I woke at five AM without need for external prompting, my internal rhythm calibrated from a month of Jack's brutal training schedule. The room was dark, pre-dawn light not yet filtering through the window, but my enhanced physique had completed its recovery cycle and pulled me from sleep at precisely the moment optimal for morning preparation.
I rose from the bed and moved through preparations with methodical efficiency. Brief meditation while dressing in the training uniform that had been provided, the reinforced fabric was rough against skin compared to formal academy clothes but designed for physical stress rather than appearance. The material was enchanted with basic self-repair that would mend minor tears automatically, practical consideration for clothing that would see daily abuse.
The Einsworth Family Saber I strapped to my hip despite this being labeled non-combat instruction. I refused separation from the weapon even during activities that theoretically didn't require it. The blade had become an extension of myself, its absence feeling wrong in ways I couldn't articulate.
I checked my mana reserves, confirming full capacity after the night's rest. My Primordial Chaos Physique had worked steadily while I slept, optimizing everything and leaving me genuinely ready for whatever the day demanded.
The walk to Training Ground Seven began at five forty-five, ensuring arrival well before the six AM start time. Jack's training had ingrained the principle: early is on time, on time is late, late is unacceptable. The campus was quiet in pre-dawn stillness, only scattered students visible moving toward various training areas.
Training Ground Seven revealed itself as a massive open space on the eastern side of campus, perhaps two hundred meters across in each direction. The ground was hard-packed earth rather than grass, worn smooth by countless feet over decades or centuries of use. Enchantments were visible at the perimeter, probably barriers to contain training effects and prevent accidents from spilling into adjacent areas.
I arrived to find perhaps two hundred students already gathering, though the crowd continued growing as six AM approached. The separation was immediately visible even without official organization. Elite tier students clustered together in small groups, their body language suggesting confidence and comfort. Standard tier formed their own clusters, positioning themselves separately from both Elite and Foundation. Foundation tier students stayed defensive, gathering near the training ground's edges rather than claiming central positions.
Some kingdom-based clustering existed within the tier divisions. Aldorian students gravitating toward each other regardless of tier. Castern mages forming groups that cut across classifications. Draven warriors sitting together, their combat culture apparently making tier less important than mutual respect between fighters.
The atmosphere was tense. Everyone knew this was the first mixing of all tiers since assignments posted yesterday. Physical Conditioning integrated everyone, creating an environment where resentments and conflicts could surface without the careful control of examination scenarios.
I found a position that offered clear observation angles without being pressed into any particular group. Alone, as I preferred, but positioned where I could see everything developing around me.
More students continued arriving as six AM approached. The crowd swelled toward perhaps eight hundred, then nine hundred, finally reaching what looked like the full thousand as the last stragglers rushed onto the training ground with minutes to spare.
At exactly six AM, a figure emerged from a nearby facility.
The woman was perhaps in her forties, built with the kind of functional muscle that came from decades of physical conditioning rather than purely aesthetic training. Scars were visible on her exposed forearms, marks that suggested extensive combat experience. Her eyes missed nothing as they swept across the assembled students, calculating assessment that seemed to measure and categorize each person in seconds.
She wore academy training uniform with instructor markings worked into the shoulders, no unnecessary decoration or embellishment. Pure function.
When she spoke, her voice carried across the entire training ground without apparent effort or magical amplification.
"Form up. Ten rows of one hundred. Tallest in back, shortest in front. You have sixty seconds."
Immediate chaos erupted as one thousand students scrambled to organize themselves. The height-based sorting meant tiers got completely mixed, destroying the careful separation that had formed naturally. Some tall Foundation tier students ended up in back rows alongside short Elite tier students. Arguments started about exact positioning, pushing and shoving as people jockeyed for spots.
I moved toward the middle rows based on my height, ending up in row seven roughly centered. Near me were students from all three tiers mixed together. Three spots to my right stood Cedric, the hostile Aldorian noble from my tactical assessment group who'd barely avoided Foundation tier placement at rank seven hundred thirty-two. His glare when he recognized me suggested the resentment hadn't diminished overnight.
The formation settled into rough organization as the sixty-second deadline approached. Not perfect, but functional enough that the instructor didn't immediately order us to restart.
