The day that the courier arrived at Cristoff's home was perhaps the happiest of his life. He was a shrewd, bald man with a simple letterbag and traveling boots spattered with mud from several leagues of an undoubtedly harsh journey. As Lockwood was several miles south of the capital, many merchants and traders were reluctant to attempt traversing the annoying marshes and quagmires. Once past those, the town was fairly comfortable with plenty of hunting ground for miles around and surprisingly fertile farmland. As the courier approached the front door, Cristoff swung it open, a giddy look on his face while bouncing on his heels.
"Did I get accepted? What did it look like? How high were the walls—"
"Look, boy," the courier groaned, stressfully wiping the dirt-speckled sweat from his brow. "I'm not here to make small talk, just to deliver the letter. It was certainly nicer than this dung heap of a territory." He smoothly removed a sealed envelope from the bag, and Cristoff snatched it quicker than a snake would a field mouse. Without replying, he rushed back into the house and hastily shut the door behind him, already tearing off the official wax seal of the Imperial Academy.
"It's finally here, huh?"
Cristoff turned to the stairs, seeing his mother standing there in the stained dress that she wore for tidying the house. Her frizzy yet curly hair billowed down to her back, her freckled face gleaming as she smiled at him. "Well, don't wait for me, hurry and open it."
He nodded excitedly, sliding out the clean slip of parchment and unfolding it.
To the honorable Cristoff Stenval who resides in the southern territory of Lockwood: As Grand Sorcerer of the Imperial Academy, I, Lord Gevias, have officially reviewed your application for entrance into the academy. Based on the description of your anomaly that you have provided, I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as an apprentice sorcerer into the Imperial Academy. As the deadline for integration is coming to a close, I recommend beginning your travels as soon as possible. Please bring as few belongings as possible, as most essentials such as clothing and study material will be provided free of charge. We welcome you in the name of King Oswald and hope to see you soon.
His mother had snuck behind him and read all this as well, and she cheered with excitement, wrapping him into a crushing embrace. Cristoff was completely stunned with happiness that he had been accepted. "I can't believe it," he muttered, his stone-cold expression turning into the widest grin he had ever made. "I'm truly an official sorcerer now. . ."
"We can pay for a carriage for the trip tonight," his mother immediately said, rushing back and forth through the kitchen happily. "Your father will be so proud. To think we have the honor of having an academy sorcerer as one of our sons!" She shrieked with glee, jumping up and down.
"Mother," said Cristoff, his tone becoming more serious. "With my anomaly, do you think it's enough?"
She turned to him, laughing lightly. "Of course! Why wouldn't it be?"
Cristoff looked down at his hand. Mustering all his will, he desired for his anomaly to manifest. With a gleaming red flash, a massive sword was summoned, the hilt dropping into his palm. Were it his first time, the weight of the sword would have smashed into the floor, but he had grown accustomed to its weight, so holding it with one hand wasn't much of a problem for him anymore. The blade itself was unlike any other seen throughout the kingdom; being a bit less than a foot wide, his father often commented that it was a weapon fit for a demon, and being six feet long made it even more unique. The blade gleamed white and the red leather-wrapped hilt did actually seem to be long enough for a massive demon hand to hold. This sword, though it hadn't ever been useful to him, was the most important thing he had ever possessed. As they weren't natural born sorcerers, his parents knew hardly any magic, so it was a big deal that Cristoff had been given an anomaly, something only sorcerers were typically blessed with.
"It's. . . just a sword. I've even tried magic and it doesn't work for me. How far will some blade take me in a sorcerers' academy?"
"It's not 'some blade,' dear. It's your anomaly. The fact that you have it means you're a sorcerer. Regardless of how you may be now, this academy should teach you whatever is necessary. Not only that, we won't need to worry about coin anymore," she added, looking upward in bliss.
