"I've seen farmers swing a shovel with more grace than that, Luna! Are you taking this seriously?"
Instructor Cedric's shout cracked across the yard like a whip. Of course. Always has to be something with him, I suppose. It's a training duel, not a life-or-death battle on the Wall. Am I taking it seriously? No. Why would I? It's Tytus. I could beat this guy in my sleep. Literally, I had a dream about it once. It wasn't a very exciting dream.
I lazily batted aside another clumsy swing. Tytus was trying; I had to give him that. Sweat poured from his brow, his jaw was clenched, and every move he made was straight out of the Cadet's Codex, Page 23, Section 4. Block, thrust, slash, parry. A perfect textbook example—if your opponent also fought by the book. Which I didn't, of course.
Gods, this is tedious. How am I supposed to get rich and famous fighting someone whose next move I can predict three seconds ahead? This isn't a challenge. It's really just a waste of my time.
Another predictable slash came my way. I shifted a half step aside without thinking, the wooden blade cutting empty air. Cedric's voice still droned on about something—discipline, probably. Or respect. His favorite topic. Nothing but background noise.
Fine. I'm bored. Let's just end this.
Tytus lunged at me. Full effort this time, honest to gods. Is he angry? I didn't even bother dodging. Why should I? His clumsy flailing was practically doing the work for me? Where did all his training go? A quick pivot on my heel sent him stumbling past, like a badly-strung puppet. Seriously?That's your "all-out"?
A slash to the back of his knee ended it. He collapsed with a grunt, his practice blade skittering across the dirt.
I stood over him, my breathing only slightly quickened, and let out a quiet dismissive sigh. What a pointless duel.
"Winner, Cadet Luna!" Cedric barked. I clenched my jaw, already bracing for the inevitable lecture. His boots scraped against the gravel, steady and heavy. Great. Right on schedule.
I turned to face him, plastering a fake-sweet smile on my face.
"Our ever-talented Luna," he said flatly. The air itself seemed to press heavier, his disappointment almost tangible. "You defeated your opponent again, but—"
"Sir, isn't that all that matters?" I cut him off, my voice like pure sugar. It was a game we played. I'd be the insolent prodigy, he'd be the stern, disappointed mentor. It was almost as predictable as Tytus's sword forms.
His brows shot up. Surprise. It was always a flicker of surprise, before the anger settled in. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the same one he always took before launching into a speech. "Cadet," he began, his voice dropping an octave, "winning is a result. It is not the point of training. And it's damn sure not the only measure of a soldier."
He stepped closer, his frame towering over me. The intimidation tactic. It was probably effective on the others. "You have rare talent, Luna. No one denies that. But talent without discipline is a brittle weapon. It will break. And when it does, it won't just cost you your life, it'll cost the lives of those beside you."
He gestured to Tytus, who was brushing himself off, his shoulders slumped. "Did you outthink him? Did you find a flaw in his technique and exploit it? Or did you just wait for him to make a mistake you knew he would make?" He leaned close, his eyes burning into mine. "Against a real Corrupted, something stronger and faster than you, that fragile gift of yours will shatter, and all that will be left is a dead, arrogant child."
I smothered a sigh. Here we go. The 'real world' speech. As if he knows the first thing about my life or where I came from. Fragile? Please. "You're right, sir. Next time, I'll strategize." The sarcasm wasn't subtle. I didn't care this time. I just wanted him to go away.
Cedric's frown deepened. "See that you do, Cadet. Because your peers who bleed and sweat for their skill will eventually leave you behind." With that, he stalked off.
Good riddance. He acts like hard work can beat innate talent. If that were true, Tytus would be the one winning.
I lingered, watching Tytus slump away. A flicker of something—guilt, maybe—tried to surface. He does try hard. I crushed it. And he'll die for it on the battlefield. It's not my fault he's weak. This academy is supposed to forge weapons, not coddle the mediocre. Shortly after, we were dismissed.
I headed back to my dorm, leaving the others to their pointless drills. Glares followed me. The nobles, resentful that a no-name orphan was in their elite course. The commoners, jealous that I didn't have to struggle.
The path to the Vanguard dorms was like another world. It loomed ahead, all white marble and dark wood, tall and pompous. The whole thing screamed privilege. Very exciting if you care about that sort of thing, I suppose.
I swung open the heavy oak door to my room, letting it thud shut. The sudden silence was a welcome relief.
With a flick of my wrists, I unbuckled my sword belt and tossed it into an armchair, the practice blade clattering after it. Gauntlets came off next with a metallic thud. I raked my fingers through my damp white hair, grimacing. Gods, I needed a bath.
I worked the buckles of my leather cuirass, shrugging it off. The silky training garb underneath peeled away from my skin, and I let it fall to the floor before pausing in front of the tall, silver mirror in my washroom.
