Shards of destiny

As the class made its way toward the training grounds, I couldn't help but be awestruck by the sheer size of the place. Our teacher, Gerad Han, took the opportunity to explain that this space, reminiscent of a colosseum, served not only as a training ground but also as a venue for school competitions.

It was a sight to behold, and I couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur of the Colosseum's appearance.

As we gathered on the expansive training grounds, anticipation hung in the air, mingling with excitement from our class.

Gerad's commanding voice drew our attention as he initiated the first lesson.

"To thrive in this academy, you must learn to assess your opponents swiftly, even before the battle begins," Gerad began, his words resonating through the open space. "Today's lesson is the Duo Practical. The aim is to pair off into teams of two and engage in combat that melds swordsmanship with magical aptitude.

Fret not, as there's an equitable distribution of swordspeople among us. However, I must emphasize that while competition is the goal, causing serious harm to your fellow classmates is strictly prohibited. Intentional harm will result in suspensions."

His words set a clear tone for the lesson, underlining the importance of responsibility even in the midst of training. As he continued, he outlined the permissible matchups to ensure fair contests.

"To ensure balanced matchups, there are specific configurations," Gerad explained. "Mage and Swordsman versus Mage and Swordsman, Mage and Mage versus Mage and Mage, and Swordsman and Swordsman versus Swordsman and Swordsman. And all the other combinations I forgot to say. But Of course, there are exceptions; consent from both parties is crucial, regardless of the mix."

As Gerad's instructions settled, the room buzzed with whispers and movement as students sought out suitable partners. In the midst of the commotion, I found myself meeting Alice's gaze. A knowing nod passed between us, and with an unspoken agreement, we became a team.

Not far from us, Tristan and Franz solidified their partnership, followed by Ramsworth and Theron. The stage was set for a dynamic series of encounters, each pairing bringing a unique blend of skills to the practice bouts.

As the sun cast its warm glow over the training grounds, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. The Duo Practical promised to be an intriguing exploration of combat and strategy, a testament to the academy's commitment to honing our skills and fostering collaboration among students.

The pairing of students began, and with it, a sense of intrigue and competition filled the air. I could feel the envious gazes of some, directed towards Alice, the Princess with striking red hair. Amidst this bustling environment, Alice turned to me, her question breaking the momentary silence.

"Jin, are you a swordsman mage, support mage, or a duelist mage?" Alice's inquiry was straightforward, but it caught me off guard. I pondered the options for a moment, my lack of knowledge of these classifications evident.

With a hint of uncertainty, I responded, "I think I'm more of a swordsman mage?"

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There were abilities governed by the fusion of swordplay and elemental magic—an art familiar to most sword mages.

However, there existed a rare subset of sword mages who could manipulate a distinct form of power, separate from traditional mana. This unique ability, termed "aura," was fueled solely by one's indomitable willpower.

While aura had its place in both swordsman and mage techniques, a shroud of mystery surrounded its acquisition. There were whispers of diverse variations, especially concerning swordsman techniques and mage aura. Nevertheless, obtaining the aura itself posed a significant challenge.

Through moments where one saw themselves teething at the edge of death the desire to keep a living spark of hope would often ignite. It was said that when the body, heart and soul fought against the encroaching darkness, a powerful will surged forth. wanting to survive, wanting to cling to life with every fibre of one's being, creating a connection not to just their life force but directly to their soul.

It was said that the universe recognized this unwavering determination and bestowed the gift of aura as a reward for prevailing against all odds.

Such stories were told in hushed tones and passed down through generations. But for every tale of near-death awakening, there were countless stories of those who never awakened their aura, even in dire circumstances.

The truth remained that the spark required a unique combination of mental fortitude, raw willpower, and a certain undefinable essence that defied easy explanation.

For those who followed a different path, the road was no less arduous. It was a journey of sweat, tears, and unwavering dedication. Masters would guide their apprentices through rigorous training regimes that tested their limits, both physically and mentally. Day after day, year after year, the apprentices would pour their energy into honing their bodies and minds.

Among them, the naturally gifted would shine. Their progress seemed effortless as if they were born with an innate affinity for aura. They would grasp the nuances of the energy flows, master the intricate techniques, and achieve the first stage with a grace that defied the odds.

Yet, even for those without the blessings of innate talent, the rewards were attainable through sheer determination. It was a slow and grinding process, a journey of incremental gains and relentless pursuit. The apprentices would learn to harness their inner fire, to push through fatigue and doubt, until the first glimmers of aura emerged.

In the end, whether born from a near-death awakening or forged through unwavering effort, the first stage of aura was a testament to the resilience and potential of the human spirit. It served as a reminder that greatness could be achieved through both extraordinary circumstances and the unyielding resolve of ordinary individuals.