It was well-known that anyone who joined the most notable ranks of the Imperial kingdom would have their families financially secured for life, and the Academy was no exception. Although Cristoff hadn't gone through many hardships in life, it was the idea of his family having security that made him apply to be an official sorcerer in the first place. He wasn't necessarily obsessed with wanting to be a sorcerer, either, but he still managed to somehow get accepted with his anomaly.
With little time left in the day, he quickly gathered most of his personal belongings that he felt had sentimental value, such as an ornate dagger his grandfather had gifted him, a fluffy woolen scarf made from the wool of a giant northern mountain sheep, and a small gold chain that had been in his family for several generations. His father arrived home from being out with the traders several hours later, and he quickly put together a leather knapsack full of rations. Close to sunset, the carriage had been hired and the driver waited patiently as Cristoff said his goodbyes to his family.
"You'll have a grand time, I presume," his father said confidently, his fine curls wrapped together into an elegant bun behind his head. "Military service is a wonderful way to build respect and a reputation."
"Oh, don't scare him like that," his mother pouted. "He likely won't end up in the military. There's a chance of him being a renowned scribe or advisor, you know."
Although his mother was trying to make light of the situation, it was obvious what the Academy was created for; when you joined and graduated, you were ushered into the ranks of the Imperial army, and with the current conflicts that plagued the realm, it was near impossible that Cristoff would avoid some sort of enlistment. Still though, the idea of being able to see the rest of the world was something he looked forward to, even if it meant having to take part in a few battles. "It'll be all right, Mother," he said, smiling cheerfully to ease the tension. "I won't be their slave or anything like that. Once all these conflicts end, I'll be right back here to recuperate."
It was then that her eyes welled up with tears, and she snatched him forward for an embrace, holding his head in her arms. "Promise me, then. Promise that you won't leave us for good." He could hear the worry in her tone along with sadness of him leaving.
He wrapped his arms around her, doing his best to maintain his composure. "You have my word. I'll send letters as well, so you'll be getting the entire tale on how it's like when I'm traveling."
After that his father embraced him and slapped him on the back. "She's right, you know. It would be nice if you actually came home alive."
Cristoff couldn't help but chuckle. "Aye. I'll make sure I do."
Departing wasn't much of an emotional surge for him. As the carriage rolled down the rocky main road that led on for several leagues to the capital, he didn't truly feel sad or upset. He knew that whatever came after this wouldn't be easy, but he was relieved that his family no longer had to worry about funds. With little trade making it to the southern territories, his father had great success as a merchant, bringing home enough to live comfortably. Cristoff had mentioned this while applying to the Academy, and it immediately made his family talk about how they were doing just fine with what they currently earned. Regardless, Cristoff still wanted to help them out, and his father hadn't been wrong about the reputation that a military past could bring. The Imperial army had plenty of magicians in their ranks, but it was the sorcerers who were born with the ability to use magic as easily as they could run, making them extreme assets. However, this didn't seem to apply to Cristoff at all. While the sword he wielded was certainly an anomaly that could pertain only to sorcerers, he couldn't seem to make magic work for him, even with the help of several hired tutors. Mother may be right, he thought as the worn wooden carriage shuddered with every bump on the road. The Academy may actually be able to teach me. But even if they do, I'll be at a disadvantage once I arrive. Doing his best to avoid any further worrying, he pulled a cozy woolen blanket over him, lying longways in the seat and dozing off after a few minutes.
A bit over three days later, the looming academy on the outskirts of the capital became visible. The sorcerer's academy was a magnificent structure that exuded an air of ancient wisdom and timeless elegance. Its towering watchtowers rose high into the sky, their sharp spires reaching towards the heavens as if in an unspoken pledge of protection to all who resided within. The walls of the mansion were lined with a warm, richly colored stone that had been aged to a soft, golden hue by the passing of countless years.
As he approached the academy, his eyes were drawn to the intricately crafted stained-glass windows that lined its walls. Each window was a work of art in its own right, the colorful panes creating a brilliant tapestry of light and color that danced across the walls and floors. The images depicted in the glass were enchanting, depicting fantastical creatures, powerful sorcerers, and mythical landscapes. The entrance to the academy was a massive, ornate door made of the finest hardwoods, inlaid with gold and silver filigree.
