Even taking a small break on the walk over, I arrive as soon as the previous class ends. I notice there are relatively few soldiers and that most of them look particularly well dressed, alluding to their personal wealth. While uniforms were provided, I guess it was never stated that anyone actually had to wear them. Still, it seems that forcing everyone to wear a uniform would boost cohesion, would it not? By allowing those who could afford fancy clothes to wear them, class would still be clearly distinguished, even among soldiers of equivalent rank. [Perhaps this world's class system is simply ingrained so deeply that even comrades in arms are separated from one another.]
I actually seem to get a few sneers from some of those in fancier attire, but for now I will simply pretend to not notice. I should probably get used to being looked down upon; I am a slave, a member of the lowest class, after all.
Eventually, the previous class fully disperses. Deciding that it might be a good idea to make a positive first impression, hoping to avoid another interaction like I've already had twice today, I walk up to the instructor before any other soldiers arrive.
He glances up at me as I approach and, with a surprisingly warm smile, says "Hello there! I assume you are one of my new students, yes?"
"That I am," I answer, holding out my hand. "It's an honor to be your student."
He readily accepts my hand, firmly grasping it for a second before letting go. "Oh my, a polite one! You wouldn't believe how many arrogant pricks I have to deal with, being charged with instructing our military's mages."
"Really? I would expect mages to understand the value of respect and honor enough to be at least so polite as the meager level that I have thus far displayed."
"Heh. It seems like you know little of the average mage. Most come from wealthier families, as only the wealthy can afford to finance their child's dream of being a mage. It is rare that the less privileged are able to awaken their talents as a mage, though those who do tend to be quite powerful. Of course it is also fairly hereditary, so mages become rich and powerful only to pass that on to their children. These children then forget their family roots, choosing to ridicule those with talent and without wealth. The insolence… oh my, please forgive my ranting. I've had a rather trying day, what with three back to back classes of insolent, talentless fools. At my age, I don't think I can handle this for much longer. Ahem. I hope you won't reveal what I just said, will you? I won't suffer much for it but it could be a bit convenient. Of course, I wouldn't be very happy with you. My, how terribly rude of me! All this ranting on the rudeness of others, and here I am not even asking your name."
I laugh "hardly. Besides, I never asked your name either. I am nameless, though I probably ought not mention such things to a powerful mage such as yourself. As long as you don't take advantage of that, I wouldn't dare inconvenience you by exposing your irritation with the insolent rich children."
"Oho? Nameless? That is quite a rarity. Though I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. Someone strong enough to dominate your mind, a group of which I am certainly not a part, could just as easily destroy you as control you. If you ever meet someone of that caliber, becoming their puppet will surely be the least of your worries. Anyways, as for my name – I am Ezreik. Though I probably shouldn't say this to a subordinate, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to be prepared to welcome my other new students with a grand demeanor more befitting of my post." With a sly wink, he turns from me and climbs up onto a small wooden platform that overlooks a trampled area of dirt where his students are supposed to gather.
[What an interesting guy. Far nicer than those other instructors, at least. I'm just happy that he doesn't look as ridiculous as tht mage I saw this morning; if he had been wearing those silly blue robes and that pointed hat, there is no way that I could have kept a straight face. A dull brown is a much better color for a mage, I feel. That deep blue is just asking to be attacked; this mage would blend in much nicer with a crowd, and thus would be better at surviving to deal damage; that shows him to be at least smarter than that mage this morning, though whether he is more powerful remains to be seen.]
As I lose myself on an entirely nonsensical train of thought, more of my fellow initiate mages begin to arrive. I take note of their attire, seeing it to be as gaudy — and as foolish — as that of the wizard this morning, not one demonstrating the intellect necessary to realize that muted colors must surely be more sensible for a backline caster devoid of the ability to take numerous hits during a battle. Not one of my fellow compatriots sees fit to greet our instructor; instead, they all but scoff at his basic brown robes, mocking his apparent lack of wealth. The wizard notices this, of course, but he seems to have no response but to clench his fists, all the while a dangerous and mad light flickering in his brown eyes.
When several minutes have passed and not one mage has turned his attention to him, the instructor clears his throat: "Silence, please." However, a majority of the class ignores him, choosing instead to continue talking. [Oh my. This seems much more a picture of a school than of a respectable military institution, clearly a sign of the flaws of weak leadership.]
"Silence!" he cries out again, making it clear that this is an order, not a request. Though the "soldiers" do grow quiet, there is still a palpable degree of disdain directed at the wizard.
"Now. In the future, any failure to follow my orders shall be met with swift punishment. This is a military training program, not your father's castle. This is not your place to rule over; it is a place for you to realize the true depths of your inferiority when compared to any [real] wizard, an inferiority that may motivate the least dim of you to reach out towards greatness."
A cacophony of outraged cries arise from the aspiring mages. One voice quickly rises to the top, from a noble dressed like a king. [Oh my. He even has a crown and everything… doesn't he think that is a slight bit excessive? Or perhaps it is simply a part of this culture…]
"How dare you insult me! You… you filthy [common] wizard! Your very existence in a position to be teaching us [noble] mages is a slight to us all! My father had warned me of your type; you get even a sliver of power due to your so-called "talent," only to then abuse that power to rule over your superiors! You fools who rise only on [merit], wholly devoid of any degree of understanding as to the importance of one's natural role in society, an understanding of class and hierarchy? It is those such as yourself who have led to the downfall of this great nation! As if it isn't bad enough that [slaves,] " he points at me, "are allowed to learn our nations ancient secrets of power, that is to say magic, now even the instructors are of the lesser classes! And now you call us inferior, all the while demanding our subservience! What defense do you have for your actions, filthy [commoner] ? You ought to lick the dust off of my boots and beg forgiveness (for crawling like a worm at my feet is the only place for filth such as you); and perhaps, if you did so, I would consider, in my great mercy, offering you forgiveness for your heinous sins."
