The stables were quiet, the air thick with the scent of hay and animals settling in for the evening. Rune lights carved into the central beam kept the space lit with a gentle glow. The main aisle was clear, its length occupied only by the soft sounds of horses shifting in their stalls. He found Corinne and Leo already waiting, their practice spears leaning against a stall.

  "Thal!" Corinne's voice rang in the stables as she bounded into the aisle, her energy infectious even at this late hour.

  "Ready to become unstoppable?" Caleb asked, injecting enthusiasm into his voice despite his own uncertainties.

  "Ready!" Corinne declared, executing a theatrical flourish with her wooden spear that nearly sent it flying from her grip.

  Leo managed a wan smile. "Ready as I'll ever be."

  "Good. First, I want to see where you both stand." Caleb crossed his arms. "Run through the basic forms. [Iron Root Stance] into [Breaching Thrust], then [Phalanx Guard]. Take your time, technique over speed."

  As they moved into position, Caleb dove into his memory, deliberately calling up every training session he'd taken part in, every mistake he'd witnessed, every moment of struggle or breakthrough. The mental images overlaid themselves onto his current perception like ghostly apparitions, creating a comprehensive map of their individual weaknesses.

  Corinne settled into her stance with admirable confidence, her feet properly spaced and her grip solid. But as she executed the attack, [Perfect Memory] showed him the phantom reflection of a spar against Mala—the way she over-rotated her hips in her eagerness to generate power, leaving her flank momentarily exposed. The same mistake played out now in miniature, barely perceptible but present.

  Leo's issues were more fundamental. His [Iron Root Stance] looked sufficient from a distance, but the superimposed memories revealed the truth. During every drill, every sparring session, every moment of pressure, he unconsciously shifted his weight backward onto his heels. Fear made him retreat mentally before any contact even occurred, and his body followed that psychological withdrawal.

  Personality flaws manifesting as technical errors: Corinne's eagerness makes her over-commit, Leo's fear makes him pull back.

  "Good foundation," he said as they completed the sequence. "Now let's address the specific problems I see."

  He turned to Leo first, recognizing that the quiet boy's confidence needed the most careful handling.

  "Leo, I want you to practice [Turning the Point] against my attacks. Light pressure, just enough to test your form." Caleb took position several feet away, his practice spear held in a relaxed grip, and smiled. "Don't let me hit you."

  Leo nodded nervously, settling into his defensive stance. Even now, Caleb tracked the telltale retreat in the boy's posture, his center of gravity drifting away from the threat.

  Caleb began with a simple probe, the tip of his practice spear gliding forward to test Leo's guard. The result was predictable—Leo absorbed the full impact on his arms, his feet sliding backward as he instinctively pulled back from the conflict.

  "Stop," Caleb said, his voice gentle but firm enough to cut through the boy's flustered state. He saw the shame clouding Leo's features, the way his shoulders slumped in defeat after a single, simple failure. He thinks defense is about being immovable, about enduring the hit. That was the core of the problem, a misunderstanding born from his terror of the impact itself. “You’re trying to be a wall, Leo, but a wall just breaks when the force is great enough. Be a ramp instead. Your only job is to give my spear a new direction to go.”

  He moved to Leo's side, adjusting his grip and the angle of his weapon. "Feel the difference? Focus on redirecting my force. Your job is to give it a new direction to go, like water flowing around a rock."

  The mental imagery seemed to resonate with Leo.

  Caleb attacked again. Leo angled his spear and Caleb’s weapon slid away with a smooth shiiing.

  "There! You felt that?"

  Leo nodded, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

  "Good. Again, but a little faster." Caleb reset and lunged, adding a fraction more speed.

  The effect was instantaneous. Leo flinched, his eyes squeezing shut for a barest second. His weight snapped back onto his heels, and he met the attack with a rigid, desperate block. The impact jarred his arms, and he stumbled back a step with a pained grunt.

  "No." Caleb kept his tone level, stripping away the judgment. He saw the frustration welling up on Leo's face. "You're letting fear take over. You know what to do, but your body is defaulting to its old habits. Open your eyes, Leo. Look at my spear tip, not at me."

  Leo took a shaky breath, his knuckles white on the spear's haft. "I'm trying."

  "I know. Let's try something else." Caleb moved to Leo's side, placing a hand on his back. "Feel your weight? It's all back here." He gave a gentle push. "Get it forward. On the balls of your feet. I am going to start again slowly. Don't try to block. I just want you to stay on your toes and use the tip of your spear to touch the side of mine as it goes past you, okay?"

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Leo nodded nervously. Caleb stepped back and began a slow, telegraphed thrust. Leo kept his eyes locked on the spear tip, his body tensed. As it approached, he did as instructed, just tapping its side. The contact was minimal, but it brought Caleb's spear slightly offline.

  "Again." He repeated the slow technique. This time, Leo's touch was more confident, turning the spear further.

  "You see?" Caleb said. "You're nudging a freight wagon onto a different track. Small touch, big result. Now, combine that nudge with the angle. Eyes open. Weight forward."

  He gave Leo a moment, then delivered another at medium-speed.

  This time, Leo stood firm. His eyes stayed locked on the target. He shifted his weight forward, angled his spear, and met the attack with a guiding hand.

  Shiiing.

  The deflection was clean, effortless. Leo stared at his spear, then looked up at Caleb. His eyes widened slightly, and a slow, hesitant smile broke through his usual mask of anxiety. "I... I did it. I actually did it."