They passed through the entrance, the carriage driver stopping in the vast, undecorated courtyard. "Stay outta trouble, boy," he grumbled, already beginning to turn around as Cristoff hopped off with his knapsack. He turned to the wide double doors of the mansion, noticing a bald man in dark red robes standing there firmly upright. What the hell? I could have sworn he wasn't there a moment ago. The robes were sewn with a brighter red lacing, his imposing dark eyes burning through him.
As he approached the door, the man spoke in a pleasantly smooth tone. "Cristoff Stenval, I presume? Welcome. I am Lord Gevias."
Fumbling for a moment, Cristoff quickly took a knee and bowed his head, remembering that anyone who spoke to a lord was required to do so. "It's . . . an honor," he managed to blurt out.
Lord Gevias chuckled, shaking his head. "No need to deal with the trifling formalities," he said kindly. "Though I am a lord to the king and all others, I am simply an instructor to those residing here. As it pertains to status, we are all friends in this building."
Cristoff stood, simply bowing his head this time. "It's nice to meet you. I've never seen a massive mansion such as this one."
"Yes, it has been passed down through my lineage for several generations now. It may seem insignificant at first, but I assure you that all you need to be a successful sorcerer is in here. And now that you have finally arrived, we will be able to start the integration."
Feeling embarrassed, Cristoff asked, "Was I the one delaying it?"
"No, not at all. It's only that I want to make sure we have as many students as possible so that not even a day is put behind in studies. As a matter of fact, the integration will begin late tonight, which means you have the chance to acquaint yourself with the other apprentices and instructors."
Taking that as his cue to head inside, Cristoff gave a nervous nod, pushing through the mansion doors. His first sight was a gargantuan common hall, glorious tables set every few feet with people both standing and sitting. They appeared average enough, with a few in fancier garb than others, and while a few turned their heads to the door as he stepped through, many others paid no mind. A large chandelier dangled from above, lit with only a few candles and leaving most of the room in a comforting shadow, and the walls glimmered with decorative weapons and crests of various lords' houses. Other than for a few statues of unrecognizable statuses to Cristoff, the rest of the hall was left empty, as if any more fashionable trinkets were unnecessary. He pondered whether he should introduce himself to the unattentive guests, but one was already approaching him.
It was a short figure, draped in a dark blue cloak and letting his head rise and fall to examine Cristoff. His thick brown beard was braided gloriously, no loose strands left unkempt, and his dark brown eyes gazed straight at him with suspicion. From the grizzley features, short form, and wide frame, it was obvious that this was a dwarf, a sight not too common for folk from the south. "You," he grumbled. "There seems to be a sickly aura surrounding you. Something unsettling."
"Certainly a most warming welcome," Cristoff chuckled nervously, extending his hand. "Cristoff Stenval."
The dwarf stared at the hand for a moment, then decided to shake it in a crushing grip. "Phoros. No need for a surname, I'll likely die in battle before it'll matter much. But still, you seem to radiate a different energy compared to the others, so perhaps you're one worth staying around."
"Different . . . energy?"
"Mmm, you can't feel it either, huh?" Phoros turned toward the rest of the people in the hall, scoffing condescendingly. "Many of them believe I'm mad from the first few sentences I speak, but I say they're simply stubborn. I did find one, though. She seems to be accepting enough, but I wonder if she has the fortitude to withstand whatever faces us out in the world."
I suppose he's someone who overthinks most things, though Cristoff. There had been many a priest that had traveled through Lockwood harking doom and predictions of world-ending calamities, and many more who claimed to know more than the average man. This dwarf seemed to be one of those sorts, and Cristoff had heard that they rarely spoke straightforward facts, as if riddles were their first instinct to everything.
