To your peers, to your Houses, and to me. Show me that you have what it takes to survive, to adapt, to win.”
He gestured toward the weapons racks lining the nearby wall. “Now, both scions and bodyguards: choose your training weapons. We start now.”