She surveyed the assembled formation, her gaze tracking across each row with the same calculating assessment as before.
"I am Instructor Kane. For the next three years, I own your mornings. Physical Conditioning isn't about making you comfortable. It's about breaking your bodies down and rebuilding them stronger than they were."
Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact, carrying no warmth but also no particular hostility.
"I don't care about your tier. Elite, Standard, Foundation—in my class, you're all equally weak until you prove otherwise through sustained effort and measurable improvement."
That statement drew reactions across the formation. Elite tier students shifting uncomfortably at being called weak. Foundation tier students showing cautious hope that tier wouldn't determine treatment.
"I don't care about your family names, your kingdom allegiances, your examination rankings. I care about effort, improvement, and whether you quit when training gets hard. Those who quit will watch from sidelines while those who endure become stronger. Simple as that."
Instructor Kane's gaze swept the formation again, seeming to make eye contact with specific individuals scattered throughout.
"Tier doesn't mean you're better here. It just means expectations are higher and punishment for failure is more severe. Elite tier students will be held to Elite tier standards. Fall below those standards and you'll face consequences that make Foundation tier training look comfortable."
She let that sink in before continuing.
"Warm-up routine. One hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats, ten laps around training ground perimeter. Begin. No time limit, but I'm watching who finishes when and how your form degrades under fatigue."
I recognized the routine immediately. Exact same warm-up Jack had started me with a month ago. The difference was Jack had me do it alone, isolated, with only his corrections and my own determination. Here, everyone executed simultaneously, creating comparison and competition whether intended or not.
The formation broke as students dropped to push-up position and began.
Push-ups started strong across the formation. Most students handled the first fifty without visible struggle, their attributes and prior training making basic exercises manageable initially.
By seventy-five, form started breaking down. Backs sagging, incomplete extensions, students pausing to rest between repetitions. The Foundation tier students struggled most visibly, several stopping completely around eighty to ninety despite Instructor Kane's statement about no time limits.
Elite tier students mostly maintained better form, though many showed increasing strain. Standard tier performance varied wildly, some matching Elite standards while others barely exceeded Foundation capability.
I executed with the perfect form Jack had drilled into me through thousands of repetitions. Controlled breathing, steady pace, back straight, full extension on each repetition. The muscle memory was so ingrained that conscious thought wasn't required, my body simply flowing through the movement.
I finished all one hundred with form Jack would have approved of, then stood waiting while others completed their sets.
Around me, students were still struggling through their final repetitions. Some had given up entirely, lying on the ground and making no effort to continue. Others pushed through with deteriorating form, their pride demanding they finish even if technique suffered.
Instructor Kane prowled through the formation during this, her corrections sharp and immediate.
"Foundation tier doesn't mean you get lower standards. It means you need to work harder to catch up. If you quit on basic push-ups, you'll quit when real challenges arrive."
"Elite tier, your attributes let you coast through this. What happens when you face opponents with equal attributes but better technique? You lose, that's what happens."
"Standard tier, effort is acceptable but results are mixed. You're middle ground. Capable of more if you actually push instead of settling for adequate."
Sit-ups and squats followed similar patterns. Elite tier generally outperforming, Foundation struggling, Standard somewhere between. I maintained the same perfect form throughout, the exercises almost meditative in their repetitive simplicity after a month of Jack's conditioning.
Cedric kept glancing at me during the exercises, his expression mixing resentment with something that might have been disbelief. Muttered comments filtered through nearby students, not quite loud enough for Instructor Kane to address but clearly audible to those around them.
"Of course the Elite makes it look easy."
"Probably using mana enhancement despite the rules."
"Tier privilege doesn't mean actual capability."
I ignored the commentary, focusing on maintaining form and controlling breathing. Their resentment wasn't my problem to solve, and responding would only validate their complaints.
The squats concluded with similar completion rates. Perhaps seventy percent of students finished all one hundred. Twenty percent stopped somewhere between eighty and one hundred. Ten percent quit entirely before reaching fifty.
Instructor Kane made notes on a tablet she carried, recording performance without comment.
"Laps. Training ground perimeter is approximately four hundred meters. Ten laps equals four kilometers total. Run at your maximum sustainable pace. Walk and you'll repeat these laps tomorrow before class begins. Move."