Phoros quickly whipped around, causing Cristoff to flinch. "You are a human," he stated, furrowing his brow, "but there is that aura . . . Perhaps you're simply a more capable one? Either way, I suggest we all stay close in our studies. The more minds there are, the better chance we have at success."
"We all, you say?" asked Cristoff.
"Precisely. Follow me, she may not be the brightest but it's one more to our ranks regardless."
He stomped to the far back corner of the hall as Cristoff followed, one that seemed much darker and quieter. Sitting at the table there was another cloaked figure, a girl with flowing brown hair, pale skin, and bright green eyes. She looked up from a book she was reading, her face lighting up with curiosity. "This is our little clan, I suppose," the dwarf gruffed.
"Um . . . pleased to meet you," Cristoff said nervously to the girl.
"Likewise," she replied happily, giving a bright smile. "I'm Melody. I'm sure Phoros introduced himself already in his own . . . unique way."
"Indeed I have," Phoros said plainly. "And I intend to do the same to many more until we increase our ranks."
"Well, perhaps it may be time for a break," said Melody kindly, placing her book down. "You're likely scaring everyone here. They all seem to have their own groups already, so consider giving it a rest."
"I'm sorry, but am I missing something important here?" asked Cristoff warily.
"Oh, it's nothing at all. Phoros was trying to gather his own group of sorcerers so that we would have our own little fellowship. A clan-oriented mindset isn't bad, but perhaps we should be making a few friends instead of trying to recruit people."
"Whatever, then," Phoros groaned, dropping into a creaking chair. Cristoff took a seat as well, studying the fellow sorcerers he had just met. Phoros, though hefty and small, seemed sturdy enough to take on anyone who dared to pick a fight with him. Cristoff wasn't sure how the aging process went for dwarves, but Phoros seemed a bit past his adolescence from his rough and shaggy features, frown lines and wrinkles faintly showing in his complexion. Melody's face certainly showed youth, seemingly around Cristoff's age. Her skin was spotless and smooth, her lustrous brown hair flowing soft and silkily over her shoulders, while her eyes seemed to radiate the utmost vitality. While both of them were in cloaks, Cristoff wore a spattered traveling vest with faded black trousers, certainly different from the stereotypical sorcerer.
"Where do you hail from, Cristoff?" asked Phoros, squinting his eyes. "You give off the look of a miner from the Western Mountains. Worked a bit with my kin, perhaps?"
"Nowhere as interesting and eventful as there," replied Cristoff, brushing a loose curl away from his face. "Southern territories. Too swampy and murky for my liking, but it's home regardless."
"Ho ho, so an alligator brawler? Didn't know it was possible to escape from those lands."
"Well, my father and a few others hunt them, so almost half of the town never dealt with a live one before. They become aggressive when the population is left to run amok, so they can certainly become an issue. Younger children are forbidden from leaving the town's borders for that reason."
"Alligators are real?" exclaimed Melody. "I assumed it was only a myth."
"Aye, everything must seem like a myth where you're from, being suspended thousands of feet in the sky and whatnot," chuckled Phoros.
Melody's face grew red, and she averted her face away in embarrassment. "In the sky?" repeated Cristoff. He had certainly heard of them before, but this was his first time ever seeing one up close. In fact, many in Lockwood believed they were only stories meant to boost morale, the couriers and messengers of the gods themselves. "You're a harpy, then?"
She looked back at him nervously. "Um . . . well, yes."
"That's amazing!" he said in awe.
Her face went blank, as if she wasn't sure how to react. "You . . . don't seem to have a problem with it."
Phoros chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "I'm not sure how they do it in the swamp, Stenval, but harpies this far north aren't typically a good omen. Humans surely think not, at least."
Cristoff hadn't heard anything about this before. "It's the complete opposite in the Southern Territories," he said, surprised. "We all knew the culture grew more ridiculous north into the kingdom's mainland, so many of the settlements simply stopped believing anything travelers would try to tell us. From what we know, harpies were sent to bring good news and orders from the gods themselves. We didn't think they existed, and it was simply an idea for us to keep our hopes up in bleak times."