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In the midst of anticipation and a competitive atmosphere, my gaze shifted between potential opponents, waiting for someone to approach us. Soon enough, it was Franz and Tristan who stepped forward to face us.

"Hey, Alice, nice to see you here," Franz greeted with a warm smile, extending his hand in a friendly gesture.

"Likewise, Franz," Alice responded, shaking his hand. "Looks like you're here for the same reason?" Her expression getting more serious.

"Well of course we didn't come over here just to have a conversation." His eyes began to spark.

Franz's eyes shifted to me, acknowledging my presence. "And Jin, I assume. You must be the one who knocked out Ramsworth twice."

I remained calm, But I do not want to give him the impression of acknowledging his statement. "Yeah..."

"Let's get along then." He smiled proudly with determination in his eyes. But looking behind Franz, Tristan stood there waiting.

Though I held no grudge against Franz, the air around Tristan still carried the weight of our existing feud.

Announcing our positions, I stood beside Alice, keeping my emotions in check. Tristan and Franz mirrored us, As our teacher designated each pair to a specific area.

With tension hanging high in the air, Especially as I noticed both Tristan and me reaching for wooden blades, I began to understand why he said He and I are somewhat alike.

Alice summoned her staff from the ground and displayed her readiness. On the opposite side, Franz held no staff which he might just be an offensive mage.

As our group took their positions, the instructor activated the mechanism that established barriers, separating us from the surrounding area. This safeguard ensured that accidental mishaps didn't spill over into the other fighting spaces.

The instructor began the countdown—3, 2, 1—my attention sharpened on the impending clash. My heart quickened, anticipation pulsing through my veins. Beside me, Alice remained poised, staff at the ready. The arena seemed to hold its breath, each second stretched tautly.

"GO"

Without warning, flames erupted into the sky—three fireballs, fierce and unyielding. But amidst the searing inferno, Yet, within their fiery midst, I sensed something more—the flow of mana beneath, an indicator of someone concealed among the flames. No doubt, it was Tristan orchestrating this fiery assault.

Instinctively, I tightened my grip on the wooden blade, muscles coiled for action. A wave of unease washed over me. Darkness consumed my vision. In that split second, reality seemed to flicker, a disorienting blur as I blinked seeing that the battle had not begun yet.

Jin, are you okay?" Alice's gaze turned towards me, brimming with concern.

"Sorry, Alice. I suddenly blacked out," I hurried to reassure her that everything was fine. Yet, even as I spoke those words, the vividness of what I had just witnessed lingered. Could it be that the attack I saw will be used first?

A barrage of questions clamoured for attention in my mind, but I couldn't allow them to hinder me. Once more, the instructor's voice broke through, initiating the countdown.

"3, 2, 1, GO!"

Franz's staff motion summoned the same trio of fireball constructs, their luminous glow casting an eerie light across the battlefield. Tristan, seizing the opportunity, launched himself into the air, his body engulfed in flames, a living ember poised to strike.

I've already seen all of this before. Maybe I couldn't see the expression on my face right now but the muscles on my face couldn't stop getting less tense by the second I clear flash between my eyes that emanated from the fire that was to fall on us.

Gripping my sword tightly, each fibre of my being was focused on this very moment. I ensured that no man was to enter the sword in order to pull off 'that' technique I had used earlier.

As I felt really tense I loosened up my grip and a radiant glow began to surround the sword, a shimmering dark colour of black erupted from the blade as it intensified sparks of lightning were popping out just waiting for it to be released.

Where seconds felt like minutes, I felt time itself paused for a brief moment and my heart began to sync with the blade of this sword.

Amidst this, a sudden clarity washed over my senses. I could perceive the arc of every flame, the minute changes in Tristan's stance, and the very currents of mana that swirled around us.

It was as if I had tapped into an alternate dimension, one where my actions were meticulously guided by an unseen hand.

The wooden sword in my grasp crackled with sparks of dark lightning, a manifestation of the power I had harnessed. It hummed with restrained energy, ready to unleash its potential in a surge of controlled chaos.

I lunged forward. The arc of my slash traced an intricate dance through the air, leaving behind a trail of brilliance. It was a symphony of red and black, a testament to the fusion of elemental forces that resided within me.

The very act of my strike seemed to paint the canvas of the world with ethereal motes of light, a tapestry woven from the threads of possibility and determination.

The collision was inevitable. The air crackled with tension as my blade connected with the fireballs, a cataclysmic clash of opposing energies. The impact resonated through my body, a surge of power coursing through my veins.

The echoing cry of impact reverberated through the training ground as my blade found its mark.

a resonating symphony of steel meeting steel in a tumultuous dance that echoed with the weight of impending clash. Franz's eyes widened with disbelief, his expression of astonishment at the force behind my strike.

