Elian pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Combat Training room, the metallic clang of steel on steel echoing off the rough stone walls. The air hung thick with the scent of sweat and leather, a familiar and oddly comforting aroma. Today's focus: weaponry.
Instructor Terry, a gruff man with a scarred face and arms the size of tree trunks, surveyed the room with a critical eye. His voice, when he spoke, was a gravelly rasp.
"Alright, maggots!" he bellowed, "Today, we delve into the art of weaponry. Swords, axes, maces – choose your tools wisely, because they'll be your companions in the coming storm."
A low murmur rippled through the class as students gravitated towards weapons that resonated with their fantasies or physiques. Elian, however, felt a tug towards the familiar weight of a sword hanging on the rack. It wasn't the most glamorous weapon, but in his hands, it felt like an extension of himself.
He wasn't alone in his choice. A sizable group, mostly Battle Mages like him, clustered around the sword table. Some, like Elian, were seasoned students with calloused hands and practiced stances. Others were new recruits, their eyes shining with a mix of excitement and nervousness as they hefted the swords, the weight clearly unfamiliar.
Elian watched as one such recruit, a gangly boy named Theo, tried to lift a broadsword. It dwarfed him, the tip dragging on the floor. Theo strained, his face reddening with effort, but the sword wouldn't budge. A ripple of snickers ran through some of the more experienced students. Elian choked back a laugh.
He remembered those early days, the frustration of a weapon that felt alien in his hand. He remembered the older students who'd scoffed at his clumsiness instead of offering a helping hand. He wouldn't be that guy.
"Here, let me show you something," Elian said, walking over to Theo. The boy looked up, surprised, as Elian gently relieved him of the broadsword.
"This one's a bit heavy for you to start with," Elian explained, selecting a lighter practice sword. "Let's try something a bit more manageable."
He spent the next few minutes guiding Theo through basic swordsmanship techniques – stance, grip, footwork. It wasn't glamorous, but Theo soaked it up like a sponge, his initial nervousness giving way to a focused determination. By the end of their impromptu training session, Theo was no longer struggling to hold the sword. He was even managing some rudimentary swings, albeit awkward.
As Instructor Terry barked out orders, pairing students for sparring drills, Elian felt a familiar satisfaction. It wasn't just about honing his own skills; it was about helping someone else find their footing on the path of a Battle Mage.
Elian joined his assigned partner, a seasoned student named Vanya known for her ruthless efficiency in combat. As they clashed swords, the clang of steel filled the air. Elian fought fiercely, his movements honed by years of training. But Vanya was formidable, her attacks relentless. Bruises bloomed on Elian's arms, a testament to her skill. Elian was just smiling like he was enjoying it.
Yet, as they sparred, Elian couldn't help but steal a glance at Theo across the room. The boy was still struggling, his attacks clumsy and easily parried. But there was a spark of determination in his eyes, a refusal to give up.
Elian knew the road wouldn't be easy for Theo. Swordsmanship wasn't just about strength and agility; it was about discipline, strategy, and the ability to learn from your mistakes. But with dedication and a little guidance, maybe Theo could become more than just a clumsy recruit. Maybe, one day, he could stand beside Elian on the battlefield, a force to be reckoned with.
Elian grimaced as he winced his way down the hallway, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. Vanya had shown him no mercy during their sparring session, and his body bore the colorful proof – a blossoming array of red and purple bruises decorating his arms and legs. He winced again as he brushed past a group of Illusionists, their laughter echoing down the hall.
Reaching a secluded corner, Elian muttered a quick healing incantation under his breath. A warm, tingling sensation spread through his body, gradually easing the throbbing aches. It wasn't a complete heal – that would take time and rest – but it was enough to allow him to move without feeling like he was walking on eggshells.
Pushing open the heavy doors of the Physical Conditioning room, Elian was met with a cacophony of grunts, shouts, and rhythmic thumps. Instructor Bara, a woman built like a tank with a deceptively gentle smile, surveyed the class with a watchful eye.
"Alright, maggots!" she boomed, her voice cutting through the noise. "Today's focus – building endurance! You want to be strong on the battlefield, not gasping for air after a five-minute jog. Now, let's get that blood pumping!"
A collective groan rippled through the class, quickly replaced by a flurry of activity as everyone scrambled to grab mats scattered across the floor. Elian found a space near the back, glad for the brief respite before the onslaught of exercise.
As the warm-up began, Elian stretched alongside his classmates, the familiar aches in his muscles momentarily forgotten. Instructor Bara led them through a series of exercises: jumping jacks that got the heart rate up, lunges that burned in the thighs, pushups that sent groans echoing through the room. With each rep, Elian felt his body loosen up, the residual soreness from his spar fading with exertion.
"Alright, ten more pushups, people!" Instructor Bara's voice cut through the labored breaths. "And come on, Alora, I know you can do better than that!"
Elian gritted his teeth, pushing himself for one last set. His arms shook, but he managed ten shaky pushups, earning a grunt of approval from the instructor.
After a grueling 45 minutes of lunges, squats, jumping jacks, and core exercises, sweat dripped from Elian's brow, his muscles pleasantly fatigued. He lay sprawled on his mat, catching his breath as the class transitioned into some light stretches.
"Alright, maggots," Instructor Bara announced, her tone less severe now. "Remember, a strong body is a foundation for a powerful mage. You can't unleash your magic if you're gasping for air after casting a simple spell. So keep pushing yourselves, keep building that endurance!"
With a final grunt and a satisfied sigh, Elian rolled onto his back, gazing at the high ceiling. Physical conditioning wasn't his favorite class, but he knew its importance. He couldn't be a formidable Battle Mage on raw magical power alone. He needed the physical stamina to last through an extended battle, the strength to wield his sword, and the agility to dodge an opponent's attack.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, Elian knew he wasn't just leaving the Physical Conditioning room. He was leaving behind a piece of fatigue, a testament to the hard work that would ultimately make him a better mage. And that, in itself, was a reason to push himself further, one grueling exercise session at a time.