Staring back at me was a girl as tall as most of the young men in my class, yet leaner, with a body toned for speed. My skin, a deep bronze, made the contrast of my snow-white hair all the more stark. Even my lashes and brows were white. No wonder the other kids used to call me a ghost. Then my eyes. Deep, unsettling violet. White hair, purple eyes. Luna. For the two moons. A fitting name, I suppose. Not very creative of whoever named me, but it works.
The bath was a luxury. Hot water, magically heated and smelling of lavender. I sank into the tub, the heat soaking into my muscles. Cedric's words... 'fragile shield'. He doesn't know anything. Talent is the only thing that matters. It's the only thing that ever got me anywhere. It's what Elara saw in me. It's why I have this room, this bath, this life. Discipline is for people who need it.
Clean, dressed, and relaxed, I strapped my ornamental sword back on. Academy rules. I decided to head to the mess hall.
Walking there always felt like stepping between worlds. The Vanguard wing had quiet gardens and marble floors. The main academy was grey stone and crowded hallways. Cadets in packs, chattering. A few shot resentful glances my way. Jealousy and distrust. My universal greeting. I was used to it.
It wasn't just the talent they hated. It was the uniform. Standard greys on everyone else; mine was a statement. White collared shirt and black bow-tie beneath a fitted vest clasped in gold. A cropped cloak with gold epaulets resting on my shoulders. Pleated skirt with its neat trim. Vanguard attire. A leader's attire.
I pushed through the double doors of the mess hall, and was instantly met with a wall of noise. My eyes scanned the room. A sea of grey. Tables of nobles, laughing too loudly, commoners, shoveling food down. But they all had one thing in common: they all stopped to glare at me.
Whatever. I didn't slow. The smell of roast meat drew me on. I skipped the watery greens and stews, filling my tray with carved boar, honey pastries, custard tart, chocolate square, and fruit tart for good measure.
Tray in hand, I faced the sea of glares. The orphan. The anomaly. My arrogance was a shield. In their eyes, my skill was just another reason to distrust me.
I found my empty table in the back and sat down to eat—fast. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could leave. But I could still feel the stares. A third-year at a nearby table wasn't even trying to be subtle.
I'd had enough. I slammed my fork down. The clatter cut through the din. I leaned back, crossing my arms.
"What?" I said, my voice low but carrying.
He flinched, his bravado crumbling, and quickly looked down at his food. A small, victorious smirk touched my lips.
Just as I was about to return to my sweets, a shadow fell over my table.
"Cadet Luna." I looked up. A stern-faced instructor. "The Commandant wishes to see you immediately."
Tch. Can't even finish eating in peace.
"Understood, ma'am," I replied flatly.
Leaving my unfinished desserts behind, I followed her out of the murmuring hall. Before I knew it, we were standing in front of the large, ostentatious double doors of the Commandant's office. She rapped twice and a muffled "Enter" came from within. She swung the door open, ushering me inside with a nod before leaving as swiftly as she came.
The Commandant, a large man with greying hair, wasn't as imposing as I remembered. He looked up, a warm smile on his face as he gestured me to a sofa.
"Luna, I hope I didn't disturb your studies?" His voice was... strange. Almost gentle.
"Not at all, Commandant," I replied, taking the seat. Okay, what is this?
He leaned back. "Good, good. The last time you were in this office, you were a little girl of six, clinging to Major Elara's hand, not uttering a single word. She told me she found you among the rubble, no memories to speak of. To see you now... I know she's very proud of you."
I blinked, taken aback. The way he spoke of my past was disarming. He remembers that? I barely do.
"I... I don't really remember that, sir," I managed, my voice softer than I intended. My carefully constructed indifference was crumbling. "But... thank you."
He chuckled. "Of course. Ten years is a long time after all. Perhaps it is for the best." His expression shifted, the warmth replaced by an intensity that made me stiffen.
"I digress. Catching up is not why you're here. I've reviewed your instructors' reports. They agree on two things. One, you are one of the most gifted students they've seen—despite your... attitude. Two, you are profoundly bored."
He leaned forward, voice steady. "Boredom breeds arrogance. Arrogance breeds stagnation. You're searching for a challenge, something to test the limits Elara saw in you."
My mind raced. What is he getting at? A special mission? Is he going to send me to the frontlines? Hmph. Better than more duels with Tytus.
"Therefore," he said formally, "I've decided you will compete in this year's Apex Blade Summit." He let the words hang. "You'll face the top seniors from every major academy in the Valorian Alliance."
I blinked, taken aback. The Summit? That's for third-years. He wants me to represent Aegis?
Well. That's one way to cure my boredom, I suppose.