Chapter 80: New Sparring Partners

The merit list was posted the very next day after the written exam ended. To no one's surprise, I claimed the top spot with a score of 12.7 out of 10.

At first, I thought it was a mistake, that it was ridiculous to receive more points than the evaluation allowed. But apparently, it wasn’t the case. Once a student outperforms the tests, they show it by awarding extra points. Most of mine seemed to have come from the Headmaster’s appraisal, where I had outshone in my shaping skills.

Priam didn’t do all that badly either, taking second place with 8.9 points. Trailing him were Charis, Markus, and Eran, with a noticeable drop. Charis got 7.3, with Markus and Eran just behind at 7.1 and 6.9. I couldn't help but wonder why Eran’s score was lower than Markus’s, considering he beat him in both the duel and the hurdle run. Even his written test marks should have been higher.

I could only assume it was due to his gift appraisal. Diana’s name was in the 12th spot with a measly 5.8 points. It was disappointing that she wasn’t making the most of her abilities, but that was her choice. Not everyone was a training freak like Eran. Diana was content with learning crafting and potion-making, showing no ambition to become a knight, master artisan, or anything of the sort.

Soon, the Headmaster appeared on the stage, clapping his hands to catch everyone’s attention. Behind him stood all the instructors and teachers, save for Shaper Tullia, who had left a month ago, summoned from her guild, and of course, Ao Daenerys.

Father went to confront the insolent fellow that very night of the endurance test. And since then, there was no sign of Ao. He probably had left town the very night. But I was no fool to believe it all ended here.

“All right, it’s time to announce the rewards and participants for the inter-district tournament,” called the Headmaster. The rewards had already been announced beforehand, yet the students waited with bated breath. “All who received above 5 points in the evaluation will receive an essence tonic.”

Instantly, claps and cheers broke out among twenty-odd students, while the rest could only swallow their envy, complaining that they had merely missed the margin by a fraction. In my opinion, they needed the help of the potions more than those that came out on top. All the potion did was save some time, whereas hard work had no alternative.

“Additionally, the students in the top 5 will get an extra high-quality essence tonic.” But it didn’t end there. The four chosen to participate in the tournament would also be awarded equipment of their choice, sponsored by the Serpent’s Spite guild.

Among the applause, the Headmaster announced the four names. No surprise when mine and Priam’s names were called, while the other two names revealed were Charis and Eran.

“Why am I not chosen?” Markus asked, his expression sour.

Headmaster Larius continued without answering, “The four of you will choose equipment and receive personal instruction from me and the other instructors in preparation for the meet.”

We were called up one by one to collect our prizes. Most of the equipment were swords, spears, lances, and bows of noble rank. While their quality wasn’t undesirable, I fancied none of them, already being able to craft fabricators of superior quality and class.

After discussing with the Headmaster, I traded mine for another vial of essence tonic. Unlike the others’ yellowish-red liquids, all three of my vials held potion of a pure cerulean shade, cool to the touch. The Shaper variant of the essence tonic probably cost at least twice as much. Although they were cheaper compared to a noble-class piece of equipment, I didn’t feel it was a loss.

Just drinking one of them would push me to Noble Class within a few minutes. While I hadn’t yet made full preparation for the breakthrough, it felt good holding the cool vials.

Just as we were about to leave, the Headmaster clapped me and Priam on the shoulder. “Don’t drink those before the tournament,” he warned. “We wouldn’t want you to compete in the Noble Class bracket.”

I arched an eyebrow, pondering his words, but nodded along. The institution was dismissed for the day. The awakening ceremony was coming soon, with new pupils joining within a couple of weeks, while the older ones—most of my classmates—would be conscripted into the legion.

That thought turned me towards Eran. With my Shaper class, I was exempt from conscription, but Eran wasn’t so lucky. Then I remembered Aleya and how much she’d grown since her conscription. Perhaps it could be good for him, too.