Immediate sprint from many students trying to finish fast. The mistake was obvious to anyone with endurance training: sprinting four kilometers was impossible for most people, they'd burn out and end up walking anyway.
I set a steady pace from Jack's training, sustainable for long distance with controlled breathing that wouldn't deplete stamina prematurely. Not the fastest in the formation but consistent, calculated to maintain speed across all ten laps rather than starting strong and fading.
The formation spread out quickly. The fastest runners pulled ahead, their sprint pace eating distance but unsustainable long-term. The slowest fell behind immediately, their conditioning insufficient for even moderate running pace. The middle group, where I positioned myself, maintained various speeds between those extremes.
By lap five, many students who'd sprinted early were walking despite Instructor Kane's threat about repetition tomorrow. Their stamina had depleted, leaving them unable to maintain even jogging pace. I continued my steady rhythm, passing those who'd burned out while the truly fast runners remained ahead.
Lap seven brought more walking students. Lap eight saw some people stopping entirely, hands on knees, breathing hard from overexertion. Lap nine separated those with genuine endurance from those coasting on attributes alone.
I finished lap ten at the same pace I'd started, breathing harder but nowhere near exhaustion. Perhaps thirty students finished before me, their conditioning or attributes allowing faster sustained speeds. The bulk of the formation finished over the next five minutes in gradually slowing groups. The final stragglers limped across the completion line nearly fifteen minutes after I'd finished, some walking the entire final lap.
Instructor Kane stood near the finish area, making more notes on her tablet as students completed.
When the last student finished, she called out loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Fifteen minutes. Hydrate, catch your breath. Then real training begins."
Students collapsed in exhausted groups, tier separation reforming naturally as people sought familiar faces and alliances. Water containers appeared from spatial storage, people drinking deeply to replace fluids lost during exertion.
I found a spot alone near the training ground's edge, using the time to circulate mana and observe rather than engaging in social interaction. My enhanced physique was already working to restore optimal condition, the fifteen-minute break more than sufficient for full recovery from basic warm-up exercises.
Footsteps approached from my right. I turned slightly to see Cedric walking toward me with two other Standard tier students flanking him, their positioning suggesting coordinated approach rather than casual encounter.
Cedric stopped perhaps ten feet away, close enough for conversation but maintaining distance that could be interpreted as either respectful or cautious depending on perspective.
"Impressive performance, Einsworth. Almost like you've been training for this specifically."
His tone carried implication without direct accusation. Suggesting I'd had advance knowledge of what Physical Conditioning would entail, giving me unfair advantage over students who'd arrived blind.
The two students with him nodded agreement, apparently having discussed this theory before approaching.
"Elite tier probably gets told what to expect," one said.
"Unfair advantage from the start," the other added.
Other students were watching now, curious how I'd respond to the direct accusation. The break period had created natural gathering points, and our confrontation was occurring in view of perhaps fifty people.
I looked at Cedric with the same cold assessment I'd used during our first encounter in registration.
"Training is training regardless of advance knowledge. Push-ups are push-ups. Running is running. If basic physical conditioning surprises you, perhaps Standard tier overestimated your preparation."
Cedric's face flushed with anger at the dismissal.
"You think you're superior because you ranked higher? Because you got Elite placement despite your reputation as the Einsworth disappointment?"
"I think I completed the exercises without complaining about fairness or making excuses for inadequate performance. You should try it."
I turned away before he could respond, making clear the conversation was finished from my perspective.
Cedric looked ready to escalate physically, his hand moving toward his belt where a practice weapon hung. But Instructor Kane's presence prevented actual violence. She stood perhaps thirty feet away, watching our exchange with interest but not intervening unless things crossed the line into prohibited behavior.
"This isn't over, Einsworth," Cedric said, apparently needing to have the last word.
I didn't acknowledge the statement, settling back into my position and resuming mana circulation as if he'd already ceased to exist in my awareness.
A different voice spoke from my left, quieter and more diplomatic.
"Making enemies before noon. Efficient."
I turned to find Sera, the Elenor diplomat from my tactical assessment group, standing nearby with water container in hand. Her expression carried amusement rather than criticism.
"I didn't make him my enemy," I replied. "His resentment about tier placement did that already. I'm just refusing to pretend it's my responsibility to manage his feelings."
