The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds as the day's grueling activities wound down. Roland leaned against the trunk of a tree, his dual daggers resting in their sheaths at his sides.
His muscles ached from the endurance test, his mind replaying every mistake he had made. Despite the fatigue, there was a small sense of satisfaction. He had held his own.
"Kuiper!"
The sharp, commanding voice cut through the calm. Roland's eyes snapped open to find General Danik striding toward him. He had left the other students to backup instructors.
The grizzled instructor's presence was as imposing as ever—his massive frame, scarred face, and single piercing eye exuded authority. In his right hand, he carried a longsword, the blade gleaming faintly in the fading light.
Roland scrambled to his feet, his fatigue forgotten in the presence of the towering figure. "Sir?"
Danik stopped a few feet away, resting the longsword's tip against the ground. He studied Roland for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I saw your match earlier," he said finally. "Not bad for an Empty."
Roland bristled at the term but kept his face neutral. "Thank you, sir."
Danik tilted his head slightly. "You've got instincts, Kuiper. Raw, but promising. Let's see how far they'll take you. Spar with me."
The words hit Roland like a thunderclap. Spar? With General Danik? His reputation as a master swordsman was legendary among the cadets. Even the most skilled students spoke of him with a mix of awe and fear and not to mention he was a general for crying out loud, he wasn't even supposed to be be teaching.
"Sir, I don't think—" Roland began, but Danik cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"You don't think," Danik repeated, his tone sharp. "Good. Thinking is slow. Fighting is fast. Pick up your weapons."
Reluctantly, Roland drew his daggers, their weight suddenly feeling heavier than usual. "Yes, sir."
Danik stepped into the sparring ring, rolling his shoulders as if loosening muscles that didn't need loosening. He gestured for Roland to follow, his longsword resting casually on his shoulder.
"I won't use abilities," Danik said. "Just steel."
Danik raised his sword in a loose guard. "Come at me, Kuiper. Show me what you've got."
Roland didn't hesitate. He darted forward, his smaller weapons granting him speed. His first strike came low, aimed at Danik's legs, but the general sidestepped effortlessly.
Roland pivoted, slashing upward toward Danik's chest, but his blade was met with the heavy clang of the longsword deflecting it.
"Good," Danik said, his tone almost approving. "You're fast. But speed means nothing without control."
The spar continued, Roland pressing hard with quick, relentless strikes. He aimed for openings that weren't there, tried feints that Danik saw through instantly. Every attack was deflected, every maneuver countered with almost lazy precision.
Danik wasn't fighting to win—he was testing Roland, pushing him to his limits without overwhelming him completely.
Despite the general's restraint, Roland was forced to dig deep, his instincts and training keeping him just a step ahead of failure.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Danik stepped in with a single, decisive move. His longsword swept downward in a controlled arc, stopping inches from Roland's shoulder.
"Enough," Danik said.
Roland staggered back, breathing heavily. His daggers hung limply in his hands, his arms trembling from exertion.
"You've got potential," Danik said, his voice low. "But potential is worthless without refinement."
He started to turn away, then paused. "Again."
Roland blinked, his exhaustion warring with disbelief. "Sir, I—"
"Again," Danik repeated, his tone brooking no argument.
Roland stepped back into the ring, his body screaming in protest. This time, Danik's approach was different.
"Footwork," the general barked as Roland moved. "You're too predictable. Break the rhythm."
Roland adjusted his stance, shifting his weight as he attacked. He feinted left, then spun to the right, slashing low. Danik blocked the strike but nodded approvingly.
"Better. But don't overcommit."
The sparring continued, each exchange punctuated by Danik's instructions. When Roland swung too wide, Danik stepped in to show him the flaw. When his guard slipped, Danik demonstrated the consequences with a sharp tap of his blade.
"Your strength isn't in power," Danik said, parrying a particularly aggressive strike. "It's in adaptability. Use it."
Roland began to find a rhythm, his movements growing more fluid as he incorporated Danik's advice.
He started seeing openings he hadn't noticed before, exploiting them with calculated strikes. Though he was still outmatched, he felt the tide of the fight shift ever so slightly.
Finally, Danik disarmed him with a swift twist of his blade, sending one of Roland's daggers skittering across the ground. The general stepped back, lowering his sword.
"Good," he said. "You learn quickly. That's what will keep you alive."
Roland nodded, his chest heaving as he retrieved his dagger. He was too tired to speak, but there was a flicker of pride in his exhaustion.
"Cindercrest!" Danik's voice boomed across the training grounds.
Cole, who had been lounging nearby, perked up. "Me?"