If the wizard was furious before, it could not possibly compare to him now. "You wretched noble brat! You insolent swine! You have insulted me, your military superior, in such a manner as to warrant your execution! Perhaps, if you had demonstrated enough intellect to control your insults, or at the least not insulted one of my pupils, I could consider handing you a lesser punishment; but as it is, this shall not end until one of our deaths! You rest so confidently on noble tradition; in that case I draw upon the most noble of traditions that we mages hold! I, Eradicus Lector, challenge you to a wizard's duel to the death, on the basis of heinous insult!"
I find myself a bit taken aback at this; just moments ago mere insults were flying, and now a military commander and supposedly-seasoned wizard is challenging a student to a duel to the death. And, as if to make the situation even stranger, one of the listed causes for the duel is the tame insult leveled against me.
I half expect the young mage to deny this duel on some silly excuse, but instead he readily accepts it, with a condescending smirk on his face. "Old man, I will teach you the power of a noble-blooded mage! Oh, and I'll deal with that slave filth you've taken a liking to afterwords. I, Cornelius Enthrek Vilinious Faluscient Heirdriek, accept your duel! Should I win, your life and property will be mine, as is customary. As the challenge recipient, I invoke my right to establish the time of the duel; and I say that it shall begin two minutes from now!"
I note that Sir Lector looks a bit surprised by the noble's name, and I surmise that the Heirdriek's must be a considerable lofty family. However, he does not seem the least bit worried about the duel itself as he replies "Well, in that case, I will duel for your life and property, as is customary; furthermore, I recognize the duel start time in two minutes."
I am not the only student shocked by this turn of events; several of the other nobles seem rather taken aback at the rapid devolvement of the situation; apparently they had thought that the old mage would back down when his duel was accepted. Even Lord Heirdriek seems a bit surprised that the mage is going through with this; however, the surprise quickly fades from his face to be replaced with a confident look.
"Clear out! Make some room!" Lector commands, seemingly unfazed by this turn of events.
We all back away from the two, leaving Lector and Cornelius alone in the middle of a large area of trampled earth.
"Well, it's time," Lector says. "I trust that you are aware of the procedure for these things?"
"Heh. I should ask the same of you, old man. I grew up in my father's court, a place where the honorable conduct of a mage was greatly expounded upon. On the other hand, where could [you] have learned the appropriate conduct of a mage, hmm? You should try to get a refund from the nitwit who missed the first lesson, the lesson to respect your superiors. Well, we have witnesses, to the challenge, acceptance, and now to the duel itself. Furthermore, we have agreed upon the stakes. Now, I say, we shall begin… and I must add that I shall greatly enjoy grinding your rotting corpse under my boot after I have disposed of you with ease akin to severing a blade of grass."
"Very well," Lector responds curtly.
The two duelists stand facing each other, about 10 paces between. As soon as each is in position, Lector unleashes the first attack. With a dramatic flourish of his arm, a fireball of such heat that I can feel it from 20 yards away is formed. The ball is about the size of a human head, with wispy tendrils of flame lashing from its surface.
Seemingly before Lector can respond, the flaming ball is launched at him at a speed that I can barely follow. I fully expect Sir Lector to be burnt to a crisp by the flame, but instead it flashes out of existence before making contact with him.
My eyes, alongside the gaze of nearly everyone else, turn to Cornelius. Everyone's gaze seems to embody the same question- why did you disperse your spell?
However, the apparent shock and confusion splayed clearly across his face makes it clear to us that he had no intention of doing so. So, then, what had occurred?
The answer to our collective question comes from Sir Lector. "All that bluster and bravado, and you send a spell so weak at me, expecting some sort of result? And now you sit there, dumbfounded, as though you have never seen a basic 'dispel magic' spell cast before. I took you for a fool, but I suppose even my nonexistent expectations were a drastic overestimation of your abilities."
"Dispel magic!? That's cheating; I used an elemental based attack, how could you have the audacity to counter with straight magic!?"
"Such things are common in a duel between two [real] wizards; why should I go easy on you now? Prepare to die, fool, and contemplate your idiocy in whatever realm you end up. Now, suffer the wrath of death magic."
A black and green miasma appears before him, before then flying forth at astonishing speeds towards Cornelius. Cornelius summons as large a fireball he can in the short period he has, forming a ball about 2 feet in diameter and suspending it in front of him. The misma passes through the fireball, losing a negligible amount of mass to the flames, before setting upon Cornelius. Not even a moment later, Cornelius falls limp to the ground, most obviously dead, the ball of fire quickly fading away.
[And that's two dead, all on my first day. Seriously, what type of military institution is this? I can understand that the commanders may want to demonstrate their authority and capability to new recruits, but killing them just seems a bit counterproductive. After all, what is the point of demonstrating one's power and ability to one's students other than to instill obedience? And what, then, is the point of obedience if the student is dead? I suppose it serves as a lesson to others, but the cost seems a bit steep when the lesson is one of respect towards the teacher. Of course, I don't think that the lesson was even that profound in the case of the quivering initiate stabbed in the back by his teacher.]
Sir Lector sighs audibly. "I did not want to do this, but the etiquette of wizards demands that all insults be repaid with injury. That said, respect shall be repaid with kindness, and, in our case, teaching. Am I understood?"
"Yes sir!" Our group responds immediately, not wanting to get on the bad side of a man so capable of destroying us.