First Practical Lesson!
Jon was on his way to his swordsmanship practical class, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd made the right choice. 'If this class turns out to be too basic, maybe I should shift my focus to magic,' he thought. The 250-point fee for the class weighed on his mind, but he was willing to pay if it meant quality training, especially with the 20% discount.
As he walked into the room, he felt the air thick with anticipation. About 300 students were adjusting their swords and armor. Jon paid the fee at the terminal and took his position, waiting for the instructor.
Nortis spotted Jon entering the room and quickly approached to greet him. "Hey, Jon! Ready for the swordsmanship practical?" Nortis said, a contagious smile lighting up his face.
"Absolutely, can't wait," Jon replied, returning the smile. As they chatted, his gaze drifted to a group of seven boys across the room. They all had black hair and radiated an aura that screamed 'superiority.'
"Who are those guys?" Jon asked Nortis, his eyes still fixed on the group.
"They're class leaders," Nortis answered, following Jon's gaze. "Looks like a bit of power has already gone to their heads."
Jon let out a muffled laugh. 'Amazing how quickly a title can inflate someone's ego,' he thought, turning his attention back to the front of the room.
Just then, the instructor walked in, silencing all side conversations. He was a tall man with short black hair and piercing eyes that swept across the room, sizing up each student. Jon felt a shiver run down his spine. 'Another human,' he thought, recalling his past experiences with members of that race in Aeloria.
"My name is Mael," the instructor began, his voice as sharp as his gaze. "I'm a rank A warrior. This is the beginning of your journey to become elite warriors. I will break all your bad habits and mold you into competent fighters."
Mael took his position at the front of the room, wielding a training sword with an authority that commanded everyone's attention. "We'll start with the fundamentals of fencing. If you wish to continue with me, purchase the basic fencing skills book. It's mandatory."
Jon looked at Mael's sword and then at his own, a blade he knew as well as the back of his hand. 'Seriously? Fundamentals? I've been past that stage for years,' he thought. He had memorized every figure, every move from the book Gwen had given him, which even came with helpful annotations. He had practiced these moves every day for the past six years. 'I won't learn anything new here,' he concluded.
With a discreet sigh, Jon began to rise, already planning to head to the magic class, when Mael's voice interrupted him. "Hey, you there. What's your name, and why are you leaving?"
Jon hesitated, choosing his words carefully to avoid sounding arrogant. "My name is Jon. With all due respect, sir, I believe the level of this class doesn't match my current training stage. I intend to return when the class is more aligned with my needs."
Mael stared at him, his eyes sharp as blades. "And how did you fare in the test?"
Jon gave a half-smile, feeling a twinge of pride. "Let's just say I didn't do poorly. I even became the leader of my class."
Mael looked at Jon, then at the class, and finally spoke. "I understand your position, Jon. But it wouldn't be fair to the other advanced students who chose to stay and review the fundamentals if I simply let you leave."
He then turned to the room. "Anyone else here consider themselves advanced enough to think they should leave?" Murmurs filled the air, and several hands went up. Among them were Lysander's and those of the other seven class leaders.
Mael smiled, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Well, your peers aren't as reasonable as I am. How about we settle this with a simulated duel?"
Jon pondered for a moment. 'A duel, huh? This could be interesting.' He then replied, "Alright, but make it quick. I still want to attend the magic class."
Mael nodded, clearly pleased with the response. "Excellent. Prepare yourselves, then."
Ah, the air was charged with electricity, a mix of tension and anticipation you could almost touch. Jon felt the piercing stares of the other students, as if they were sharp blades. "So the half-elf thinks he's better than us, just because he aced a test and became a class leader?" The disdain was almost palpable, a thick cloud of judgment.
But then, like thunder breaking the sky, a voice shattered the silence. "Let me handle him." All eyes turned, and the murmur instantly ceased. It was Simon Sunlight, the Duke of Sundar's son, a young man whose presence was like a beacon in a storm. The students parted, as if the human tide itself receded in respect.
Mael, the instructor, wore a grin that bordered on sadistic. 'Ah, the first day of class. The drama, the arrogance, the sheer theatrics of these youngsters. It's like a wine that never ages,' he thought, his eyes twinkling with a sort of malevolent delight.
"Take your positions in the matrix," Mael commanded, his voice taking on a gravely serious tone. "The duel ends when one of you 'dies'." The word echoed through the room, making some students swallow hard. Jon and Simon also hesitated, but only for a fleeting moment. 'It's just a simulation, right?' both thought, but that fraction of a second didn't escape Mael's keen perception, who relished even more in the emotional complexity of the moment.
Jon took his stance, his posture rigid, but his eyes restless. 'Even in a simulation, the idea of killing weighs heavy. The scream, the final gaze, it all leaves a scar,' he thought, feeling the sword in his hand as if it were an extension of his own soul.
Simon, on the other hand, was buzzing with anticipation. 'This is my stage, my chance to outshine this class leader and show the world what a Sunlight can do,' he thought, barely containing a grin of pure adrenaline.
Mael activated the matrix and, in a blink, Jon found himself in a coliseum. Before him stood Simon, whose eyes locked onto his before advancing. There were no words, no arrogance; just the lethal intent of a warrior.
Jon stood his ground but did not advance. He wanted to feel the intensity of a human combat to the death. 'Not that I'm arrogant, but where else would I get an opportunity like this?'
Simon unleashed combo attacks that didn't end in a single move. It was a technique Jon also mastered, using the momentum of one strike to trigger a combo of attacks.
Each time their swords clashed, sparks lit up the arc of the blades, creating a spectacle worth watching. The students outside the simulation were stunned. Even the most arrogant abandoned the idea of facing Jon, seeing how easily he defended against Simon.
'He's a worthy opponent,' Jon admitted. But his SS-Rank sword had two passives that always made him question if he had exhausted all the luck of his life when he found it in the goblin dungeon in Riverwood.
The sword felt like an extension of Jon's body, light and weightless, making his attacks as fluid as river water, pressuring Simon more and more.
The duel had reached the point where Jon could kill him with every move, and Simon could only watch. However, each strike Jon landed made him hesitate before finishing the fight.
After several rounds where Simon was covered in cuts, he screamed in desperation: "Are you going to keep torturing and humiliating me like this?"
The boy didn't realize that Jon was reluctant to take a life. 'As if taking someone's life is easy,' Jon thought.
With a heavy sigh, Jon channeled all his strength into a final blow. Simon's sword rose to block, but it was too late. The boy's head flew off, landing a few meters away.
Jon fell to his knees, vomiting on the ground, his body covered in Simon's blood. When the simulation ended, he found himself back in the training room. Mael laughed, a sound that mixed approval and sadism.
"You're excused from my classes for now," Mael said, still grinning. "See you in the future, class leader."
Jon rose slowly, his muscles tense and his stomach still churning with the vivid memory of the duel. His eyes met Mael's, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Mael's smile, that sadistic smile that mixed approval and cruelty, was etched on his face like an indelible scar. 'Ah, how I'd love to wipe that smile off with a well-placed punch,' Jon thought, feeling a mix of anger and revulsion.
However, something inside him surprised him. Despite the acute discomfort he felt for having 'killed' Simon, even if only in a simulation, he wasn't as shaken as he thought he would be. The scene of the final moments, the sword cutting through the air, the blood splattering, wasn't exactly what he'd put on his 'Top 10 Favorite Moments' list. But strangely, he felt more grounded, more rooted in his reality than ever before.