We arrive there to witness a macabre spectacle. Three gallows have been erected side-by-side, and a large crowd of soldiers has gathered to watch the execution of my cowardly classmates. There is already a small mound of corpses when I arrive, with more corpses being added by the minute as coward after coward, fool after fool, is executed.
I try to avoid looking at them, at those condemned to die, as Lector and I push through the crowd on our way to the entrance. Though I hold no respect for them and recognize their executions to be of necessity, I also do not want to share in the sadness and fear that I know I will find in many of their eyes.
However, try though I might, I cannot avoid all of their gazes; seemingly outside of my control, my attention focuses on a young man's tear-covered face. Before I can look away, the executioner kicks the stool out from under him, resulting in me getting a full look of the man's death.
I just sigh and shake my head, continuing on with Lector as we push through the sickeningly enthusiastic crowd.
I expect Sir Lector to enter once we reach the doors, so I am a bit surprised when he turns his attention to the executions. In response to my questioning gaze, he explains, his voice surprisingly melancholic, that he feels it would be wrong to not at least watch the executions of those that he had had a role in sentencing to death. That makes sense to me, so I nod in response as I enter the dining hall alone.
Unsurprisingly, the hall is much less full than usual. I glance around, looking for Jorgenson, and somewhat surprisingly don't find him.
[Hmm… I wouldn't have expected Jorgenson to want to watch the executions. I didn't see him in the crowd, though I also wasn't really looking. Well, I hope that witnessing the executions doesn't drive him to do anything drastic,] I think with a sigh, taking a seat at a completely empty table and flipping open the book that Lector had given me, intent on using this time to learn about this world while also practicing my reading.
Though I find it entirely impossible to read many of the words contained within, the combination of many words being spelled phonetically with the handful of common irregularities that Sir Lector taught me last night, I am able to understand enough of the words to be able to get at least the main ideas out of the page I am reading.
While I read, I also eat the very satisfying meal of bread and water that has been laid out across the table. Though it has become almost customary to complain about the lack of beverage options, I am too focused on deciphering the complex meanings of the characters in front of me to bother with such an admittedly pointless task.
As time goes by, soldiers begin to trickle in, whether because the executions are over or because they merely got bored, I am unsure. I continue to read while I wait for Jorgenson, who, to my surprise, never arrives.
I attend both my strength training and running classes, wherein nothing of any great interest occurs, before heading over to the field that my swordsmanship class meets on.
I am the fourth student to arrive, and I stand there waiting for Jorgenson to show up as the scheduled start of class rapidly approaches. However, just like during breakfast, he never does. I am beset by a strong feeling of unease, worried that he will be in an astronomical amount of trouble for missing today's class.
My worry is partially lifted when the start time officially arrives and Reinhart informs us that we encompass the entirety of the class today, as Jorgenson and Raek, whom I deduce to be the one sent to the infirmary with a missing leg yesterday, will not be joining us today.
[Well, at least Jorgenson has been excused, though I wish that Reinhart had told us what for.] I think over why he may not be here today, and the only thought that comes to mind is that he may be ill. [Well, knowing him, it would not be unthinkable for him to be sick at the sight of the executions. They almost certainly go against his rather foolish sense of justice; a sense of justice that declares that soldiers are not to be punished for disobeying orders while simultaneously allowing the utilization of the strengths of those around you to further your own goals. Perhaps I should talk to him about that, actually. That sense of justice of his may very well get him killed, so it would really be to his benefit to get rid of it.]
Reinhart then begins to teach his lesson. He says that we are all at a high enough level of proficiency to skip the basics (footwork, form, and the like) and move straight to particular motions that have a proven track record. He demonstrates to us a rather interesting move that allows the user to force away their opponent's blade with one part of their own before then stepping in to force the lower part of the blade into the opponent. It's a rather interesting move, though rather easily countered by an opponent who has room to retreat a step or two, or even just has an extra knife on them.
He then has us practice the move over and over again with our swords in the air in front of us, making small tweaks and recommendations to each of us until he is satisfied we are all capable of it. Even though I don't see all that much use in the move, I still practice it as instructed; after all, on a battlefield no one can ever truly know what methods they may need, so being proficient in as many as possible is a must.
He repeats this process over and over again for the duration of the class, only ending his dispersal of new moves when the class is fully over.
I am actually rather exhausted by the end of his class, and I can't help but be grateful that we don't do this everyday here. And, being honest, I now see why he only chooses to provide his students with new moves every third day; otherwise, no matter how hard one tries, one could never commit all of them to memory if they were taught new ones every day. Even I, someone who had devoted a reasonable portion of my previous life to swordplay, learned a couple new moves that I might actually employ rather regularly, for which I am grateful.
After class has ended and the other three students have quickly dispersed, I head over to Reinhart. Recognizing that it never hurts to be polite, I first thank him for the valuable lesson. I then move on to ask him if he knows where Jorgenson is. Though I can think up a few non-worrying explanations for why he is not here, there are also many explanations that are far more worrisome, especially considering Jorgenson's unpopular opinions that would be sure to make enemies out of many who hear them.
My worries are further fueled when Reinhart replies "I have been ordered not to answer just that question, so unfortunately I am unable to do so."
Politely thanking him, I can't ignore the awful feeling that something is wrong here. I head over to my master's class, my worries growing incessantly as my mind creates ever worse explanations for this situation.
[Now, now, no need to get worked up over it, it's probably fine… right? Well, even if something did happen to him, it would still not be worth worrying about. After all, Jorgenson is merely a source of information about this world, information that I now have a book to provide to me with much greater efficiency then he ever could, with the added advantage that books don't get suspicious. And, though he doesn't show it much, it is almost undoubtedly the case that Jorgenson would be suspicious of me now. I asked him so many questions about this world, only a fool would fully fall for my excuse that I am from a tiny village in the middle of nowhere.
So, if something did happen to him, then it would really bring me only benefits, as it would cover up my trail!] I can't help but feel guilty for thinking that way, even knowing that I'm only thinking that way in a failed attempt to convince myself.