Jon woke up to the sound of someone knocking at the door. Donning only an old pair of trousers he had improvised as the bottom part of a pajama, he quickly stood up, put on a nightshirt, and activated the lightstones.
Aeron and Nevil stirred in their beds as they slowly woke up. Only Deon, still wearing the same clothes from the previous night, failed to show a reaction, either dead-drunk or actually dead from alcohol poisoning.
Opening the bedroom door, Jon stood face-to-face with a pale woman, her face impassive. She had a closed wooden box under one arm.
“Student, these are the timetables for your classes this year.” She handed him four closed envelopes, each one with a different name. “And this is for your performance at the Squire’s Tourney,” she said before handing him the wooden box, a series of clinking sounds as it moved. “Breakfast will be served at the seventh hour, please don’t be late.” After a quick bow of the head, she finally left.
By now, Nevil had already got out of bed. Aeron sat up, rubbing the sand out of his eyes.
“Our classes schedules have arrived,” Jon told the two as he handed them their papers. Rather than checking his own schedule, Jon first turned his attention to the box. He unlatched and opened its lid, revealing thirty-six closed vials neatly ordered, a viscous blue liquid inside each of them. Folded and wedged between two of the vials was a small piece of paper with the instructions.
Arranged in this box are vials of mana potions to aid with your cultivation. For optimal results, dilute one potion into three gallons of solvent, preferably water, and ingest it with every meal. Each vial is supposed to last for thirty meals, three meals a day.
These were mana potions? Jon removed one of the vials and held it against the lightstones. The liquid inside was as thick and viscous as honey, a far cry from what his mother used to drink to help maintain her cultivation. He returned the vial to the box before carefully placing it atop his bed. Only then did he turn his attention to his class schedule.
The paper was divided into twenty-four rows representing the hours, and seven columns representing the days of the week. As the woman said before, breakfast began at the seventh hour, the same for every day of the week.
Starting at eight, he had Warfare Basics with professor Morgan Treharne on Loondays and Kirsdays, the first and fourth days of the week respectively. On Telsdays and Menidays he instead had Understandings on Cultivation with professor Cadel Visick. Finally, he had Somerford’s History with professor Lynne Howell on Vanisdays and Diurdays. On Solday, the seventh and last day of the week, the timeslot was free.
At ten, Practical Combat with professor Derfel Rosser almost every day of the week, the only exception being Solday which was once again free.
At noon, he had one hour of rest. Lunch was served on the first hour of the afternoon. At two, Basic Spell Theory with professor Ariana Moyle for six days of the week, same as Practical Combat. At four began the elemental spell classes, each day reserved for a different element.
Earth on Loondays, fire on Telsdays, light on Vanisdays, air on Kirsdays, water on Menidays, and darkness on Diurdays. Solday was reserved for lightning, the only class happening on that day. Each spell class lasted for four hours, double the duration of all others.
Other than light and darkness, the elements Jon had the most affinity with, every elemental spell class had a red cross risked over it. Written under each cross were the words, INSUFFICIENT ELEMENTAL AFFINITY.
Finally, the day ended with dinner being served at eight.
“We’ve got Practical Combat and Basic Spell Theory together!” Nevil exclaimed while comparing his timetable to Aeron’s. Next, he approached Jon and did the same to his. “As for the two of us, we have Understandings on Cultivation and light spell classes together. As for Deon, he seems to have the same classes as Aeron.”
From outside, the tolls of a bell reverberated. Once, twice, six times in total.
“Better hurry up and wake up our drunkard friend,” Aeron said before yanking Deon’s blankets.
***
“Urgh, please kill me,” said a hungover Deon, clutching at his head as the group walked out from the feasting hall.
Compared to the night before, practically all the top students were nowhere to be seen during the breakfast. Nevil explained that those who manage to get a spot on the King’s Tourney are awarded a boon of their choice. Within reason of course. One such boon was a private accommodation that included its own exclusive serving staff.
“That’s what you get for drinking like a fish last night,” reprimanded Aeron.
The group headed west, towards the Sunset Building where their first class was set to be conducted. Every so often they would pass by another group of students or guards on patrol, with Jon continuing to attract a few suspicious looks and whispers.
From a distance, the Sunset Building could already be seen. It was hard to miss it with its five stories high, various statues across its roof, and so many rooms that it resembled a palace rather than an academic building.
Walking into the place, Deon tripped over his own feet and would’ve fallen to the floor if not for Aeron’s quick intervention. In such a state, Jon could already imagine how terribly he’d fare during the Practical Combat.
