Chapter 7 - Training

  A couple of weeks had passed since the moment I first sensed mana. The event had changed my life, yet the days afterward felt strangely quiet. My eyesight returned relatively quickly, which was fortunate, but for nearly two days I did little besides shuffle between my bed, the library, and whatever comfortable floor space I could find for meditation. I had imagined the path forward would feel more dramatic or more immediately rewarding. Instead, it felt like trying to hold water between my fingers.

  Progress came slowly. My ability to sense mana had improved only by the thinnest margin. I still struggled to reach that inner state, the strange drifting awareness that let me feel touches of the world that were not strictly physical. I could reach it slightly faster now, but the difference was so small that I questioned whether it was progress at all or simply my imagination begging for gratification.

  But today, everything felt different. Today, the monotony finally broke.

  I sat cross legged beneath a great evergreen in the courtyard outside the estate library. Snow drifted lazily in the air, soft as ash, and the branches above me whispered faintly whenever the wind shifted their weight. The courtyard itself was quiet at this time of day, the way a chapel might feel quiet, with a kind of respectful stillness that encouraged reflection.

  Within my meditation I reached again for that elusive inner state. The cold helped me focus, its bite sharpening the edges of my breath. Time grew thinner, my thoughts slower, my awareness stretching outward like a limb I had forgotten how to use. In that heightened stillness I sensed footsteps entering the courtyard. Heavy ones. Confident ones. Metal armor touched by cold air. Snow compressed under each step with a sharp crunch that echoed faintly off the stone walls.

  Sir Darvish had arrived.

  I opened my eyes as he approached. The sight of him was almost startling, a figure cut out of winter steel. His armor reflected what little sunlight pierced the clouds. A black general's cape hung over his back, its edges lined with frost. His sword, always secured tightly at his side, seemed part of him the way an extra limb might be part of a seasoned veteran. His face was reddened by the harsh midwinter wind, though his expression remained stern and composed.

  He stopped in front of me.

  "Young Lord," he said, each word steady and measured. "I take it you know why I am here."

  "Yes," I replied, rising to my feet. "Father told me that training begins today, although that is all I know."

  Sir Darvish gave a single nod and gestured for me to follow. "Walk with me, Young Lord."

  We moved across the courtyard in silence. Snow shifted beneath our boots, each crunch marking our steps like a metronome. The estate loomed around us, tall and elegant, the architecture tailored both for beauty and for survival in the brutal northern climate. Cold air seeped through the layers of my clothing, but the movement kept me warm enough.

  The training yard was not far. As we approached its entrance, the sharp rhythm of practice drills echoed faintly from within. The moment we stepped through the main doors, all activity froze.

  Every trainee inside the hall turned toward Sir Darvish, and then, slowly, toward me.

  Their reaction was immediate. Posture straightened. Legs planted firmly. Eyes forward. Weapons lowered in respectful silence. Then, like a single breath expelled at once, they shouted.

  "Greetings, Young Lord!"

  The volume struck me like a gust of wind. Dozens of voices layered together, strong and disciplined.

  I lifted a hand awkwardly. "Please, that is not necessary. I will be training here with Sir Darvish for a while, so you will be seeing more of me."

  Some of them looked surprised that I dismissed the formal greeting, though none of them relaxed completely. Sir Darvish said nothing about the display, neither reinforcing nor contradicting my words, which I suspected was intentional.

  He led me toward the armory. The walls were lined with weapons of every kind. Spears, swords of varying lengths, axes with polished heads, and other tools meant only for war. The smell of oiled wood and worked steel filled the air.

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  "Young Lord," Sir Darvish said as we walked, "your father did not give me details about your weapon preference. Only the physical training you completed with him."

  I studied the weapons. My father used an axe, a massive one that seemed proportionate only because he was equally massive. The thought of wielding the same felt unnatural.

  "My father is a large man," I said. "His weapon suits him. I have never been certain an axe would suit me."

  Sir Darvish approached a rack of spears, selected one, and tested its balance in his palm.