"True," she acknowledged. "But how you handle these conflicts determines whether they become isolated incidents or ongoing problems that complicate your entire academy experience."
I considered her diplomatic perspective but didn't respond. She had valid point about conflict management, but I also wasn't interested in building bridges with people whose resentment stemmed from their own inadequacy rather than anything I'd actually done to them.
Sera seemed to recognize I wasn't going to engage further on the topic. She moved to sit nearby, not quite joining me but close enough to be associated, her positioning creating small social buffer between me and potential additional confrontations.
The fifteen minutes passed quickly. Instructor Kane's voice carried across the training ground again.
"Break's over. Next segment: partner drills. I'm assigning partners based on performance assessment. No choosing your friends or avoiding people you dislike."
Groans rippled through the gathered students at the prospect of forced partnering. The tier mixing that had occurred during formation meant potential conflicts when people were required to work directly together.
"Elite tier students will be partnered with Foundation tier students. Standard tier will pair among yourselves."
The groaning intensified. Elite tier students looked dismayed at being partnered with the weakest performers. Foundation tier students appeared nervous about working with those who significantly outperformed them.
Instructor Kane began calling out pairings, her selections apparently based on the performance notes she'd been making throughout warm-up exercises.
"Kaine Einsworth, you're partnered with Torin Blackwood."
A boy perhaps my age approached from the Foundation tier group, his expression mixing nervousness with resignation. He was shorter than me by several inches, slight build suggesting speed over strength, features marking him as minor nobility from one of Aldoria's eastern territories based on family name.
"I'll... try not to slow you down too much," Torin said quietly when he reached my position.
I studied him briefly, evaluating the situation. Internal debate formed quickly: maintain the cold, aloof persona that kept people at distance, or actually provide assistance because poor partner performance would reflect negatively on my own evaluation.
Pragmatism won. Helping Torin helped myself, and demonstrated adaptability that Instructor Kane was clearly testing for through these pairings.
"Follow my corrections and you won't slow anything down," I said, tone neutral rather than warm but not actively hostile.
Torin looked surprised at the response, apparently having expected dismissal or contempt based on tier difference.
Instructor Kane explained the partner drills while the last pairings formed.
"Partner drill one: resistance training. One partner provides resistance while the other executes movements against that resistance. Switch roles every two minutes for ten minutes total."
"Partner drill two: synchronized exercises. Both partners must maintain same pace and form. If one partner's form breaks, both restart from zero."
"Partner drill three: endurance challenge. Hold plank position. If one partner fails, both must restart and hold for the full duration again."
She walked to the center of the training ground where everyone could see clearly.
"These drills test whether you can work with people different from yourselves. Elite tier, this tests your patience and leadership. Foundation tier, this tests whether you can accept guidance and push beyond your perceived limits. Begin drill one."
Torin and I positioned ourselves for resistance training. He would go first, attempting movements while I provided measured resistance to make the exercises more difficult.
The first movement was arm extension. Torin pushed against my hands while I maintained steady pressure, making him work harder than if he were exercising alone. His form was poor initially, arms wobbling and path deviating from straight line.
"Adjust your stance," I said, using corrections Jack had drilled into me. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Distribute weight evenly. Push straight rather than letting your arms drift."
Torin made the adjustments. His next extension was noticeably improved, the wobbling reduced and path straighter.
"Better. Maintain that form."
We continued through the two-minute interval with me providing corrections as needed. Torin's performance improved with each repetition as he internalized the guidance and his body adapted to proper technique.
When the interval ended and we switched roles, I provided enough resistance that the exercises remained challenging despite my superior attributes. Torin struggled to match the pressure I'd given him, his Foundation tier strength insufficient to create the same level of difficulty, but he tried earnestly rather than giving up.
Around us, other Elite-Foundation pairs showed varying dynamics. Some Elite tier students were visibly frustrated, their impatience making them poor teachers. Their Foundation tier partners looked intimidated and performed worse under that pressure. Other pairings worked more smoothly, the Elite students showing genuine helpfulness that allowed Foundation partners to improve.
Instructor Kane prowled through the pairs during this, observing interactions without intervening unless someone crossed into prohibited behavior.
