Ch.81 Instructors

  The summons came the next morning. A formal notice delivered by academy courier, written on heavy paper with the headmaster's seal.

  Cato of no house,

  You are hereby assigned the following instructors for tournament preparation:

  Combat Instructor: Garrick of House Valen Aether Control Instructor: Master Torin Valdris

  Report to Training Hall Seven at midday. Do not be late.

  —Headmaster Arcturus

  I read it twice, then set it on the workbench. Garrick was the one who brought me here from Rovandel and Magnar's uncle. He was the "babysitter" instructor for younger noble classes. And someone named Torin Valdris I'd never heard of.

  Four hours until midday. I spent them in class, memorizing information about alchemical reagents and plants to look out for, along with their traits.

  When the time came, I made my way across campus to Training Hall Seven. It was one of the smaller facilities, tucked away from the main arena. Inside, the space was simple—packed earth floor, high ceiling, weapons racks along the walls, and two men waiting in the center.

  The first was Garrick. His tall, broad-shouldered frame held the same easy posture Magnar had. He looked relaxed, but his eyes tracked my movement the moment I entered.

  The second man was shorter, leaner, with grey threading through his dark hair. He wore simple academy robes and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching me with an expression I couldn't read.

  "Cato," Garrick said, nodding. "Good. You're on time."

  "Was there a chance I wouldn't be?"

  "With you? I've learned not to assume anything." He gestured to the other man. "This is Master Torin. He'll be handling your aether control training."

  Torin inclined his head slightly. "I've heard interesting things about you."

  "I'm sure you have."

  "The headmaster was very... insistent that I take your case personally." His tone suggested he wasn't entirely pleased about it. "He seems to think you have unusual potential."

  "Or he wants to make sure I don't embarrass the academy."

  Torin's lips twitched. "Perhaps both."

  Garrick clapped his hands once. "Alright. Let's see what we're working with. Cato, you and I are going to spar. No aether reinforcement, no techniques. Just movement and basics. I want to see how you fight."

  I nodded and stepped onto the training floor. Garrick moved to stand opposite me, rolling his shoulders.

  "Ready when you are," he said.

  I didn't wait. I closed the distance fast, leading with a straight punch toward his midsection.

  He sidestepped, deflecting my arm with a light touch. I pivoted, driving my elbow toward where his ribs should be. He wasn't there. He'd already moved, circling to my left.

  I spun to face him, resetting my stance.

  "Good speed," he commented. "Again."

  I came at him again, mixing high and low strikes. Jab toward the face, sweep toward the legs, rising palm strike toward the chin. He blocked or avoided each one, barely moving his feet.

  Frustrating.

  I switched tactics. Instead of pressing forward, I hung back, watching.

  Garrick raised an eyebrow. "Giving up?"

  "Don't forget I saved your ass back there. I'm looking for a new way."

  He moved then, a quick advance with a straight punch. I slipped it, countering with a hook toward his temple. He caught my wrist, twisted, and suddenly I was off balance. I dropped my weight, pulling him with me, and rolled to break his grip.

  We separated. I was breathing harder now. He wasn't.

  "Not bad," he said. "You've got instincts. But you're thinking too much. Hesitating."

  "I'm watching."

  "You're calculating. Different thing." He gestured for me to come again. "Stop thinking. React."

  Easier said than done.

  I closed in again, this time letting my body move without planning. Punch, block, duck, counter. He deflected most of it, but I landed a glancing blow to his shoulder. Not hard enough to matter, but it connected.

  He smiled. "There you go."

  We went another few rounds. I started reading his movements better—the slight shift of weight before he moved, the way his shoulders telegraphed direction. I landed more hits, though nothing clean.

  Finally, he stepped back, holding up a hand. "Alright. That's enough for now."

  I was breathing hard, sweat dripping down my face. He looked barely winded.

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  "You're rough," he said bluntly. "But you've got good fundamentals. Someone taught you basics, and you've been practicing. That's more than most first-years have."

  "My father showed me some things. And I've been working with the training dummy." I lied through my teeth. I couldn't tell him I was a martial arts junkie who just moved however felt right after hours of punching a dummy and thinking on the outcome.

  "It shows. You've got decent form, good instincts. But you're not used to fighting people who can actually hurt you." He crossed his arms. "That's what we're going to fix."

  Torin stepped forward. "My turn."

  Garrick moved aside, leaning against the wall. Torin walked to the center of the floor, facing me.

  "Aether control," he said. "Let me see what you can do. Draw aether into your body and circulate it."

  I did. The familiar pull of energy from the surroundings, the flow into my aether pool, the distribution through my body.

  Torin's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. You're drawing it evenly from all directions. Most students pull from one side preferentially. How long have you been practicing?"

  "A while."

  "Hmm. Now reinforce your arm. Just your right arm."

  I directed aether toward my right arm, letting it flow through the channels, saturating the muscle and bone.

  "Good. Now push it outward. Not into the muscle—between the muscle and bone. Inflate the flesh."

  I frowned but tried. The sensation was strange, like trying to blow up a balloon from the inside. The aether resisted, wanting to sink into tissue rather than creating space.

  "Don't force it," Torin said. "Guide it. Create pressure, but gentle pressure. Think of it like filling a waterskin. Too much force and it ruptures. Too little and nothing happens."

  I adjusted, easing the flow. Slowly, I felt my arm swell slightly, the flesh separating from bone in a way that felt deeply unnatural.

  "There," Torin said. "Hold it."

  My arm felt strange. Heavier but also lighter. The muscle was pulled taut, stretched.

  "This is tempering," Torin explained. "By pushing the flesh away from the bone with aether, you stretch the tendons and muscles. Over time, this increases flexibility and strengthens the connections. It's foundational work for any serious practitioner."