Danik gestured for him to step forward. "You. Let's see if your fists are as good as your fire."
Cole grinned, cracking his knuckles as he entered the ring. He raised his gauntlets, the crimson steel glinting in the fading light. "No essence?"
"No essence," Danik confirmed, his longsword resting at his side.
The match began with a burst of energy as Cole charged forward, his gauntlets swinging in a blur of motion.
Unlike Roland, who relied on precision and strategy, Cole's style was raw and aggressive but also showed signs of experience. He struck with brute force, each punch aimed to overwhelm rather than outmaneuver.
Danik met the onslaught with a calm, measured defense. His longsword moved in precise arcs, deflecting Cole's blows while maintaining distance.
"You're strong," Danik said, sidestepping a particularly vicious uppercut. "But strength without control is wasted."
Cole growled, his attacks growing fiercer. He ducked under Danik's blade and landed a solid punch to the general's side, the impact echoing through the ring. Danik staggered slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
"Good," Danik said, regaining his stance. "But don't let your temper blind you."
The spar continued, Cole's relentless offense pushing Danik to stay on the defensive. Despite his raw power, Cole's lack of finesse began to show. His strikes were predictable, his movements telegraphed.
Danik capitalized on every opening, his longsword darting in with quick, precise strikes that forced Cole to adjust.
Finally, with a calculated sweep of his blade, Danik knocked Cole off balance, sending him sprawling to the ground. The general stepped back, lowering his weapon.
"You've got skill," Danik said, his tone thoughtful. "Raw, untamed skill. But you lack discipline. Work on that, and you might just become a warrior worth facing."
Cole sat up, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Guess I've got some work to do."
As the final whistle blew, signaling the end of the day's training, students began streaming out of the sparring fields, their chatter a mix of exhaustion and excitement.
Roland stayed behind, his daggers resting lightly in their sheaths. His arms ached from hours of combat, and every step reminded him of the day's intensity.
Most cadets had already returned their borrowed weapons to the racks, their gleaming edges now dulled with the wear of use.
Roland approached one of the weapon racks, his movements slow and deliberate. The dual daggers he had chosen felt oddly familiar now, their weight and balance as if made for his hands.
"Kuiper," Danik's gruff voice called out from behind him.
Roland turned to see the general standing near the edge of the sparring ring, his imposing frame silhouetted against the fading light. Danik's longsword was slung casually over his shoulder, and his single eye locked onto Roland with its usual intensity.
"Sir," Roland said, straightening instinctively. He gestured to the daggers in his hands. "I was just about to return these."
Danik strode forward, his boots crunching on the grass. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze flicking to the weapons. "Keep them," he said simply.
Roland blinked, caught off guard. "Sir?"
"You heard me," Danik replied. His tone was calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.
"Those daggers suit you. They're not just tools—they're extensions of the fighter who wields them. And you've shown today that you're learning to make them your own."
Roland hesitated, glancing down at the daggers. Their simple design felt unassuming compared to the ornate weapons wielded by the nobles and merchants. But in his hands, they had felt like a lifeline—a way to channel his instincts and fight on equal footing.
"Thank you, sir," Roland said finally, his voice steady despite the surge of emotion he felt.
Danik nodded, a faint glimmer of approval in his eye. "Don't thank me, Kuiper. Prove me right."
He stepped back, gesturing toward the weapon racks where other students were returning their arms. "And don't think this is some academy tradition. You've earned them. The others haven't."
Roland glanced at the other cadets, who were handing over their borrowed weapons under the watchful eyes of the instructors. None of them received the same offer.
"Why me?" Roland asked, the question slipping out before he could stop himself.
Danik's expression didn't change. "Because you're different," he said. "You've got something most of them don't. You don't fight to show off, or for glory. You fight to survive. And that's a mindset worth sharpening."
With that, Danik turned and walked away, his longsword resting against his shoulder. Roland stood there for a moment, staring after him, the weight of the daggers suddenly feeling more significant than ever.
Roland and Cole trudged back to the dorms together, their bodies aching but their spirits oddly lifted.
"He's intense," Cole said, breaking the silence.
"Yeah," Roland agreed. "But he's fair."
Cole chuckled, wincing as he stretched his arms. "You know, I think he likes you."
Roland raised an eyebrow. "Likes me? He just beat me into the ground—twice."
"Exactly," Cole said, grinning. "He doesn't waste time on people who aren't worth it."
Roland gripped the weapons on his belt and continued the walk to the dorms, a quiet determination settled over him.
Danik's words echoed in his mind, fueling the resolve that had been growing within him since the day he arrived at the academy.
"Prove me right."
And he would.