She stopped at my position with Torin, watching us work through several repetitions.
"Good correction on stance. Foundation tier, you're listening to guidance?"
"Yes, Instructor," Torin replied. "He's... actually helping rather than just tolerating me."
Kane looked at me directly, her calculating gaze suggesting she was revising whatever assessment she'd made earlier.
"Elite tier means higher capability. Doesn't mean you ignore those developing theirs. Leadership is teaching others, not just demonstrating your own superiority."
She moved on before I could respond, continuing her circuit through other pairs.
I realized the comment had been acknowledgment rather than criticism. She'd expected many Elite tier students to handle this poorly, and my approach to actually teaching Torin was apparently worth noting.
The synchronized exercises proved more challenging. Torin and I both had to maintain identical pace and form, meaning I needed to slow down to match his capabilities while he needed to push himself to keep up with my standards.
We started with synchronized push-ups. I counted cadence, controlling the pace so Torin could maintain form throughout. When his back started sagging on repetition fifteen, I paused.
"We restart if your form breaks. Keep your core tight, back straight. You can do twenty with proper technique."
Torin nodded, reset his position, maintained better form through the next attempt. We completed twenty synchronized push-ups, both partners maintaining acceptable technique.
Synchronized squats followed the same pattern. I set sustainable pace, provided corrections when Torin's form degraded, praised him when he maintained standards. His performance was noticeably better than during initial warm-up exercises, the guidance and sustained attention allowing him to push past self-imposed limitations.
The endurance challenge came last. Both partners holding plank position until one failed, at which point both restarted and had to hold for full duration again.
I settled into plank position, my Iron Body Method training making the static hold relatively comfortable. Beside me, Torin matched the position with reasonable form.
"Breathe steadily," I said quietly. "Don't hold your breath or you'll fatigue faster. Focus on maintaining position rather than counting time."
Torin's breathing had been irregular initially, but he adjusted based on the correction. We held for perhaps ninety seconds before his arms began shaking visibly. I could see his form about to break, his back starting to sag.
"Hold the position," I said, voice firm but not harsh. "Five more seconds. You can manage five more seconds."
Torin's arms shook harder, but he held. Five seconds passed. Then ten. Finally his arms gave out completely and he collapsed to the ground.
"Restart," I said, returning to plank position.
Torin looked exhausted but reset himself without complaint. We held again. This time he managed perhaps seventy seconds before failing.
Third attempt, he held for nearly two minutes, his endurance improving through repeated exposure despite the accumulated fatigue. His form was better now, having internalized the corrections from previous attempts.
"Good improvement," I said when he finally collapsed again. "You're adapting to the exercise."
Torin looked up from the ground, breathing hard, surprise visible in his expression.
"You're... actually encouraging me?"
"You're improving with proper guidance. Why wouldn't I acknowledge that?"
He didn't respond, but something in his expression suggested the encouragement mattered more than I'd expected it would.
Instructor Kane called time on the partner drills and directed everyone back into formation.
"Final segment: controlled sparring. Light contact only, no techniques requiring mana expenditure, no weapons. This tests whether you can apply physical conditioning to actual combat movement. Form matters more than winning."
Medical staff became visible at the training ground's edges, their presence preparation for injuries despite the "controlled" nature of announced sparring.
"Same partner pairings. Three-minute rounds with thirty-second breaks between. Focus on footwork, positioning, basic strikes—punches, kicks, blocks. Mana enhancement is forbidden. Excessive force results in disqualification and punishment exercises."
She demonstrated the boundaries for "light contact" by executing several strikes at half speed and quarter power.
"Like this. Enough force to confirm the strike landed, not enough to cause injury. I will be rotating through pairs to observe and correct. Begin."
Torin and I faced each other in basic fighting stance. The skill gap between us was massive. I had a month of Iron Body Method training under Jack's instruction. Torin had basic self-defense at best, his Foundation tier placement suggesting combat capability was among his weakest areas.
I deliberately slowed my movements, using the sparring as teaching opportunity rather than domination exercise.
"Guard up," I said, demonstrating proper hand positioning. "Protect your centerline. Feet positioned like this for balance and mobility."
Torin adjusted his stance based on corrections. I threw a slow jab, giving him time to react. He blocked awkwardly but successfully.