However, the true victim of my decisive assault was none other than Tristan. A sharp, involuntary grunt escaped his lips as my blade found its mark, leaving behind a searing mark of red on his chest, a silent testament to the power of my attack.

But Tristan wasn't one to succumb quietly. His features twisted with a volatile blend of pain and anger, a storm of emotion that ignited his very essence.

With a bestial roar, he launched himself toward me, sword raised high and fury gleaming in his eyes. His face contorted, a living embodiment of his frenzied assault that sought retribution.

Amidst the storm of battle, my voice pierced the chaos, issuing a command to Alice that resonated with urgency. In response, her hands met the ground with a force that sent ripples through the earth.

The very ground seemed to shiver in response, rising to create jagged spikes that surged toward Tristan, a desperate attempt to unbalance his charge. Yet, Franz's countermagic proved formidable, shaping the terrain into a rugged, uneven battleground that shattered our unity of purpose.

As the dust settled and the earth quieted its tumultuous symphony, I found myself once more face to face with Tristan, the altered battlefield shifting beneath our feet. His words bore a thin veneer of arrogance, an armour to hide his internal doubts.

However, his movements betrayed gnawing desperation, the struggle to maintain a facade eroding under mounting pressure.

Our blades clashed once more, each strike resonating with a kinetic energy that stirred the very air around us, creating a symphony of clashing forces.

In the midst of this elemental duel, a profound realization washed over me. Tristan's strikes were devolving into chaos, lacking the precision and finesse of a master swordsman.

My own intimate understanding of swordsmanship, coupled with my newfound control over elemental forces, granted me an edge he struggled to match.

A sudden surge of brilliance enveloped Tristan's blade, igniting it with a burst of vivid light that danced with the essence of fire.

The air seemed to crackle with raw energy as he unleashed a searing, fire-imbued slash that left a blazing trail in its wake. With calculated precision, I deflected the attack, the clash of our weapons unleashing a kinetic shockwave that echoed with raw power.

From below, Franz contributed his own magic to the fray, hurling stones with calculated intent. Yet, guided by Alice's insight, I nimbly dodged the onslaught, each stone's trajectory laid bare before me.

Alice's manipulation of the terrain was a tactical marvel. The battleground shifted and altered at her command, an ever-changing landscape that offered strategic opportunities and concealed pitfalls. Each adjustment served to amplify my advantage, lending potency to my strikes while thwarting Tristan's attempts at offence.

Minutes dissolved into moments, and Tristan's vigour waned with every successive swing of his sword. Frustration etched his features, a seething storm of emotions that raged beneath the surface of his facade. It was a frustration I felt tangibly, a testament to his faltering grasp on control as his movements grew increasingly sluggish.

Yet, what struck me most was the glaring disparity between Tristan's words and his actions. His claims of superiority and perfection clashed dramatically with the chaotic, reckless onslaught he waged. He stood as a living contradiction, a performer whose facade crumbled under the weight of his true emotions.

"You believe this to be my limit, Jin? You've yet to witness the true depth of my abilities!" Tristan's voice reverberated with a defiant proclamation, his stance resolute as he rallied his final reserves.

"Please, reveal the extent of your power," I replied with calm composure, my posture unwavering despite the rising tension. Beneath his veneer of strength, a faint undercurrent of vulnerability shimmered.

With a shift of his stance, Tristan surged forward once more, his sword aglow with an ethereal light that bathed him in aura. As he descended upon me in a swift downward arc, the very atmosphere quivered in anticipation. The world held its breath, time itself pausing to witness the imminent impact.

I didn't want to hurt his pride by ending this fight so easily, so I'll make it look like a draw instead.

We clashed once more as our blades were held suspended in the air, the force we were exerting creating a tempestuous wind that gusted against my wrist. As we sparred, I couldn't help but notice the growing trepidation in Tristan's eyes, a subtle recognition of the precariousness of his situation.

The wooden blade of my sword held its own against him, and for a moment, his hold on the sword was getting weaker.

I was disappointed.

I thought maybe he had something else up his sleeve but it seemed that my facial expression was leaking out of my face, and I saw a flicker of doubt in Tristan's gaze.

Despite my efforts, the frailty of my wooden sword betrayed me. The intensity of our contest had worn down the blade to a point where its integrity crumbled. As our clash reached its end, a final swing proved my undoing.

Instead of delivering a calculated blow, my weakened weapon swished through the air, grazing the side of Tristan's cheek in a mere whisper of contact a powerful gust of wind had just blown past him and his eyes appeared to be shocked.

In that instant my blade was nothing but a stick in my hand, victory slipped through my grasp, replaced by the reality of my own limitation. With a relinquishing sigh, I released the shattered hilt of my sword, the clatter of its fall resounding like a subdued echo of defeat.

Tristan stood before me, his chest heaving with the exertion of our battle. While his victory was undeniable, The expression on his face looked somewhat terrified. Seeing the face of disbelief I would've had the same reaction as well If I had won as well.

