"Alright, that's it for the first chapter of Basic Hand-to-Hand Combat Theory. Make sure to finish all the assigned work because next week, there will be a practical sparring session," the instructor announced as he closed his notebook. He looked slightly stronger than the students but paled in comparison to the other instructors from the higher classes.
Just as the students were beginning to relax, the instructor added, "Oh, and I almost forgot. In two days, the Wizard of Oz will be giving a speech in the main hall."
The room erupted in chatter as excitement spread like wildfire.
"Did he say the Wizard of Oz?"
"Yeah! We'll actually get to see him this early in our training!"
For most of the students, this was an unparalleled opportunity. The Great Wizard was practically a myth to commoners, so to see him in person—let alone hear him speak—was a rare honor.
"Do you think he'll teach us?"
"Maybe! He wouldn't come all this way just for a speech, would he?"
But not everyone shared the same enthusiasm.
"Peyton, what do you think?" one of the students asked, nudging the top-ranked prospect.
Peyton opened one eye, yawning lazily as if he had just been woken from the dead. "What about it?"
"The Wizard's coming to give a speech. What do you think?" they repeated.
Peyton stretched before slumping back in his seat. "Probably just a boring speech. I wouldn't get my hopes up."
The disappointed student returned to his group, and the excitement continued without Peyton's input.
"Oh, and just to be clear," the instructor's voice broke through the chatter, "attendance is mandatory. If anyone fails to show up, it will result in immediate expulsion."
George's heart sank as the room buzzed with excitement. While the others were thrilled to see the Wizard, George felt like his world was crashing down.
'Wait... How am I supposed to attend the speech... when I'm supposed to give the speech?!' His mind raced. 'This is a disaster. What am I going to do?'
As George panicked internally, a loud, booming laugh echoed from the back of the room, pulling everyone's attention.
The barbarian sitting in the back, a hulking figure with rough, primitive clothing, stood up from his seat. He looked like he had walked straight out of a historical reenactment.
"NOW, I WILL FIGHT THE ONE WORTHY OF AKSHAR'S STRENGTH!" he bellowed, his gaze fixating on George.
George blinked. 'What the heck is going on now?' He turned to Jame, who was seated beside him.
"Oh, it's just a purist," Jame explained nonchalantly.
"Purist?"
"Yeah, they're barbarians who reject modern advancements. They dress, fight, and talk like they're still living in ancient times."
George raised an eyebrow. "So he's talking like that on purpose?"
"Pretty much. It's part of their whole thing."
George groaned, realizing that he now had a potentially unhinged barbarian gunning for him. 'Great, as if I didn't already have enough problems.'
Akshar's gaze shifted to Peyton, who had returned to his nap. "YOU!" Akshar shouted, marching toward him.
"Huh?" Peyton, still half-asleep, instinctively jumped into a fighting stance as the barbarian closed in.
"You're class number one?" Akshar asked, stopping in front of him, his eyes burning with intensity.
Peyton nodded lazily. "For now. Won't be long before I leave you all behind when I move to the next class."
"I NEED A WARMUP BEFORE I FIGHT HIM," Akshar roared, his eyes briefly flicking toward George.
Without warning, the barbarian lunged at Peyton with a wild uppercut. Peyton sidestepped, barely avoiding the blow, and countered with a swift kick to Akshar's solar plexus.
"OOOF!" Akshar grunted, staggering from the impact. But, like most barbarians, he shrugged off the pain and charged again, grabbing Peyton in a bear hug.
Peyton struggled, trying to pry himself free, but Akshar's brute strength overwhelmed him. In a blur of motion, Peyton was thrown across the room, crashing into a desk that shattered beneath his weight.
"Argh..." Peyton groaned, pushing himself off the broken table, checking to make sure his back wasn't broken.
Akshar moved in for another attack, but Peyton grabbed a chair and hurled it at the barbarian's face. The chair collided with a sickening crunch, and Akshar's body froze, standing eerily still for a moment.
Peyton approached cautiously, nudging Akshar's body. The barbarian collapsed backward, seemingly unconscious.
Peyton looked down at him and sighed in relief. "These barbarians are ridiculous," he muttered, glancing back at the rest of the class. "He'll be fine. They heal fast."
Just as he was about to leave, the sound of heavy breathing caught his attention. Akshar slowly pushed himself up, his eyes locking onto George. "YOU," he growled, wiping blood from his nose.
George's heart dropped into his stomach as Akshar began stalking toward him. Each step felt like a countdown to certain doom.
'Crap. Crap. Crap!' George's mind raced. He was ready to make a break for the door when Peyton intervened.
"Hey! No warmups for you!" Peyton barked, stepping between them.
Akshar hesitated, glancing between Peyton and George before backing down, clearly saving his energy for a later confrontation.
George sighed in relief, silently thanking Peyton for the save, but his troubles were far from over. 'The speech... how am I supposed to handle this speech?'