Chapter 25: Chapter 25: END OF DAY ONE

The training yard behind the Central Pentagon was dim, lit only by the tall lantern-spires that hummed with pale light. First year boys were already lined up in neat rows, short training daggers sheathed at their hips. Sagiri slipped quietly into the back of the formation, still an outsider, still the older boy who should have been far beyond this class but wasn’t. He however was the same size as some of the first years and others were taller and more built than him. He really needed to eat more and add weight. This time the instructor was a familiar face. It is Yavaga.

“Today we are going to do dagger work sparring,” he barked. “Foundations first. Stance. Balance. Targeting.” He was not playing around like during the journey. His face was serious as he scanned the arena.

The boys straightened. Sagiri did too. He had just been from his basic dagger handling lesson and perhaps it was the intention of the one who arranged his curriculum to incorporate it with the first year dagger work.

“Feet apart,” the instructor snapped. “Dominant leg behind. Weight on the balls of your feet. A dagger is not for display, it is for attack and defense.” Sagiri mimicked the stance, adjusting his balance. The dagger was more sharp this time and even lighter than the blunt one he was using with instructor Rana

“Raise your off-hand and protect your throat,” the instructor continued, stepping between the rows. “Dagger low. Point angled forward. You don’t slash unless you have no other choice. Stabbing is faster, cleaner and less noisy.” The words echoed inside Sagiri’s Archive, imprinting themselves with unsettling brightness. It had already captured all the stances from Rana now only his body was left to catch up.

“Now draw!” A ripple of metal hissed as the boys unsheathed their blades. Sagiri copied them. He made them attack and defend in unison on their own for a while. He walked through the rows and when his eyes fell on sagiri he smiled before adjusting his stance.

“Partner up!” instructor Yavaga ordered. Since the student number is an even number, Sagiri was left with no partner. Yavaga separated two boys and pushed one to him. Yavaga then took the other to spar with him. They are around Sagiri’s body size but more skinny and sharp-faced. He stepped automatically toward him and got into the sparing attacking position.

“Light sparring,” Yavaga said. “Begin.”

The partner lunged first, sloppy but fast. Sagiri stepped aside instinctively, tracing the boy’s movement with quiet eyes. His dagger came up too slow, his timing off by a full half second. The partner tapped him in the ribs. It seemed like he could see the movements and understand what was coming but his body was still too unfit. He was already from training with instructor rana and from the warm up, he did not have any gas left in his lungs.

“One point!” The boy said just like a dozen other boys who had already touched their opponents vital point. Sagiri said nothing, only corrected his stance.

Again.

The boy moved again, going for his throat, sagiri stepped back but his defense was too slow and the boy tapped his throat. The boy was still slow compared to the forth years yet sagiri could not keep up.

“One point!” the boy said again before the two got into position again and again but the result was the same. It was as if sagiri could see the attacks and sense them but his body was just too slow. On top of that he was extremely exhausted. After the fiftieth point top the boy. Sagiri and the boy got into position again. He just wanted to get one point in so he braced himself this time with everything he got. He knew he was still physically unfit than any student at Galka yet he wanted to get just one point in. He forced his exhaustion down and concentrated. This time, Sagiri anticipated the angle of attack. His body moved before he fully understood it as if he was one with the Archive. His reflexes became faster. He pivoted, letting the boy’s momentum carry forward, and touched the dagger tip against his partner’s sternum.

His partner froze.

Yavaga raised a brow. “Good. But stop hesitating. Again.”

They moved. And again. And again. Sagiri’s strikes became tighter, cleaner, quieter. He wasn’t the fastest in the class, and he knew it, but his precision grew with every repetition. Sweat soaked his back. His arms burned. His shoulders trembled. He didn’t get another hit in but he did not let himself get discouraged, the duration between each point tap grew wider even so. Sparring with a partner was actually more interesting than just stabbing the straw man dummies. By the time sparring came to an end he was beat but he had made progress.

“FORM LINES! Dagger stances dance now!” Yavaga announced. The first years groaned in unison. Sagiri had no idea what was happening. The instructor demonstrated a flowing sequence of steps consecutively, cross step, advance, dip, rising strike to the under ribs, twist, retreat, pivot lunge. The boys moved as one, clumsy but perfectly in unison. Sagiri tried to copy them. It was chaos in his body, his timing off was off and his foot placement was messy. He stumbled once, caught himself, and tried to imitate them again. He was truly hopeless.

“Again!” the instructor shouted.

