"Hey, kids. I don't have much to say about myself besides my name, Instructor William. I will be in charge of your sword training." His voice was sharp, slicing through the room like a blade as he folded his arms behind him and began walking toward the students.
"Mind you, this class isn't for the faint-hearted. You all must be prepared and ready to face the challenges if you truly aspire to be sword masters." His boots echoed on the polished floor as he stopped just inches away from the front row, his steely gaze like a hawk sizing up its prey. "Do you understand?" he shouted, his voice reverberating around the room like a war cry.
"Yes, sir. We understand," they all chorused in unison, their voices shaking like a low murmur of thunder before an oncoming storm.
Instructor William went back to the center and looked around the room, his eyes boring into each student as if no student would be missed. "To be a great war mage, especially a sword wielder like you," he began, raising three fingers like a commander rallying his troops, "there are three critical steps your bodies must undertake before you can call yourselves sword masters.
The first is stamina-endurance. No matter how skilled you are, weak stamina makes you prey, easy as your opponent drags out the fight to your disadvantage.
His voice fell a notch but remained as sharp as a razor as he went on, "Secondly, familiarize yourself with your own sword. Let it become an extension of your body, a part of you that acts according to your will. Only then can it be trusted not to betray you in battle." He stopped, his eyes closing as if into a lean-to focus.
"And finally, learn to fill your sword with the right amount of aura. For example," he said, his fingers pointed directly at Drake, "if he were to use a technique that uses 4,000 units of aura, then he should be able to channel exactly that amount without spilling one drop."
As he spoke, Ronan muttered under his breath his mocking tone slithering like a snake. "That is, if he can even muster that much aura." Laughter bubbled quietly among the students, a ripple of amusement that couldn't escape Instructor William's notice.
"Are you going to shut up and listen?" he thundered, and the room fell silent in an instant. The students snapped to attention, their demeanors corrected. Instructor William strode to the exercise equipment, deliberately, a tower of muscle and command. Sweating not a single drop, he reached for a 500-kilo dumbbell and lifted it with one hand. It flew through the air as if it were weightless, each swing flowing like a professional warrior was moving it.
"Your first training is to build up your stamina," he said, his voice calm but authoritative. "Within two months, you all should be able to do this fifty times. We can bypass the second step because you have family techniques and are familiar with your swords. By the next class, we will move to the final training: aura infusion." He released the dumbbell, the metallic clang like the distant rumble of a war drum.
He turned to face them again and said, "Though I am your teacher, I am not here to baby-sit you. If you truly understand why you are here, focus and accomplish what you want. If the road gets rocky, consult me." His voice had softened a little, like a blade drawn back into its scabbard after battle. He walked toward the exit and left the students with one parting statement. "Just because some categories of mages have never done this doesn't mean it's impossible."
The students looked at each other in confusion, each trying to decode what he had meant. Drake, however felt the instructor's eyes linger upon him, scorching like a hot brand.
The other students, excluding Drake and Victoria, ran towards the exercise equipment, fascinated by the instructor's effortless performance. They each tried to raise the dumbbell, and their efforts crashed to pieces like sand under pressure. Then, with a booming confidence, Ronan stepped forward. He heaved the massive weight twice, his success setting off admiration like a wildfire.
"As expected of Young Master Ronan," one student muttered, their voice full of respect. "He lifted it, and not just that-twice!" added another with wonder. The room was full of admiration, and Ronan drank it in like a sponge.
Meanwhile, Drake, a man with memories of Earth, knew how necessary proper conditioning was. Not wanting to overexert himself too early, he started off with simple fitness exercises, moving away from the crowd. He did not go unnoticed by Victoria and Ronan. "We're supposed to be building up stamina here, and you act like some kind of beast," Ronan said with a sneer as Drake began to do push-ups.
Their laughter was cold and merciless, filling the room. "Doesn't his posture remind you of something?" asked one of the students as he pointed at Drake. "Yeah, it looks like the stance of a mist lizard beast," answered the other as he stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Unfazed by their jeering, Drake continued to do push-ups, and his determination seemed as unmoving as the mountain. When he reached 25, he switched to sit-ups, his resolve silently defying their scorn.
As the others turned back to their futile efforts with the equipment, Drake remained focused, continuing through squats, lunges, and jogging in place. Hours passed; his resolve unshaken, he then moved to the sword stand. Taking a steel blade, he returned to his training area and began to swing it in precise, measured motions.
"47, 48, 49, 50." he counted out loud in a steady voice from the weariness. All mocking by his colleagues seemed only to drive him more resolute.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the class let out, their mood subdued. Drake remained. Sure enough, his determination was ablaze with practice.
"Hey, buddy, it's time to go back," a voice called out, breaking his focus. Turning, Drake saw Mark leaning casually against the entrance, his arms crossed.
"Thanks. I just wanted to familiarize myself with the sword since we are skipping that part of the training," Drake replied, returning the blade to its stand. Dripping with sweat, he joined Mark, and together they walked to the dormitory.
Drake entered his room to find Xena seated cross-legged on the bed, her eyes closed in deep concentration. "You're not done yet?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Oh, you're back. No, it'll take about a week," she replied, her focus unbroken.
Drake began undressing, preparing for a bath. Unlike him, whose strength was bolstered by a cheat-like advantage, Xena's path as a mage required meticulous cultivation of her mana ring.
Mages develop their mana rings in three phases: temporary, extended, and permanent. In the temporary stage, the ring is fragile and may vanish after use. During the extended stage, the ring provides some little stability but still remains dangerous. Finally, during the permanent stage, it becomes reliable as a source of power.
For Xena, however, the stakes were much higher: as a dragon, her mana ring, being in a temporary stage, would not vanish but spiral out of control instead if it wasn't stabilized soon. She was a ticking time bomb, able to obliterate the academy and everything beyond it.