  I held the state, focusing on maintaining the pressure. It was harder than it looked. The aether kept trying to settle back into the tissue.

  "How long can you hold it?" Torin asked.

  "I don't know. How long do you want me to?"

  "Until you can't anymore."

  I held it. One minute. Two. My arm started trembling, not from the weight but from the constant effort of keeping the aether in that unnatural configuration.

  At three minutes, I let it collapse. The aether sank back into my arm, and the sensation returned to normal.

  Torin nodded slowly. "Three minutes on your first attempt. That's... good. Very good, actually."

  "Is it?"

  "Most students can barely manage thirty seconds when they first try. Your control is unusually refined."

  Garrick pushed off the wall. "Told you he was strange."

  Torin ignored him. "Now both arms. Same thing."

  I repeated the process with both arms. This time it was harder—splitting my focus between left and right, maintaining equal pressure in each. Yet it was also mirroring the steps. It felt easier in some ways, but the double load took its toll. I managed two minutes before I had to release it.

  "Again," Torin said.

  We went through it again. And again. By the fifth repetition, I was managing two and a half minutes consistently.

  "That's enough for today," Torin finally said. "You'll be sore tomorrow. The muscles aren't used to being stretched like that."

  He was right. My arms already felt strange, like they'd been wrung out.

  "We'll work on this every day," Torin continued. "Tempering is the foundation of advanced aether control. Once you can hold it for ten minutes consistently, we'll move to legs. Then core. Eventually, your entire body."

  "What does that accomplish?"

  "Flexibility, primarily. But also durability. Tendons that have been properly tempered are harder to tear. Muscles that have been stretched and strengthened this way can handle more force. It's the difference between a fighter who breaks under pressure and one who bends."

  I nodded. It made sense, even if it felt bizarre.

  Garrick stepped back onto the floor. "One more thing. Cato, I want you to come at me again. But this time, use aether. Full reinforcement. Don't hold back."

  I glanced at Torin. He nodded.

  I drew aether into my body, saturating my muscles and bones. The familiar rush of strength, the sharpening of senses.

  Garrick did the same. I could see it—the way aether moved around him, denser than the ambient energy. Not just in his body, but coating his skin like a thin film.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  I charged.

  This time was different. My strikes were faster, harder. He blocked them, but I could feel the impact. He wasn't just deflecting anymore—he was having to actually stop my momentum.

  I pressed the advantage, mixing strikes and feints. A punch toward his face that turned into a knee toward his stomach. A sweeping kick that transitioned into an elbow strike.

  He caught the elbow, twisted my arm, and threw me.

  I used my other hand to catch the ground, rolled over the shoulder, and came up on my feet.

  "Better," he said. "Again."

  We went at it for another ten minutes. I landed a few solid hits—nothing that hurt him, but enough that he had to acknowledge them. Not compensating for my lack of mass with outward bursts of aether was making this harder. He landed plenty more on me. My ribs ached, my shoulders were bruised, and I was pretty sure my left shin was going to have a nasty mark.

  Finally, he called it. "Alright. That's good."

  I dropped the aether reinforcement and nearly collapsed. My legs felt like jelly.

  "You've got talent," Garrick said, breathing only slightly harder than before. "Raw talent. Your aether control is exceptional for a first-year. Most students your age can barely reinforce one limb at a time. You're doing full-body reinforcement without thinking about it."

  "Is that unusual?"

  "Very." Torin stepped forward, studying me. "It suggests you've been practicing for far longer than you should have access to. How long have you been able to manipulate aether?"

  I hesitated. "A while."

  "Define 'a while.'"

  "A few years."

  Both instructors exchanged glances.

  "That's..." Torin trailed off. "That's not possible. Children don't develop the capacity for conscious aether manipulation until at least age seven. Usually closer to eight or nine."

  I shrugged. "I'm a special case."

  "Clearly." Torin's eyes narrowed. "Who taught you?"

  "No one. I figured it out myself."

  "Impossible."

  "And yet."

  Garrick laughed. "You didn't believe me when I told you. I saw him when he was three, he'd just entered aether gathering. You're gonna give us a run for our money, aren't you Cato?"

  "Probably."

  "Good. I like a challenge." He clapped me on the shoulder, nearly knocking me over. "We'll meet here every day. Mornings with me for combat training. Afternoons with Torin for aether work. Four months until the tournament. That's not a lot of time, but it's enough if you don't slack off."

  "I won't. But I need some time for forging and crafting. I want to make my own weapon."

  "We'll see." He headed toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Oh, and Cato? Tomorrow we're doing this again. But tomorrow, I'm not going easy on you."

  "You were going easy?"

  He grinned. "Very."

  He left. Torin lingered a moment longer.

  "You're hiding something," he said quietly.

  "Everyone hides something."

  "True. But yours feels... bigger." He studied me. "Just remember—whatever you're doing, whatever methods you're using, they're yours to keep. I'm here to teach you what the academy knows. I'm not here to steal your secrets."

  "Good to know."

  He nodded and left as well.

  I stood alone in the training hall, body aching, mind racing.

  Tomorrow would be harder. I believed Garrick when he said he'd been holding back. Back then he'd fought well against three other core formation warriors. There was no doubt in my mind that his martial prowess was higher than his cultivation.

  But that was fine. I needed a good teacher, someone to beat fighting into my bones.

  I headed back to the tower, already planning. Four months. I needed to make every day count.

  The next morning would bring combat class. A new team again, most likely. Another chance to measure myself against the other students.

  I'd lost before. Lost because I got distracted.

  That wouldn't happen again.