Melody shifted in her seat uncomfortably, saying, "There may have been an era long ago where we had contact with the gods, but not many are certain. The records from that long ago are a bit unclear."
"So what you're saying is that Stenval is a few thousand years late with his information?" chuckled Phoros.
Cristoff couldn't help but smile. "I suppose I am. I assume everyone else won't be as friendly, then?"
With a depressing frown, Melody slowly shook her head. "It's better that I focus on studies, anyway. We'll all be headed on different paths once this is over, so perhaps it isn't that bad."
"On the topic of studies and magic and whatnot," whispered Phoros, leaning forward a bit more, "what was the little trick that landed you two here? I suppose Stenval grows alligator skin, is that it?"
"Well, mine isn't too impressive," admitted Melody as she locked her fingers together nervously. "I can perform miracles and remedies with much less effort and strain than others. It's almost as natural as walking to me."
"Mine is something strange," Cristoff said next. "I don't think it can be particularly useful in all situations, but I suppose it's interesting." He raised his hand upward, summoning his sword with a red-hued flash. The giant blade sank a few feet but he managed to keep it held up so that it wouldn't crash into the table. Several people in the room turned to look, staring with curiosity and likely the question of how someone can hold up such a massive weapon with a single hand. Melody's jaw dropped open, Phoros gazing with awe as it gleamed faintly in the candlelight.
"A weapon inherited from birth," the dwarf said, entranced. "Certainly not an anomaly you see everyday. In fact, I'm not certain any anomaly consists of a physical item. Stenval, what sort of parents do you even have? They must be master sorcerers themselves."
He shook his head. "They know almost no magic and weren't born as sorcerers. It's as surprising to them as it is to you, and frankly I've never had much use for this thing. It's easy for me to hold, but most others can't get it off the ground, which I assume is because it's attuned to me and no one else. I'm not some warrior, so I've never used it in a fight. In all honesty, I could care less about it, but it's the reason I was accepted here nonetheless." He knew that in the academy, such an anomaly would be pointless when the most vital skills needed were spellcasting and arcane arts. As far as he was concerned, the sword didn't even need to be manifested for his entire duration here.
"It's so beautiful," Melody gasped, gazing with fascination. "In fact, there's a section of the academy specifically designed for those who prefer blades. At least, that's what I heard before arriving here. Perhaps they could train you with it."
Something to surely look into, thought Cristoff as he let his sword fade away with another flash, but I need to learn real magic. That's the thing that will get me through whatever lies ahead in my future. "Both of those are interesting indeed," said Phoros. "Mine, however . . . Well, we could say it's a bit beyond my control. I'm not certain whether it's a dark entity that aids me in times of need, or some part of my mind that takes precedence whenever it needs to. Either way, it's similar to a shadow creature that the higher rank sorcerers are able to summon."
"Should be interesting during training," commented Cristoff.
Through a door at the back of the room, several servants came out with platters full of various meats, cheeses, and fruits, along with a second one that held small mugs and pitchers. Each table got their own two platters, and Cristoff poured himself a mug of cold milk. "Here's to better days and a brighter future," he said, raising his mug and downing the drink, the others following suit. After a long few days of traveling, real food and drink was a relief, and Cristoff was hoping that the food was like this on a regular basis. There were several strips of dried beef sided with grapes and sliced apples, the fruit being something of a rare find where he came from. As they ate, Phoros eagerly spoke of his family's clan, one that owned the westmost province of the Western Mountains. They were by no means poor, and it was with little effort that he was accepted into the academy. Melody's tale was humble enough; she had left home from the sky islands to learn enough at the academy to where she could help her friends and family (she admitted that she had always wanted to experience how it would be in the "Sunkenlands," which greatly influenced her decision to depart). From the look of the others in the room, they seemed to have come from wealthier, more noble backgrounds. Cristoff had seldom seen anyone wealthy come near the Southern Territories, as the land was too harsh and uninviting to draw anyone important, so he made a mental note to pay attention to how they would be during studies.