"Better. Now counter. When I strike, you create opening to strike back."
We continued the exchange for three minutes, my focus entirely on demonstrating proper technique and giving Torin opportunities to apply corrections in practical context. His footwork improved visibly, his guard became tighter, his counters more confident as the round progressed.
The thirty-second break allowed brief rest before the second round. I provided more specific corrections about weight distribution and creating angles for strikes. Torin absorbed the information, applied it during the second round, continued improving.
Third round brought further refinement. Torin was actually learning combat fundamentals in real-time, the combination of instruction and practical application more effective than pure drilling would have been.
Instructor Kane rotated to our position during the third round, watching several exchanges before speaking.
"Foundation tier, you're improving. Elite tier, your teaching approach is effective. Well executed."
She moved on to other pairs without waiting for response.
Nearby, I could hear different dynamics playing out. Cedric's voice carried from perhaps thirty feet away, his pairing with a Foundation tier student clearly not going as smoothly as mine.
The sound of excessive impact made multiple people turn. Cedric had just landed a hard body shot on his Foundation tier partner, clearly exceeding "light contact" guidelines. The partner doubled over, gasping for breath from what might have been a cracked rib.
Instructor Kane was there in seconds.
"Cedric Ashford. Excessive force. Drop and give me two hundred push-ups. Now."
Cedric's face flushed. "I was just—"
"Make it three hundred. Want to argue more and make it five hundred?"
He dropped without further protest, beginning push-ups while the rest of the class continued sparring. His Foundation tier partner was escorted to medical staff for evaluation, the sparring clearly over for both of them.
The humiliation was public and complete. Three hundred push-ups with perfect form would take significant time, and everyone would see him still drilling while class concluded and people left.
The remaining sparring continued without further incidents requiring intervention. Instructor Kane rotated through all pairs over the next thirty minutes, correcting footwork and technique with the same precision Jack had used on me.
Some Elite tier students struggled despite superior attributes. Their raw power couldn't compensate for poor technical foundation when facing partners who understood positioning and timing. Some Foundation tier students showed solid fundamentals despite lower attributes, their technique allowing them to partially overcome the capability gap.
Finally, Instructor Kane called formation back after the sparring concluded.
"First day complete. Some observations."
Her gaze swept across the assembled students, probably noting who looked exhausted versus who looked ready for more.
"Elite tier: half of you performed as expected, demonstrating both capability and adaptability. The other half coasted on attributes without developing technique. Attributes fail when you face skilled opponents who understand how to exploit technical weaknesses."
Several Elite tier students shifted uncomfortably at the criticism.
"Standard tier: effort was acceptable, results were mixed. You occupy middle ground between Elite and Foundation. Capable of rising higher if you push harder, capable of falling lower if you grow complacent."
"Foundation tier: you struggled, which was expected. What matters is whether you quit or kept trying despite difficulty. Those who quit today will continue struggling tomorrow and every day after. Those who endured despite hardship will improve because endurance builds capability more effectively than talent without effort."
Instructor Kane checked her tablet briefly before continuing.
"Tomorrow, same time, same place. We'll build on today's baseline. Dismissed."
The formation broke immediately, students scattering toward dormitories to clean up before their next classes. Most looked exhausted despite the warm-up and drills being relatively basic compared to what actual combat training would demand.
I started walking toward Elite Dorm A but was stopped by Torin's voice.
"Kaine. Wait."
I turned to find him approaching, his expression earnest in ways that suggested genuine gratitude rather than political maneuvering.
"Thank you. For actually helping instead of just tolerating me as burden you were forced to carry."
"You improved when shown proper technique," I replied, maintaining some distance despite acknowledging his improvement. "That benefits both of us during partner evaluations."
"Still," Torin insisted. "Most Elite tier students see Foundation as exactly that—burden to tolerate until the exercise ends. You actually taught me things I can use going forward."
He extended his hand for the warrior's clasp.
I hesitated briefly, then accepted the gesture. His grip was weaker than mine, but the intent behind it was genuine respect rather than political positioning.
"Keep practicing the corrections I showed you," I said. "Your foundation is weak but fixable if you put in the work."
"I will. Thank you."
He walked away before I could respond further, heading toward whatever his next class required.