They repeated the form until Sagiri’s legs felt like sand and his breath rasped in his throat. The sessions continued with repetitions, corrections, more stabs, more sweat, the burn of muscle and the gradual, growing steadiness in his hands. By the time the bells rang for dinner at 21:00 exactly, the boys were panting and drained.

“Clean your knives!” Yavaga shouted. “Recruits dismissed!” The boys sheathed their daggers and returned them to the dagger wall before they scattered toward the dining hall, laughing, complaining. Sagiri lingered for a breath, he fell to the ground and panted for a moment to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body was sore. He did not want to miss dinner however so he got to his feet slowly, he had quite a distance to walk to the fourth year pentagon. He sheathed his dagger and walked off still sweating.

By the time Sagiri reached the dining wing, his muscles buzzed with a dull, heavy ache, his shoulders twitching from overuse, his calves trembling each time he stepped. Training had wrung him dry. Yet he still had more training after dinner and one less hour of sleep for three consecutive days. He inhaled his three servings of food till he was full before he even lifted his head to acknowledge he was still among the last to finish. After dinner students were only required to study on their own or polish areas of their weakness be it combat or theoretical study. Sagiri was already too tired to do anything that required sweating so he headed for the third year library after clearance to recover the lesson he slept through.

Sagiri sat alone in the Third Year Library, staring at the list of topics he had missed that morning, introduction to theory of Advanced Mobility, Pressure Point Strikes, Pattern Recall, Strategic Layering, Ethical Command and Situational Hierarchy. He picked a stack of scrolls and books on the introduction of each one of the third-year manuals and placed them on the table and pulled the first book toward him. This was the class he had completely missed earlier, a three-hour compressed module that every other boy in the year had already mastered. He had no choice but to go through each topic one by one. They were all just introductions to the subjects and he was not hungry.

He flipped open the first manual on Advanced Mobility. The pages showed fighters mid movement, their feet angled and bodies positioned like they were dancing with weapons. Sagiri read the instructions carefully on Directional shifts, Weight transfers and Momentum cuts. He imagined himself doing each movement, light, silent, and controlled, but his legs remained stiff under the table from all the torture they had endured throughout the day. The diagrams made it look easier to understand than the notes. He studied each sketch twice, committing the postures to memory.

Pressure Point Strikes introduction manual was next manual, it was thinner but its diagrams more profound. It showed the eleven human points that could shut down a body instantly, one under the jaw, the throat base, the ribs, the shoulder, the neck, the solar plexus, and others. Each diagram had a red dot marking the target and an arrow showing the angle of the strike. Sagiri’s eyes narrowed as he traced each point with his thumb. He circled the lethal ones so he would avoid using them carelessly. His head throbbed once, sharply, but he pushed the pain aside.

Then he moved to the third book, Pattern Recall introduction. This one focused on identifying enemy habits, movements fighters repeated under pressure. The only book listed simple beginner patterns, Repeat Lefts, Three Step Advance movements, Body Open Before Strike, Delayed attacks and many others. Each had a looping diagram showing how a fighter unconsciously telegraphed their next action. Sagiri leaned over the page, forcing himself to memorize the patterns. His vision blurred once, but he blinked until the lines steadied. His eyes were feeling drowsy yet he still had one more hour to go.

Strategic Layering was the fourth topic. It was dense with flowcharts. It explained how every decision in combat stacked on the one before it. First: understand the terrain. Second, secure your position. Third, read your opponent’s state and lastly choose the strike. If the first layer failed, the rest collapsed. Sagiri copied the main flowchart into his notebook, even though his hand shook from fatigue. He needed the structure in front of him to keep the information straight in his head.

The fifth topic on ethical command introduction was short. It explained when a student could legitimately take command of a squad. Firstly, only when an officer was injured, secondly, when hesitation risked lives, or thirdly, when your skill was the only one suited to the situation. It did not need diagrams or techniques, just responsibility. Sagiri read it twice, the words sinking quietly into him.

Introduction to Situational Hierarchy was the last manual. It broke combat decisions into four levels, Objective, Survival, Execution and Aftermath. Sagiri tried to underline everything important, but his vision kept swimming. He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to stay focused, forcing himself to finish the little potion left. He sat back in the chair, breathing slowly through the heaviness dragging at his body. He had covered everything he missed in the morning but the cost was written all over his trembling hands and fogged vision. The archive had used all his strength just to absorb only the introduction of the four books. The good news was however it was a few minutes to one and he dragged his body through the pentagons to the fourth year dormitory wing. Torena was waiting at the door and nodded in approval at seeing him before leaving. He was truly strict. All in all, one of nine months had finally come to an end.

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