After a few more minutes of chatting, the sudden yet rapid tinging on a goblet rang throughout the hall, drawing everyone's eyes toward the entrance. Lord Gevias set the spoon and goblet onto a table near the door, eyeing the room with a solid blank stare. The last of the chattering sorcerers finally quieted, and at this Lord Gevias began speaking.
"It is a privilege to see so many young and aspiring sorcerers here," he began, his eyes flickering back and forth among everyone in the hall. "Time is of the essence, so I will keep this short and concise. Although it would bring me joy to watch all of you dedicate yourself to the arcane arts and form unbreakable bonds with many of your peers, I am afraid this year will be a complete overhaul of what the academy is about. It is no mystery that the Imperial Empire is involved in countless conflicts across the continent, and it pains me to say that we are in no state of resolving any of them. With rumors of demons making their way into this world, rogue elves devastating the countryside, giants making an appearance once again near the mountain regions, necromancy becoming a more popular practice, and swathes of other terrible events, you all are needed now more than ever to protect what our forefathers have built up in this empire. These various conflicts are not to be underestimated; although they may seem minuscule at the moment, they will only worsen as time goes on. That being said, the duration you spend here at the academy will be decreased drastically. During less severe times, you would spend around a year to begin your studies and then return for two more. Now, unfortunately, you will only reside here for six weeks before heading off to assist with resolving these conflicts."
The entire hall suddenly broke out with shouting and arguing as the pupils caused an uproar. So that's why I was accepted, realized Cristoff. It had nothing to do with my anomaly at all; the military just needs their little soldiers on the frontlines right away. Many students were complaining about how six weeks wasn't even worth leaving home for, while others cursed at Lord Gevias for being a dog of the empire.
"Pout as you may," Gevias shouted loudly, causing everyone to temporarily cease their complaining, "but your unhappiness with the situation will hinder more than help. As academy sorcerers, you will be revered by everyone around you, including those who are higher ranking within the military. Your mere presence is an affirmation that everything is going to be alright, even when things look most grim. And although you will be serving alongside experienced generals and commanders, you will always be addressed for counsel and orders."
That last sentence caught everyone's attention. How amusing, thought Cristoff with a grin. I suppose the idea of being in charge is appealing to these little nobles. Lord Gevias inhaled and prepared to speak again, but someone in the back shouted, "Are we being sent off to war?"
Everyone began murmuring at that, and Lord Gevias quickly responded with, "The Imperial Empire is not in a full scale war at the moment. As I previously said, you will be sent to resolve and assist with smaller conflicts that, if left to fester, may possibly lead to large-scale ones. As much as I'd like to stand here and answer questions, we have little time to commence studies, which means you will need to address any concerns to your instructors. I've pondered over each of the letters you sent me and already prepared who will be your main instructor. As I have urgent matters to attend to, they will call each of your names and lead you to your designated living quarters." As quickly as he had arrived to deliver the speech, he headed outside, his cloak whipping around him as he strided out.
Several instructors walked into the hall from an adjacent hallway, and the sorcerers began chatting lightly once again. Names were called out one by one as sorcerers met with their instructors and walked off. Cristoff's name was called relatively quickly, and he walked forward to meet a man who didn't seem like a sorcerer at all. He was a burly tank of a man in battered iron armor, a massive broadsword hanging at his side. His thick beard and large frame reminded Cristoff of the mountainmen who would hunt bears and trolls with nothing but a rusty spear and some rope. As Cristoff approached, the instructor looked him up and down, his worn complexion not changing one bit. Cristoff wasn't certain whether to shake his hand or wait for an order.
"Stenval," the man said, surprisingly with a cheerful tone. "Your anomaly is something never heard of before. Therefore, I'm glad to have you as my pupil." He extended his thick, calloused hand, grinning gleefully. "General Markus."