I resumed walking toward Elite Dorm A but was intercepted again before reaching the building's entrance.
"Einsworth. A word."
Instructor Kane's voice stopped me. I turned to find her standing perhaps ten feet away, having apparently followed me from the training ground.
"Instructor," I acknowledged, wary of what this conversation might entail.
She studied me with the same calculating gaze she'd used throughout class, her assessment making me feel like specimen being examined under controlled conditions.
"Your foundation is exceptional for someone with your documented history. One month ago you were reportedly incompetent in basic physical training. Now you demonstrate technique discipline that takes most students six months to develop through academy instruction."
I kept my expression neutral, offering the same explanation I'd given others who'd questioned my transformation.
"Recent intensive training. My family's captain of guard prepared me specifically for academy admission after I nearly died during a trial. Mortality risk provides substantial motivation for improvement."
"Mmm," Instructor Kane acknowledged without confirming whether she accepted the explanation. "Whatever the source of your current capabilities, maintain the discipline and teaching approach you demonstrated today. You have potential to become genuinely skilled warrior rather than simply attributely strong. Don't waste that potential through arrogance or complacency."
She walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing alone outside Elite Dorm A wondering exactly how much she suspected about the nature of my transformation.
I entered the building and climbed to the third floor, returning to Room 307. Thirty minutes remained before Combat Track training with Master Silas began at nine-thirty. Enough time for quick shower and fresh training uniform.
The shower's hot water was luxury after the morning's exertion, washing away sweat and allowing brief relaxation before the next challenge. I dried and dressed efficiently, checking my appearance in the room's small mirror. The training uniform was identical to what I'd worn during Physical Conditioning, but fresh rather than sweat-stained.
I strapped the Einsworth Family Saber to my hip, feeling the weapon's familiar weight settle into place. The blade pulsed faintly through our soul bond, almost as if anticipating what was coming next.
Combat Track training with Master Silas, legendary saber user, Master rank specialist in speed-based techniques. This would be different from Physical Conditioning's broad assessment. This would be specialized instruction focused specifically on weapon mastery, the foundation Jack had given me tested and refined under expert guidance.
I checked my mana reserves, confirming they remained at full capacity since Physical Conditioning had forbidden mana enhancement. Ready for whatever the next class demanded.
The walk to Private Training Hall Three took perhaps ten minutes, navigating through campus that was busier now with students heading to various morning classes. I passed groups moving toward Elemental Development facilities, Tactical Studies buildings, other combat track locations.
Private Training Hall Three was a smaller building compared to the massive structures housing general instruction. Specialized facility for weapon-focused training, architecture suggesting it had been designed specifically for that purpose rather than being repurposed from other uses.
I arrived five minutes early, Jack's training making punctuality automatic. Several other students were already gathered outside the closed doors, their presence confirming this was the correct location.
I counted quickly. Perhaps twelve to fifteen students total, significantly smaller group than Physical Conditioning's thousand-student mass. Mix of tiers visible: eight or nine Elite tier students, three or four Standard tier, and one Foundation tier student who looked nervous being the only one from his classification in this specialized track.
Various weapons were visible on the assembled students. Twin short swords carried by a girl whose Castern features suggested foreign kingdom origin. Massive two-handed axe strapped to the back of a boy whose Draven build marked him as heavy weapons specialist. A spear held by the Foundation tier student, the weapon's length suggesting reach-focused combat style. A chain-whip coiled at the belt of another student, exotic weapon choice requiring specialized training.
And standing slightly apart from the other students, a tall boy with elegant longsword. His bearing suggested absolute confidence without crossing into arrogance, posture relaxed but ready for instant movement.
I recognized something familiar about him, details triggering memory of the leaderboard posted yesterday. Then recognition clicked into place.
Darius Ashleigh. Ranked first overall out of one thousand applicants. The unknown commoner or minor noble who'd outperformed every imperial heir and major ducal child during entrance examination.
He noticed my observation and approached directly, his movement fluid in ways suggesting extensive combat training.
"Einsworth Family Saber," he said without preamble, his attention focused on the weapon at my hip. "I've read about that blade. Legendary weapon, supposedly lost for over a century. Historical texts describe it as one of the finest sabers ever forged in Aldoria. How did you acquire it?"