  "Yes!" Corinne cheered from the sideline. "That was brilliant, Leo!"

  The transformation in Leo's expression was remarkable. The perpetual fear that usually dominated his features gave way to something Caleb hadn't seen before—genuine pride.

  [Your proficiency with Teaching (F) has increased to Practiced]

  "Excellent," Caleb smiled brightly. "That's the foundation for everything else we'll work on. You don't have to be the strongest or the fastest. Proper technique goes a long way."

  Building on this breakthrough, Caleb shifted his approach for the entire session. Instead of focusing on abstract techniques, he began tailoring their training to counter specific opponents.

  "Narbok is a charging bull," he explained as they gathered around him. "He's aggressive, he's powerful, and he has a temper. We'll dodge aside and trip him. Fighting Narbok head-on is suicide."

  For Leo, this meant combining the redirecting blocks with evasive footwork. Caleb took the role of the aggressor, launching a series of powerful thrusts that forced Leo to slide aside while simultaneously redirecting the attacks into empty air.

  "Remember, there's nothing wrong with feeling fear," Caleb told him. "Your instinct to avoid danger is correct. We're just teaching you to avoid it efficiently."

  For Corinne, the approach was different. Her natural aggression could be an asset if properly channeled.

  "Your problem is impatience," he explained as she practiced her forms. "You see an opening, and you commit everything to it. While Mala rarely bothers with creating false openings, it is something she and others can and will do. I want you to focus on the [Linebreaker Sweep]."

  The technique used the spear's haft to trip an opponent's leg, disrupting their balance to create genuine openings. It required patience and timing—exactly the qualities Corinne needed to develop.

  "Wait for her to over-commit to an attack," Caleb instructed as she practiced the movement. "Let her put all her weight into her lead leg, then sweep her foundation away. She can't recover from what she can't control."

  Corinne tried it against him, moving a fraction too soon, and he easily kept his balance.

  "Again," Caleb instructed. "Let me commit." On his next thrust, she waited, letting him bring his weight forward… then she sent him into the dirt.

  "Good!" Caleb laughed, picking a bit of straw out of his hair.

  They drilled these concepts methodically, each repetition building muscle memory and confidence. Caleb found himself drawing on his [Teaching] experience, breaking down compound movements into manageable components and adjusting his explanations to match each teen's learning style.

  As the session progressed, he watched their movements grow more confident and precise. Leo's defensive techniques became more fluid and natural, his fear transforming into tactical awareness. Corinne's attacks grew more controlled, her eagerness channeled into patience and timing.

  This is working. The realization came with some pride and a feeling of duty. Their improvement was real and measurable, but it also meant they were counting on him to continue leading them. Any mistakes he made, any gaps in his knowledge, would directly impact their safety in the tournament.

  They finished the drills and began packing up their equipment. Caleb felt the burden of that responsibility settling over him like a heavy cloak.

  "Same time tomorrow?" Corinne asked, her face glowing with the satisfaction of hard work and visible progress.

  "Absolutely," Caleb confirmed. "We'll build on what you learned tonight."

  Leo approached more quietly, his posture straight and his grip firm on the practice spear. "Thank you," he said simply. "For the first time, I actually believe I might not embarrass myself."

  "You won't," Caleb said with conviction. "You're both going to surprise people."

  As his friends departed, their voices fading into the night, Caleb found himself alone in the quiet stables, the silence magnified after the energy of their training. A horse snorted softly in a nearby stall, the only sound breaking the stillness.

  They're improving. But what about me?

  He thought of the gold from the Guild transactions. His first instinct after Hatch's announcement had been to rush to Jakob's and buy as many essence stones as he could afford. But luckily he hadn't had time, and Cassia's advice over dinner had been wise.

  "Wait for the festival, dear," she had said, her tone warm but her eyes glinting with a merchant's sense. "The caravans will be in, and the competition will drive prices down. Your gold will go further if you have a little patience."

  She was right. It was a simple matter of supply and demand, a lesson he knew well from his old life. Still, the waiting was a trial in itself.

  Caleb walked to the center of the main aisle, the haft of his weapon resting easy in his palm. The responsibility of teaching had clarified something important in his mind. Leo and Corinne would face the tournament with enhanced Skills and tactical awareness, but they would still be what they were: talented beginners with limited experience. They could hold their own against most of their peers, but against the truly dangerous opponents...

  The goal of keeping them unhurt demanded more than a bit of extra practice with those monsters.

  The image of the effortless violence of the elites from the garrison yard punched through his thoughts. A fist wreathed in actual flame. A spear that left shimmering afterimages in the air. They possessed a grace and power that came from years of private instruction, and likely one of those soul-bound Legacies or bloodlines—a different class of fighter entirely. They were the true predators in the coming tournament. Narbok was just the loudest beast in the herd.

  He settled into [Iron Root Stance], his attention narrowing to one consuming thought. Nine days. The tournament had become a deadline. A test that would determine both his own future and the safety of the people who had come to depend on him.

  The cool night air filled his lungs as he took a deep breath. Around him, the stable was a pocket of tranquility, the rune light a singular beacon in the growing darkness. His friends' progress was encouraging, yet the thought of the elites highlighted exactly how much further he needed to go.

  He wouldn't waste a moment.

  Caleb exploded into motion, his first [Sundering Strike] of the night whistling through the air.