Cristoff shook it, smiling. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Motioning toward a door in the back corner of the hall, General Markus said, "Your peers should be waiting there. Get acquainted while I gather the remaining ones."
"Yes, sir," Cristoff responded, waving goodbye to Phoros and Melody as he headed to the door. The room he walked into was a small, dimly lit living space with several roughly built bunkbeds lined up in an army barracks fashion. Only two candles were lighting the entire room, and it made Cristoff imagine it more as a glorified broom closet than a living space. Sitting on a few of the bunks were other pupils, these ones giving off a different aura than the other sorcerers he had seen so far. They all wore robes and traveling garb, but these were crudely made, all with patches and stains. It was obvious that these sorcerers could care less about being a pretty, glorious spellcaster; they were here to use whatever means necessary to win a fight. Although the idea of being a formalized battle-sorcerer was appealing, Cristoff liked this atmosphere much more.
One student with a black headband and soot-covered face nodded at him as a greeting. "From the Southern Territories, I presume?"
Caught aback, Cristoff nodded. "How in the world did you know that?"
With a wicked grin, the boy chuckled. "The scent of swamp is difficult to shake off no matter how far you travel. My anomaly increases my sense of smell tenfold. Not the most wonderful gift to be blessed with, but it makes me quite the good fellow with the hunters. Rikehart Reed, pleasure to meet you."
"Cristoff Stenval," he replied. He shook hands and exchanged greetings with the others in the room, and although everyone was acquainted well and the others seemed nice, Rikehart seemed the friendliest. Callous hands, a youthful smile, and his bright and matted blonde hair over a thin traveling cloak and sturdy boiled leather armor made for an unforgettable sort of person. He jested a lot with the others, seemingly the most lighthearted one in the room and certainly easing everyone's tensions. It wasn't long before others came in the quarters as well, and the greeting exchanges were repeated over and over. About half an hour later, General Markus strided into the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. He quietly muttered a spell under his breath, waving his hand across the edges of the door. Everyone in the room stared, now silenced by the imposing presence of such a massive and valiant man.
Now that he had a chance to focus, Cristoff stared more intently at the general. General Markus was an imposing figure, standing at well over six feet tall and sporting broad shoulders that hinted at his military background. Despite his large stature, he was lean and muscular, with a rugged, weathered appearance that betrayed the many battles he has fought. His skin was tanned and leathery, with deep creases etched into his face from years spent likely squinting in the sun and wind of the battlefield. He had a strong jawline, set beneath a short, neatly trimmed beard that is flecked with gray. His armor was made of dark, battered metal plates, adorned with intricate designs and etched with runes that hinted at its magical properties. The armor was well-worn, with scratches, dents, and chips from years of combat, serving as a testament to the many battles he had survived. Despite his rough exterior, General Markus had piercing blue eyes that shine with intelligence and cunning. They were clearly the eyes of a seasoned veteran, always alert, always aware of his surroundings. His hair was streaked with gray and cropped close to his scalp, as befitting a military man.
"That is your first lesson," he said lightly, as if eavesdroppers were likely to be afoot. "Sorcerers are often trusted with important details that opposing parties can benefit off of. Never assume that no one will listen to your conversations, even in the safest confines." He carefully looked over each individual in the room, gazing intently at some more than others. Cristoff was only given a brief glance. "I am going to tell you all a harsh truth that Lord Gevias would likely have my head over," he said, sternly and with more of the tone of a true general. "Almost all of those sorcerers you just met out there will die within their first week in the field."
Although no one spoke, it was obvious that the tension in the room had shot way up. Even Cristoff gulped at the end of that sentence, wondering what could possibly be so dangerous from something that wasn't even a full-scale war yet. Markus continued, saying, "You will have some studies involving the arcane arts, that much is certain. However, others out there will solely rely on it, leading up to their own defeat. You all are cut from a much more abrasive fabric, landing you here in my hands. You will face unthinkable horrors out there with the Imperial army, and those sorcerers who have sat comfy studying their books and scrolls will crumble the moment they face them. This isn't something you can prevent, unfortunately. If you haven't realized already, my teachings won't involve comfy and sophisticated studies. You will participate in an army conditioning that would make most Imperial soldiers desert immediately. I don't know about any of your pasts, but it's clear that you would fight tooth and nail before any of those noble puppies out there. Believe it or not, I only remember four of my pupils dying out of the hundreds I've trained so far." Everyone's expressions eased until Markus grimanced and added, "That was on the battlefield, however, not in training."
