53 Training with the Provost

Jacob collided with the floor. Hard. Having had a good night's rest, it was a shame to ruin all that peace that he had gained from his sleep. It had to be done though, as Provost Thomson's training began at the crack of dawn. The air emptied from his lungs, Jacob stopped struggling against the woman's attacks, letting her place the tip of his practice sword at his neck.

"You were too slow on reading that attack. Always watch the tip of the weapon. It's what moves first. Then, watch the feet. They'll reveal where your enemy is moving. Had you kept these in mind, you might have been able to tell that I was going to feint," the smiling woman offered him a hand up. Her hair shone in the morning light, brightening her brown hair to a nearly golden hue.

"I'll keep working on those, Provost. I'll also do as you asked earlier," Jacob nodded towards a rack of weapons at the side of the small training room. Relentless was full of these chambers, each identically equipped with practice swords made of wood and real weapons of almost every design made of iron or steel.

"Because we don't really practice our sword forms with wooden weapons, we haven't really invested in producing various practice swords. You'll need to pick from that rack by the end of today if you want to get any practice on them by Wednesday. Your skill with a heavy sword is considerable, but it looks to me as if it doesn't really suit your more relaxed style," the Provost reiterated. Previously, she had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they'd be sparring with live weapons the next day. Given, she promised not to maim him, but Jacob still felt that she was borderline insane.

With her spiel said, the warrior left Jacob to his own devices. He nursed his bruises a little, touching them to see if they were still tender. That was a mistake. Provost Thomson did not hit lightly, nor did she pull her punches, so to speak. Satisfied with his inspection, Jacob walked over to the rack. Any medieval weapon Jacob could think of was represented. Legendary weapons like the gladius, the katana, and the khopesh were present in its holders.

He picked up the katana first, eager to test its strength and maneuverability. Taking the weapon with him to where a dummy stood, Jacob attacked with a flurry of strikes. The weapon offered him a great deal of speed, an improvement over the longsword. But it wasn't heavy enough to be useful against an opponent in plate armor, nor was it double-edged.

Then, he tested the khopesh, interested by its exotic design. Jacob had never seen one before, and only rarely on television. He swung this weapon too, but found it too unwieldy. Certainly, there were those out there who could make such an oddly curved sword work wonders, but it wouldn't be Jacob. Definitely not in the three days he had to practice with it.

Finally, he experimented with the Roman sword. It was stubbier than either of the previous weapons, but it had a simplicity to it that called to Jacob. Unfortunately, it was not destined to be his weapon. Jacob's training predisposed him to the use of slashing weapons; the short sword was destined for those intending to stab through openings. It was the weapon of a legionary, not a lone warrior.

His thoughts revolved around the various weapons, for he tested out a few more before laying down on the mat in the center of the room. Meant for training acrobatic skills, Jacob used it instead as a place to rest his head. It didn't have the most pleasant of smells, not by Earth standards, but it was just about as bad as most city smells. Proper plumbing, one of the wonders of this seemingly medieval world, existed. The notion to bath every night did not.

Deflated at his inability to score a single touch on the Provost, Jacob chose instead to meditate in his style. If he didn't use all of his mana, he should have enough to last the evening when he was to spar against Provost Thomson. Reminding himself to not go over the threshold he set for himself – despite the incessant desire to grow stronger – Jacob began.

Air taken from outside the room flowed in through the solitary window. The cool autumn breeze chilled him, reminding him that Delreya was among the most northern countries in this world. Winter would be terrible, once it arrived. Hopefully, though, he wouldn't be as far north as Leafburrow sat. Maybe the King would send the Fourth to the southern border?

He returned his focus to the motes of air. The wind ran across his body, using it as a roadway for its movement. Jacob was not skilled enough to purposely move the wind in an intricate fashion when it didn't have something physically in contact with it as a reference point. These meditations allowed for him to begin rectifying that limitation, along with the notable boost it gave to his mana pool.

The door to his training room opened loudly, a group of Relentless students entering. Jacob opened his eyes and turned part of his attention to them. They were laughing and talking as they walked in, but the three of them watched in silence as wind circled Jacob.

One of them, a girl around Jacob's age, spoke first. "Are you a mage?" she asked. Then, she rapid-fired a veritable list of other questions. Jacob brought an end to them with a raised palm, but his concentration was already shot. He let go of the wind, knowing that his meditation was not going to progress further, at least not in that session.

"To answer your first question, yes, I am a mage. Now, I'm also a mage who doesn't like his meditation being interrupted. Knock next time or check to see if someone's inside a room, yeah?" Jacob grumbled. The setback in his training really did tick him off, especially because it wasn't even his fault. Some fools had barged their way into an occupied room. "With that being said, any other questions?" he asked, certain that they'd flee.

He was wrong.