According to Mum, the essence tonics were top-tier with almost no side effects. The governing bodies hadn’t cheapened out on that, probably because they were still of the lowest grade, only beneficial to the Common Classes. I could drink one today and advance to Noble Class, but after consulting with Mum, I learned it was better to wait until I’d earned some honours. Our achievements shape our path, so if I could earn the prestigious title of Journeyman Artisan, my Noble Class title would have much more gravitas.

Surely, it didn’t make sense to prolong the advancement for too long, but apparently I was close to making it as a Journeyman Artisan. And if I picked up some more accolades on the way, it would be the icing on the cake.

The easiest seemed the Lower Provincial Champion, which was a Noble Class Honour, granted only to one person per province each year after they came out victorious in the inter-district meet. There was an upper variant of that honour, for those who fought in the Noble Class slots. Supposedly, many seasoned warriors and shapers vied for this title, so it wasn’t as easy as its lower counterpart. But all these provincial competitions were dwarfed compared to the Olympic Games, held once every eight seasons, where all the experts of the empire participated.

The inter-district tournaments weren’t Olympic-level, but there would be no shortage of prodigies vying for the honours up for the taking. I was certainly looking forward to competing.

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“How’s my equipment coming?” Priam asked as soon as he joined our practice. He had been coming along to train most mornings and evenings since the day Father asked him to spar with me.

Fortunately, he didn’t drag along his entire group of buddies to practise, especially Charis. That boy tended to fawn over Priam a bit too excessively. Another thing to note was that, once I got over Priam’s overly prickly self, it was fairly easy to get along with him. Perhaps defeating him multiple times had made him humble.

With the duelling cane at my hip, I shot him a pointed look. “Your equipment? I thought it was for Aleya.”

He snorted. “Don’t try to be clever.”

“Well, unlike a certain someone, I seldom have to try,” I said, returning a grin. “But I’ll do you one favour. Let’s see, hmm... if you manage to defeat me even once today, I will postpone all my other tasks to complete the set.”

A glint appeared in his eyes instantly, not at all hopeless about his chances. “Don’t back down on your words once you bite the dust,” he sneered, taking a fighting stance.

I swirled the duelling cane in my palm in the very familiar motion I first saw him juggle a couple of years ago, and took a stance of my own.

Over the last few days, I’d sparred with Priam dozens of times, constantly pushing myself, and while my swordsmanship had improved, I still hadn’t found that elusive breakthrough yet. I did glimpse those sword lines for a few faint moments, but they remained largely lost to me.

I had noted that the potential lines of trajectory only appeared when I wasn’t too overly dependent on my gear—evidently my Levitation Boots—and pushed myself with pure swordsmanship.

My father expressed it had little to do with the gear, but more to do with the pressure. The Levitation Boots always made the fight easier, taking away from the drive that pushed me in my swordsmanship.

However, Priam was such an opponent that required me to use the boots to a certain extent to contend with his speed. Ignoring everything else, just his sword swings were terrifyingly fast for my reflexes, and as I was improving, he was beginning to form strategies against me as well.

Nowadays, he rarely gallivanted with his ability during the spar. Honestly, he rarely moved, and mostly augmented the speed of his sword swings. Partial Celerity only came to him recently, after Father bashed him around for a few days. While it didn’t boost his top speed, it burned little of his essence, leaving him with enough juice to fight me for an extended time.

With the restrictions I put on myself, the contest got a little too close to the skin for my liking. I still defeated him, though only by a couple of points.

“Next time,” Priam said, using his cane to keep himself standing, his breathing coming in pants. “I’ll get you.”

I wheezed and managed to shoot him a cocky grin. Hmm, perhaps it wasn’t only Priam who was changing. I, too, had perhaps gotten a bit pompous in the last few days.

With a shake of my head, I cast aside those thoughts to find Father finally joining the practice. Unexpectedly, he actually brought Instructor Delric with him.

A worn-out leather jerkin draped over his shoulders, with his muddy hair cropped short enough that it required no grooming. Thin strips of cloth wrapped around both his palms, and with the uncommon sword on his hip, it became apparent that Delric had come here for a fight.