There were dark looks among everyone once again. So he's saying we may actually DIE during conditioning? wondered Cristoff bleakley. Nobody dared ask how many had died in mere training, but Cristoff had no idea that the academy allowed their sorcerers to partake in something so harsh. It was clear now that this wasn't a leisurely sort of academy with iced milk and cinnamon buns for whenever you felt down; this was hardcore boot camp. The general eyed everyone with a stone-cold gaze, observing each individual as if already predicting who would fall first. After a thorough and silent examination, he spoke again. "Your days will consist of training with yours truly and then heading off to the more formal studies later on. Your sleeping quarters are nowhere inside this mansion; in fact, they are stationed about 2 miles past the forest near the academy. Each day you will wake in the barracks and trek your way through the woods and here to the academy. Throughout the woods are small bells hanging from various trees, none of them easy to find. Snag one, or you'll have no breakfast waiting in the dining hall for you. If you manage to grab more than one, your portions will increase."
Doesn't sound the worst, thought Cristoff with relief. A brief wake-up exercise before training shouldn't be too bad.
"However," said the general, "each day there will be a new danger lurking in those woods. Remember that you are not alone. Although the bells guarantee your food for the morning, breakfast will start with or without you, so avoid wasting time to find more bells solely for some extra portions."
"Sir," said Rikehart, standing straighter beside Cristoff. "Why exactly the woods? I arrived here by crossing partially through it and it didn't seem too off."
Markus chuckled coldly. "Those woods are under the full control of a group of sorcerers and summoners. I'll reveal the secret that your first trial of crossing through it will involve dealing with wolves. Mind you, these wolves are large enough and fearsome enough to hunt alone instead of in a pack. Should you encounter a pack, may the gods have mercy on you, for they certainly won't. Each creature in there is controlled or influenced by these sorcerers, and later on they will also set up various traps to hinder your progress. How far you stray to find a bell, along with the inconvenience of danger from all sides, will determine whether you make it to the dining hall in time. A good Imperial sorcerer is always punctual, and you all would do well to follow suit."
Rike's face was pale, as was Cristoff's. In fact, the entire room seemed dead and emotionless, as if every terrifying possibility was running through their heads. It was widely known that a soldier's training involved pushing your body to the limit, but this just seemed to be a good form of mental torture. With goosebumps running across his arms, Cristoff asked, "When does this begin?"
"Good question. It seems you all have gotten to know one another sufficiently enough, so you can begin heading there now. No worries, however. This challenge only happens for you all during the morning, so after breakfast it's perfectly safe to cross into the woods. Once you open the two big doors, you head directly straight all the way to a small clearing, where you will find your new home for the next six weeks or so. As there is little else for me to say, I will await your arrival in the dining hall in the morning. It should take perhaps two hours to wake up, retrieve a bell, and make it here in time, so learn the habit of being an early riser. And if it wasn't clear enough, there will be no bell hanging within a straight line from the barracks to here, so I hope that idea wasn't going through anyone's heads." With that, he smiled and opened the door, gesturing for everyone to depart.
As confused as everyone was, it was an added surprise that there was such a brief explanation and then a sort of "Now get out" attitude. Knowing the task well enough and not wanting to waste time with any more questions, Cristoff followed behind the many others who, looking more nervous than ever, headed out of the room and outside into the gleaming afternoon light. Huddled as a group, all the students slowly walked into the forest past the first group of trees, small amounts of sunlight gleaming through the thick pines as they marched over dead needles.