"Jin, you...!" Alice's voice carried a mix of exasperation and concern as she scolded me for my defeat rushing to my side.

I offered a sheepish smile in return, my eyes still fixed on the battle-scarred ground. "Yeah, I know, Alice. I messed up."

She let out an exasperated sigh, her gaze softening. "You've got to stop underestimating your opponents. And you've got to work on your endurance. You had the chance to turn the tide, but you let it slip through your fingers."

I nodded in acknowledgement, absorbing her words. "You're right. I got carried away with my strategy and didn't plan for the long haul."

Alice's gaze shifted to Tristan, who was catching his breath a few paces away. "He's not as invincible as he makes himself out to be. Remember that."

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* * Tristan's POV * *

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As the final echoes of the battle faded, the training grounds fell into a hushed calm. my chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, and it was unbelievable that he instilled fear into me with that final slash he had on me those eyes aren't the same as mine.

And certainly for sure that he used something greater than within that swing.

Nearby, Franz approached me, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

"Did you notice it too?" Franz's voice held a note of surprise, his question laced with genuine interest.

My eyes brows furrowed, a mask of disbelief overtaking his features. "Notice what?" I retorted sharply, Feeling annoyed at Franz's statement.

Undeterred, Franz persisted, his curiosity unyielding. "In that final clash, There was something off about it he used something that even I felt fearful of him what could it be..."

I cut him off, dismissing Franz with irritation. "Oh, come on, Franz. You're imagining things. It's just a fight, nothing more."

But if it was true... Then what I saw was not just my imagination. he is one of them.

The Blessing of the Weaver.

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In the heart of the opulent palace, a chamber veiled in shadow stood as a sanctuary for clandestine conversations.

At its centre, the Emperor of the world, a figure of immense power and intrigue, reclined on an ornate throne, his piercing gaze fixed on the cloaked figure before him.

"(???), your presence here suggests matters of great import," the Emperor's voice resonated like the rumble of distant thunder, his tone tinged with an air of authority that left no room to breathe.

The cloaked figure inclined his head, his features obscured by the depths of his hood. "Indeed, Your Excellency. The tides of destiny have shifted, and the currents of change sweep through the kingdoms."

A moment of silence hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. The Emperor's fingers drummed rhythmically against the armrest of his throne, his thoughts veiled behind a mask of calm intrigue. "(???), you have always possessed a knack for weaving mystery and truth into a single tapestry. Speak plainly, for I have little patience for puzzles."

A wry smile tugged at the corners of the cloaked figure's lips, though it remained unseen in the shadows. "Ah, but Your Excellency, it is precisely in the dance between mystery and truth that secrets find their refuge."

The Emperor's eyes narrowed imperceptibly, his gaze an unyielding force that sought to pierce the shroud of ambiguity. "(???), your words are like strands of mist, both elusive and beguiling. Shall I kill you where you stand?"

"(???)", the cloaked figure's voice held a touch of sombre weight as if the gravity of his purpose weighed heavily upon him. "I come bearing tidings from distant lands, tales of alliances forged in shadows, and the emergence of a force that defies even the stars' foresight."

The Emperor leaned forward, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he regarded the figure before him. "And what do you expect of me in this grand play, (???)?"

"(???)", paused, the silence stretching between them like an unspoken oath. "Your Excellency, the tapestry of fate unfurls in intricate patterns. The future is a world of possibility, and in it, we find both opportunity and peril. The choice, Your Excellency, lies in the hands of those who command the forces that shape the world."

A low chuckle rumbled from the Emperor's chest, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the very walls of the chamber. "You speak of power, (???), a force that even I must heed. But do not mistake me for a mere puppet. I shall tread my path, guided by the wisdom of generations past and the ambition that has forged an empire."

"(???)", the cloaked figure inclined his head once more, his presence a ripple in the tapestry of shadows. "Then, Your Excellency, let the currents of fate carry you as they may. In this era of shifting fates, remember that even the most powerful must bow before the currents of change."

As the conversation reached its crescendo, the cloaked figure turned to leave, the swish of fabric against stone punctuating his departure. The Emperor remained seated, his eyes fixed on the fading silhouette, a maelstrom of thoughts swirling within.

"(???),", the Emperor's voice echoed through the chamber, a final note of authority that reverberated like a command. "(???), remember that while the tides of destiny may pull us in myriad directions, the helm of the world remains steadfast in my grasp."

As the cloaked figure vanished into the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, the Emperor's gaze turned inward.

In the solitude of his chamber, he found himself alone on the throne, contemplating the cryptic encounter. "Aiel," he murmured, the name heavy with the weight of destiny. "Hero of worlds. It seems that your desired future before death may hold truth... and perhaps this is what you were talking about."