In a little bit of fortune for the nobleman, Bella wasn’t in the same Practical Combat class as him, else she might take the chance to harm him during a spar. In a similar bit of fortune for Jon, she had instead been placed together with him. For the same reasons why Deon might not want to face off against Bella, Jon didn’t want to spar against any unknown student.
“By the Lady, you’re a mess,” Bella commented. “I say we just leave him here and go on our way.”
By her side, Nevil took her hand. “Be nice Bella,” he said before turning to the rest of the group. With his free hand, he pointed at a hallway to the left of the entrance hall. “Our classroom is this way. Good luck taking care of Deon.”
Jon sighed as the two of them left. His first class and he already had this burden to handle.
“By the flame, that woman can hold a grudge,” Deon said with a groan. He tried to stand on his own and almost stumbled onto a passing student.
Aeron had to hold him once again. “He can barely walk, needs to be watched at all times, and is giving me a headache. It’s like taking care of a baby.”
“Yes, and yesterday I suckled quite a lot,” Deon said with a lecherous laugh. “She didn’t have any milk, so I gave her some of mine instead.”
“Bella was right, we should just leave him here,” Jon said, already tired of this.
“As tempting as this might be, let’s try to help him for now at least.”
“Fine, but if he throws up, then it’s your problem to deal with.”
The rectangular classroom was large enough to seat up to two hundred students. Ten rows of chairs and desks were set up on a pitched floor, with those at the back setting higher up so that they could see the professor. Various maps depicting opposing armies as colorful dots were arranged over the walls. Sunlight shone through the windows on the right side while the empty space at the front was reserved for the professor, who hadn’t arrived yet.
At Deon’s insistence, the trio sat at the back of the classroom and on the left side, away from the windows.
When the professor finally arrived, he had one large stone slab under each arm, both of which he propped against the wall. “Good morning,” he greeted with a warm smile as soon as the bells outside tolled eight times. “My name is Morgan Treharne and I’ll be teaching you the basics of warfare throughout this year. By the end of it, you’ll be able to differentiate between the most common troop formations in use, ascertain the optimal terrain types to fight in, as well as how to properly set up a war camp.
“But, given that it’s our first class, I figure we can afford to go slower on the subject itself and instead talk for a bit. Starting off, I’ll ask a question and you’ll raise your hands if your answer is positive. Everyone understand?”
Hands flew up to the air.
“Good. So let’s start. Do you hope to improve your cultivation here at the academy?”
Once again, everyone raised a hand.
“That’s right, the academies are known for offering the best in cultivation resources. Even the lowest student can expect to receive it. Coupled with the fact that you’re all twenty years old, the prime age for cultivation, then it’s impossible that you won’t improve. Next question then. Do you hope to distinguish yourself at the King’s Tourney?”
There were a lot fewer hands this time. Save for a few commoners, either confident or foolish, only nobles raised their hands. Not even Jon raised his hand. His only fight against a noble had been against Jack, an arrogant buffoon who could barely use a sword.
“Yes, the King’s Tourney, where the best students from the twelve academies compete. It’s a chance to prove their worth, to bring honor and glory to their name. Is it reasonable then to assume that winning the tourney is the ultimate objective to be pursued?”
All hands flew up again.
“See, that’s where I disagree. While winning the glory from the tourney is certainly an important feat, I believe that people give too much value to it and not enough to everything else that’s offered here. The academies can offer so much more. Here, students have the chance to learn lessons that will last a lifetime. Even more important than the power that cultivation gives us, is how we use it.
“And this brings us to these stone slabs, which I’m sure you’re all wondering why I brought here. Let me demonstrate.” In a flash, the professor’s leg moved as he kicked against one of the slabs. Unable to offer any resistance, it broke in an instant, spreading dust and little bits of stone.
Deon, who had been dozing off, woke up with a startle.
“I’m a 5th Paladin. Even so, what I just did isn’t exactly easy for me. So let’s try again in a different manner.” Professor Treharne knelt down near the second slab. From inside his robes, he produced a hammer and a chisel. The stone cracked at the first hit and broke in half at the second.
“A somewhat silly demonstration, sure, but hopefully it helped my point come across,” he said, shaking the dust off his hands and putting the tools away. “Humans never were and never will be the most powerful species to roam the land. And yet, we’re the ones who rule it. So once again I say it. The way we use our power is more important than the power itself. This is the foundation of everything in life, from the most menial manual labor to the diplomacy between kingdoms. And, regarding this class’ subject, warfare.”
tftc