Chapter 92: Ch92 – Green as Fresh Grass

A light rain began to fall.

Ryan looked up, letting the drops hit his face. The sky was still dark, but dawn was creeping closer.

The mist on the arena floor thickened as the rain met it, creating swirling patterns in the fog.

“Of course it rains,” Jared muttered, pulling his cloak tighter.

Footsteps approached across the wet grass.

Ryan turned.

A figure in civilian clothes walked toward them. A man with a scarred and weathered face.

Jakob.

The guard who’d pulled Ryan out of the chaos during the terrorist attack. One of Gregory’s men.

“Jakob,” Ryan said, surprised.

The guard nodded back. “Ryan, and others.”

He looked at each of them in turn. James. Jared. Marcus. Jeremy. Green boys heading into a fight that may be their last.

“You don’t have long,” Jakob said. “But there is some vital advice…” Jakob looked at Jeremy and Marcus, and then back to Ryan. “… a ’mutual friend’ of ours, would like you all to know.”

The five fighters gathered closer to Jakob.

Jakob cleared his voice, “First piece of advice: don’t be afraid to kill,” Jakob said bluntly. “Navius and his men won’t hesitate to kill you. It’s faster to end a fight with a blade through the neck than trying to knock a man in full armour unconscious. This is a matter of survival after all.”

Jeremy’s enthusiastic grin faded slightly. Even he looked sobered by that.

“Secondly: you need to stay aware,” Jakob continued. “This arena is famous for its mist. Visibility will be even worse once you’re inside that circle. It will get chaotic fast, especially once you take a blow to the head.” Jakob then outstreched his hand, and stuck out three fingers, “Three: Remember what your allies are wearing—their armour and their weapons. Don’t mistake one of your own for one of the enemy.”

Ryan nodded grimly.

“Fourth: use everything you have,” Jakob said. “The environment. Your spells. Your tricks. There are no restrictions in a Trial. Fight dirty if you need to. Throw mud in their eye slits. Trip them in the mud. Whatever it takes.”

Marcus’s face showed mild disdain. Fighting dirty? In a trial of twelve! Never. That is unbecoming of one of Mercury’s disciples! He thought.

“Watch how they move,” Jakob went on. “If they bunch together, you stay together. If they spread out, you spread out. Mimic their formation. Don’t let them isolate you.”

“But it looks like the mist is strengthening. By the time the trial starts it might be too thick to see further than my hand. What if we can’t see what they are doing?” Jared asked.

“Then you listen,” Jakob said without missing a beat. “Footsteps in mud. Breathing. Steel scraping against steel. Your ears will save you when your eyes can’t.”

“But overall,” Jakob said, his voice softening just slightly, “stay alive. If you feel like you’ve lost—like you’re about to die—yield. There’s no shame in it. You won’t be punished for yielding. Better to live than die for pride.”

He looked at Ryan specifically when he said that.

Ryan met his eyes and nodded.

“Good luck,” Jakob said. He turned and walked away.

The five of them stood in silence for a moment.

The rain picked up slightly. Not a downpour, but steady now.

“Well,” Jeremy said finally. “That was encouraging.”

“He’s right though,” James said quietly. “I think I needed to hear that…”

More students were arriving now. A slow, steady stream making their way across the academy grounds toward the arena. Some huddled under cloaks. Others didn’t seem to care about the rain.

A few clustered beneath the sparse trees near the arena’s edge, trying to stay dry.

Ryan glanced at the wooden stands. A few people, seemingly higher born people, had taken their seats now—perhaps ten of them. Captain Vera had also arrived, and she stood near the front of the stands, barely under the cover of the wooden roof, speaking with Principal Helena.

“We should get under cover,” Jared said, gesturing toward the stands.

The group started moving in that direction.

Before they reached the wooden structure, a voice interrupted them again.

“Ryan!”

Ryan turned.

Instructor Garsen approached through the rain, carrying something wrapped in oiled cloth. A longsword and a mace were visible beneath the covering.

“Instructor,” Ryan said.

Garsen stopped in front of him and unwrapped the weapons. The longsword gleamed despite the dim light and rain. The blade had a faint white-green tint to it—high quality metal, alloyed with something uncommon.

“As you requested,” Garsen said, handing Ryan the sword. “It’s well-forged. Both of them are.”

Ryan took the weapon. It was lighter than he expected—maybe due to the metal composition. He gave it a practice swing. The balance was excellent. It seemed incredibly sharp.

“And your change,” Garsen said, reaching into a pouch at his belt. He pulled out a small leather bag and tucked it into Ryan’s backpack. “They cost eleven silver hills and six bronze. Quite expensive, but they’ll serve you well, and for a long while.”

“Thank you,” Ryan said, gripping the sword properly. It felt right in his hand.

Garsen’s expression remained stern. “You’ve improved,” Garsen said. “More than I expected in three days. You might actually survive this.”

“High praise,” Ryan said with a slight smile.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Garsen glanced at the arena, then back at Ryan. “Remember what I taught you. Keep your guard up. Don’t telegraph your strikes. And don’t die stupidly.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Garsen nodded once. “Good luck, Ryan… Oh, and don’t dare to ask me fetch weapons for you again…” He smiled kindly, but his intense eyes portrayed something else.

Garsen turned and walked back to where a couple others of the academy staff were gathering. Completely unbothered by the rain.

Ryan looked down at the sword—silvery white with hints of green.

It’s light.

He thought, feeling the sword’s exterior.

Lighter than I expected.

He swung it, careful to avoid the people around him.

Perfect.

The rain continued to fall.

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