“Seems you like your new sparring partner,” Father said, gesturing at Delric. “You’re already familiar with Delric, saves time for introductions. Rest for five minutes, and then you’re up against him.”

I merely blinked, wondering how he’d roped in the stubborn instructor to act as my sparring partner. The instructors were to personally train us for the inter-district meet, but it looked like Father had promised him something in return to come in his off-time.

“Sir Jinn has promised me some pointers each time I push you over your limit,” said Delric seriously. “So be sure to show your absolute best, and don’t hold it against me if I go a bit overboard.”

“When are you going to stop calling me that?” Father clicked his tongue. “I’m not a knight, you know.”

Delric’s expression didn’t change. It made little difference to him. After Father’s display against Magus Selene, I was certain many of his colleagues in the militia addressed him in such a fashion.

To him, it was still miles better than Uncle Dalin’s ‘Lord’, I was sure.

So the resting time passed, and I stood up, facing an Augmenter who was at the very peak of Noble Class. An Augmenter, my own father had goaded not to show any mercy.

“Between you and me, lad,” Father whispered from behind me, “I made a wager with your Mum.”

I eyed him suspiciously.

“If you become a true swordsman before you make it as a Journeyman Artisan, there’ll be a big surprise for you.”

A frown creased my brow. “Didn’t you say it takes years to become a true swordsman, even for a prodigy?”

“The same goes for Journeyman Artisans, no?” Father nodded, slapping my shoulder. “But your Mum seemed very confident about winning the bet.”

“You do know I practise runes more than swordsmanship?”

“Well, usually you do,” he said, a rare grin slipping onto his lips. “But don’t you worry, I won’t let your practice get boring for a moment, even if I have to bring along all the competent fellows of the town to spar with you.”

That made me all the more suspicious about the wager. I scrutinised his posture. Father seemed unnecessarily elated these days. Was it simply because of the off-chance of me becoming a true swordsman before I grew my facial hair?

“You’re not going to tell me about the wager, are you?”

He smiled slyly. “That’s a secret you’ll discover later.”

I shot him a withering glare, trying my best to imitate Mum.

“What? I thought you liked surprises.”

Obviously, it didn’t have the same effect, as Father pushed me to fight off the Noble Class Augmenter.

Instructor Delric was slightly slower than Priam running his Celerity to the limit, but his swordsmanship was sharper and more precise. He knew when to advance, where to retreat, how to defend, and when to charge. But most importantly, he seemed to know all my moves, my little idiosyncrasies while I used the Levitation Boots, and had the perfect counters.

Within the fewest moves, he defeated me. No, not just a defeat. He crushed me, 12 to 0.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Father’s voice pulled me out of my defeat, “Delric can see the lines of trajectories too, though he’s still some way from making it as a true swordsman.”

That explained how he could see through my moves. Apparently, that fellow had been seeing the trajectories of my attacks and finding countermeasures without issue.

I regarded Delric in a new light. I’d witnessed a few of his demonstrations, and even seen his fight against Shaper Ao, but sparring with him myself was an entirely different experience. It was a serious blow to my self-esteem.

Father sparred with him while I recovered. I watched them battle and took little delight in Delric’s defeat, though most of my brain power was invested in strategising against him.

Perhaps I could surpass his predictive ability if I utilised Haste. Well, even if he could see through it, it would be difficult to contend with Haste.

My next spar with Instructor Delric ended with 12–1. I gained one point using Haste with an element of surprise, but once that secret was out, he countered all my moves once again, albeit not as effortlessly as before.

In the coming days, Delric joined us in both morning and afternoon with the ultimate duty of pushing me in my swordsmanship. I made improvements with each spar, my experience growing richer. But that wasn’t enough for Father.

True to his word, he called upon his buddies from the militia in the coming days to thrash me before they went about their duties.

He truly wanted to win that mysterious wager against Mum, it seemed—even when the price to be paid was his own son's suffering.