  "You will grow into a fine frame," he said. "But your temperament differs from your father's. An axe is a weapon for those who embrace frontal contact and force. You prefer calculation, patience, and measured decisions with constant momentum. You watch more than you act. There is no shame in this, for many warriors excel because they understand themselves."

  He turned the spear slightly so the point faced the ground and extended the haft toward me.

  "A spear would suit you. Winter winds punish bows, and an axe requires a certain intimacy with danger that I do not believe you seek. A spearman controls the field. Space becomes your ally. Distance becomes your weapon. Every step you take has purpose."

  His words resonated with me more than I expected.

  "I believe you are right," I said. "I think I would enjoy learning the spear, though I imagine it will require time before I am any good with it."

  A new voice entered the conversation.

  "Yes, my son. A spear would suit you well. Although I suggest you also learn the dagger."

  I turned immediately.

  My mother stood in the doorway. Her clothing resembled that of a ranger or assassin more than the administrative leader of a territory. Her steps were silent. Her posture reflected a quiet strength that did not need to be announced.

  "Mother," I said. "Do you not need to attend to your duties?"

  She walked toward us, passing me with a soft smile.

  "My duties are mine to manage," she said. "And I am also a mother. That comes first when it must."

  She moved toward the wall, selected a pair of daggers, and inspected their weight before handing them to me.

  "You will train with me in the mornings, before you go to the library. Every other day you will rise before sunrise and practice the dagger. Sir Darvish will have you from midday onward. After dinner, you will practice your mana handling and sensing alone. I will have Head Maid Margo monitor your schedule."

  "Yes, Mother."

  She departed without ceremony, the air seeming to soften in her absence. Sir Darvish bowed deeply as she left, then turned back to me.

  "Come, Young Lord. I will show you the training grounds. You will use this wooden spear for practice."

  He handed me a training spear and led me through the hall.

  The structure was immense, built in the shape of a longhouse with towering beams overhead. The architecture reminded me of the Viking halls from my previous world, though this one was even larger, almost the size of a football field. Heat radiated from braziers along the walls, rising into the rafters where banners hung in muted colors.

  Trainees ran laps along the perimeter. Some were guided through foundational drills by instructors who watched them with sharp eyes. A few of the older youths wore insignias that marked them as junior officers. Another group practiced dodging padded arrows fired at unpredictable intervals. The arrows thudded against the ground or skidded across the dirt floor whenever someone failed to avoid them.

  The average age seemed to range from thirteen to seventeen. Many already held themselves with the bearing of future soldiers.

  "Sir Darvish," I said, "why focus so much on physical training? From what I read in the library, the System helps you quantify where you stand physically?"

  Sir Darvish gave a short, amused laugh.

  "Would you expect a child to understand that touching fire leads to pain without experiencing it? A person must know their body and its limitations before they can use the gifts the System grants properly. Strength without understanding becomes a liability. A sudden increase in power can be dangerous if the user is not prepared."

  That made sense. If the System suddenly improved my abilities without my knowing how to apply them, I might injure myself or worse.

  He continued, "Children who show promise before their Ascension often benefit greatly. Hard work in physical training or mana handling, though mana training is more rare at your age, can lead to additional starting points or even improved initial skills. The System rewards early effort."

  I absorbed that information quietly. It aligned with what I had observed already. The System was always present, always watching.

  "So that applies to weapon training too?" I asked.

  We reached a set of stairs at the far end of the hall. Sir Darvish led me up to a loft warmed by a crackling fire. The vantage point allowed us to look down over the entire training floor.

  "It does," he said. "Nobles are encouraged by the Emperor to train their heirs early. Your father has done so with commendable diligence. Now that you have seen the grounds and understand what lies ahead, we can begin discussing how I will train you."

  A rare smile appeared on his battle worn face. It was the smile of a man who had seen countless battles, but still found excitement in shaping the next generation.

  "Your journey begins today, Young Lord. And it will not be an easy one. But I believe you will rise to meet it."

  The firelight cast a warm glow across his armor. Outside, snow continued to fall, thin and relentless, covering the estate in a quiet blanket of white.

  And for the first time since I had awakened to this world, I felt the quiet thrill of purpose settle within my chest.