His tone was curious rather than accusatory, genuine interest rather than challenge.
I kept my expression cold, maintaining the dismissive persona that had become my default.
"Family trial. It chose me during the selection process."
"Interesting," Darius replied, his eyes still studying the saber with obvious fascination. "Legendary weapons don't choose wielders randomly. They respond to something fundamental in the person they bond with—capability, potential, or character resonating with the blade's nature."
He looked up from the weapon to meet my gaze directly.
"I'm Darius. Darius Ashleigh."
Confirmation of what I'd already deduced. The first-ranked student, the anomaly who'd appeared from nowhere to dominate entrance examination.
"Kaine Einsworth. Forty-seventh overall."
"I know," Darius said, slight smile suggesting amusement. "Your Platform Seven performance was particularly noteworthy. That third construct breaking through to Apprentice tier mid-materialization created quite the spectacle. The entire examination hall stopped to watch you fight something that shouldn't have appeared at that difficulty level."
His tone suggested he knew or suspected that hadn't been random equipment malfunction. That someone had deliberately escalated the challenge to test me specifically.
Before I could respond, the training hall doors opened with smooth precision.
A man emerged, and every student's attention focused immediately.
Master Silas appeared to be in his fifties, graying hair tied back in practical style that kept it clear of his face. Lean build emphasizing speed and precision over raw strength, every movement economical and purposeful. A scar ran across his left cheek from ear to jaw, old wound that had healed cleanly but left permanent mark.
He wore simple training clothes without decoration or rank insignia, the lack of ostentation somehow making him more imposing rather than less. At his hip hung a saber that radiated subtle presence even sheathed, quality craftsmanship suggesting Legendary tier weapon similar to my own.
His eyes swept across the assembled students, assessment taking perhaps three seconds before he spoke.
"Inside. We begin immediately. Time wasted talking is time not spent improving your inadequate foundations."
His voice carried absolute authority without needing volume or aggression. Simple statement of fact delivered with expectation of immediate compliance.
Students filed into the training hall quickly, no one wanting to make poor first impression by hesitating or questioning the instruction.
The interior was large open space perhaps sixty feet square, wooden floor polished smooth from decades of use. Weapon racks lined the walls displaying various practice weapons and training equipment. Enchanted training dummies stood at regular intervals, their construction suggesting they could withstand substantial punishment. The floor itself was enchanted, probably designed to absorb impact and prevent damage from techniques that would destroy normal surfaces.
Master Silas closed the doors behind the last student, sealing us inside.
"For the next three years, you are my students. What you become depends entirely on how seriously you take that designation and whether you're capable of enduring instruction that will break you down before building you into something functional."
He moved to the center of the training space, his footsteps making no sound despite walking on wooden floor.
"Show me what you already know. Draw your weapons. First assessment begins now."
Students formed a loose semicircle facing Master Silas, hands moving to their various weapons.
My hand settled on the Einsworth Family Saber's hilt, fingers finding the familiar grip that had been shaped through ten thousand repetitions of Jack's drawing drills.
I drew with First Light's drawing motion ingrained into muscle memory, the blade singing softly as it left the sheath in smooth arc that ended with the weapon in perfect ready position.
Master Silas's eyes sharpened immediately, his gaze locking onto my saber with intensity that suggested recognition.
"Interesting," he said quietly, voice carrying easily despite low volume. "Very interesting indeed."
His attention remained fixed on me, assessing not just the weapon but the drawing technique that had revealed my foundation.
"Flash God Technique. First Art execution integrated into basic draw. Someone taught you the Einsworth family style."
It wasn't a question. It was statement of observed fact.
Around me, other students were completing their draws with varying degrees of competence. But Master Silas's attention stayed focused on me, his interest apparently captured by seeing Flash God foundation in a first-year student.
"Step forward, Einsworth. Show me your First Light execution. Full technique, no holding back."
Every eye in the training hall turned toward me.
This was it. Specialized instruction under legendary master beginning with immediate demonstration of capabilities Jack had spent a month drilling into me.
I stepped forward into the open space, the Einsworth Family Saber ready in my hand.
Three years of weapon mastery started with this moment.
Let's see what Master Silas could teach someone who'd already been forged through brutal necessity into something beyond normal first-year capability.