Over the next two weeks, Solomon was on a strict regimen.
Because he had to gain a significant amount of weight while not falling behind in his exercises, Solomon's diet had also been overhauled by Sir Emmanuel.
His schedule was somewhat chaotic for a child.
At first light, he got up for the usual run with the rest of the cadets.
Swiftly afterwards, he would head to the mess to eat with everyone else. The chef had been instructed to give him a simple oatmeal to start the day. Two bowls of it, to be exact.
From there, Solomon ventured to the weight room and participated in acts like stone-carrying, weighted staff use, wall climbing, and various other individual exercises. Including ones that prioritized flexibility.
After two hours, Solomon would eat again.
He was given a bowl with cuts of lean meats and nuts alongside a chopped-up vegetable medley and a hunk of bread.
After finishing that, Solomon would head to the library. There, he would study the basic theories of swordsmanship, as well as etiquette and a little bit of geography.
He read about his old homeland quite a lot.
Solomon remembered Albaz to be quite a beautiful island. One teeming with bountiful green grass and waterfalls of cascading blue.
But apparently, after an attack by Ostego Kingdom, that was a thing of the past.
Perhaps it should have bothered Solomon to some degree, but it didn't. He was able to read about everything that had transpired without becoming emotional.
If his people didn't care about what happened to them, why should he?
After studying, it was time for Solomon to eat again.
Every two hours, whether he was hungry or not, whether it was daytime or night, he would eat the same meat and vegetable medley that was designed not only to give him energy but to build muscle as well.
It was quite an extreme diet for a child to have, but Solomon was working out so frequently that if he didn't eat like this, at the end of the day, he would lose more weight than he gained.
After eating, the library, and more eating, it was time for afternoon training with the rest of the cadets.
This set of exercises was a bit of a mixed bag for Solomon.
After two weeks on a strict regimen, he could follow along far better than on his first day. He no longer came dead last in runs.
However, the other boys were still bigger than Solomon and had much more muscle mass than he did. They were lifting larger stones than he could and finishing obstacle courses much faster.
However, where Solomon was truly outclassed was in swordsmanship.
Each of the cadets had put in months of hard work and study into their crafts. All of them were trying to be the best swordsman that they could in order to earn the attention of the higher-ups.
The first swordsmanship technique learned by the Knights of the Olethros family is called the Twelve Wings. It consists of twelve different moves, with each wing being harder to learn than the next.
By the time Solomon had arrived, half of the cadets had already grasped an understanding of the first wing and were capable of executing the movements at their own level, without the use of aura.
The best cadets were already studying the third. Something that usually would have taken them until their second year of training.
During afternoon sparring, Solomon had a hard time keeping up with whoever he was paired with.
His body just wasn't made like theirs were. He lacked their hand-eye coordination, their sure grip, and their instinct for battle.
As such, sparring usually ended with him getting beaten black and blue with a wooden sword.
Even though Sir Emmanuel had taken a liking to the young boy and his work ethic, he never made a single move to help him.
Get better ordie. That was the kind of message he was trying to send to the young cadet.
It was harsh, but this was far from the place to be complaining about such things. Emmanuel had already been as nice and charitable as he was capable of being.
It was the end of another day of training.
Solomon lay on his back in the sand; his body on the verge of shock.
Thick whelts were patterned along his skin from his face, to his arms and even his chest.
One of his eyes was swollen shut, and a line of blood ran from his split lip. It slowly dripped off his face into the sand and stained it a ruby red.
The sun had started to set over the sandpit. Solomon used the burning heat of the sand to help himself stay awake.
After that first day, there were no more potions being spontaneously gifted to him. Which meant the scars on his body were steadily accumulating.
"I'd heard you were doing well, but I guess that wasn't true. You look like shit on a stick."
Solomon forced himself to sit up when he heard a familiar voice come from above him.
Standing in the sandpit, sword in hand, was his very own Young Master Raizel.
The same one he had not seen the entire time he had been here.
"...The hell have you been, you bastard?"
Raizel shrugged. "I had my own training to do; we went over this. We can't officially start training together until we're Third Years. Clan rules."
The swordsmanship that Raizel learned as a descendant of the Patriarch was rumored to be leagues above the Twelve Wings. It was also a highly guarded secret.
"Don't look so glum. Haven't you noticed that you're still breathing? The old man must have been quite impressed with your work ethic."
Solomon raised a brow. "I haven't seen your father at all since that first day."
"He has eyes everywhere in the castle, Solomon. If he's motivated, you can't even use the outhouse without him knowing."
Raizel buried his sword in the ground and sat down opposite Solomon.
As of now, he was his official Bi'an. One day, they would carve out their place in this world as the very best and ensure that their names were more feared by their enemies than anyone else.
But for any of that to happen, Solomon had to survive his first year of knighthood.
"Want some advice? I can start teaching you some things if you want, and you can bet your fat lip that they'll be far better than-"
"No."
Raizel seemed slightly taken aback by his swift refusal. "...And why not?"
Solomon clenched his fists tightly. "I won't feel like a man until I can bash Bernard's nose in with the same swordsmanship he's so proud of."
Raizel was surprised by such a firm refusal, but he didn't try to talk his sword hand out of anything.
"...Alright."
In the back of his mind, Raizel thought he might have understood why his father let Solomon stay as long as he had.
Determination in it's most fiery form is a trait that can't be nurtured. Solomon just so happened to have enough of it for someone incredibly snobby like Zadkiel to deem him acceptable.
"You think I'm being stupid." Solomon guessed.
Raizel shrugged. "Eh. Maybe a bit, but I also know what it's like to be a young man. Matters of pride can make themselves almost impossible to ignore."
Yet again, Raizel was talking to Solomon as if he weren't also ten years old. The boy couldn't figure out why his Young Master was so weird.
"Still, you've been working diligently on your own this time. As your brother, I'd feel quite bad if you didn't allow me to reward you."
Solomon's brow arched at his choice of words. "Brother?"
Raizel smiled earnestly.
"That's right, we're brothers now, Solomon. That means we have to look out for each other, because no one else in this world will."
The young master held out his fist.
After some hesitation, Solomon lifted his as well, and the two exchanged a small fist-bump.
"That's the spirit!" Raizel patted him on the shoulder. "So if it's not training, tell me something you would want. I'll make sure it gets done."
Solomon was tempted to refuse again. He wanted to get better under his own power, but his current growth rate was just too slow.
As things stood, he'd be getting beaten up for the next six months before he closed the gap between him and everyone else.
And coincidentally... he did have something on his mind that he'd like to obtain.
"The Blue Plasma Springs..." Solomon began.
Before he could even finish, Raizel held up his hand. "Sorry, brother, I should have been clearer... I can't exactly get you into that place without-"
The Blue Plasma springs were the Olethros family's greatest resource.
It's a set of mystic hot springs underneath the castle that tempers one's body, and is only usable by the Patriarch and his direct lineage.
The springs are part of the reason why the Olethros children are bigger, stronger, faster, and more durable than other humans.
"Sorry, brother. That place is a bit difficult for even me to get into."
Solomon's disappointment was visible.
But then, a sudden thought occurred to him and his eyes gained a renewed hope.
"Hey… you're rich, right?"