"Keep your chin up! Don't look at my legs, look at me!" Dosav's voice boomed across the training yard, startling a few birds nearby. Judge winced. Why did it always sound like he was getting yelled at, even when the man wasn't mad? Dosav was normally pretty chill, but the moment swords got involved, he turned into a drill sergeant with a grudge.
Judge sighed. Swordsmanship wasn't exactly his forte. He'd picked up a few things from Seraphis— though honestly, 'learning' might have been a generous term for what was essentially survival training with occasional visits to the ozone layer.
When you are in an adult body, fending off an ether infused attack was one thing, but if you think fighting Seraphis was hard, try being a four year old trying a grown man's swordwork— it redefined nightmares, and his nightmares normally involved wine.
And he wasn't using Enhanced Cognition either. Nope. Today was all about good old-fashioned growth. Sure, he could've made this a hundred times easier by activating his abilities, but where's the fun in that? Apparently, self-improvement involved getting repeatedly smacked with a blade.
Dosav feinted left, and Judge instinctively blocked the upward strike. He smirked. His reflexes were improving— kind of, in terms of adapting, the answer was yes. He was incorporating grown man moves into a baby body which he would eventually grow out of.
"Good! Timely and precise block," Dosav said, almost sounding impressed. "But— don't lean so far to the right. Unless you plan on hugging the dirt, it screams that you don't trust your own arms when blocking."
Judge gave a half hearted nod, feeling like his spine had been personally insulted. The next strike came fast— a straightforward stab aimed right at his chest. Judge blocked it with all the confidence in the world… right until his abdomen felt the sharp tap.
"Seriously?" he muttered, blinking at the offending area of his armor. "Was that even legal?"
"You missed the shift." Dosav sheathed his sword, which unfortunately didn't mean the lesson was over. He always did that dramatic pause thing, like he was about to drop ancient wisdom. "'Basic principle,' blah blah blah, got it," Judge thought, rolling his eyes internally. "We're dragons. Basics are like… entry-level breathing."
Dosav, oblivious to Judge's sarcasm, continued, "It's not just about where you think I'm aiming. It's about where you should be."
Judge sighed. "Fantastic. Sword philosophy." He had been busy since morning, from researching artifacts to stamina training, now he was doing sword training. The last thing he needed was a theory on swords.
It seems he can never escape the thing called theory. It was a nightmare that haunted him in college.
The lesson dragged on until noon. By then, he had blocked, dodged, and occasionally hit the ground enough times to form a sort of physical checklist of failure. At last, though, he had something to look forward to— ethercraft training. Today was the day.
He'd be getting his mother's 'present,' and considering who his mother was, it could either be an amazing gift or something that would make him question his existence.
He arrived at the double doors to the training hall, ornate with golden patterns and looking way too fancy for a place where people regularly broke things. The knights standing guard bowed, opening the doors with their typical, "We-serve-the-empire" flair.
Inside, the place was huge, with quartz pillars and an interior design that screamed "we're rich, but we also like chandeliers." The wallpaper was gorgeous— dark wood and elegant patterns meeting somewhere between "grand" and "why is this even necessary?"
Melina was there, giving him a warm smile. Judge knew she'd lost her father a few days ago, but if she was upset, she hid it behind a casual demeanor that could've fooled anyone. Not Judge, though. He knew her well enough to recognize the "I'm fine because my father was a jerk" attitude. Still, a smile was better than the alternative.
Across the room, his mother, Eleyn, was lounging in a chair, engrossed in a book titled A Guide to Training Your Child in a Volcano.
Judge snorted. Of course, that was her current reading material. She didn't even bat an eyelid as she caught his eye. "Oh, hey, Judge." Then she glanced at Melina. "What? Is there something on my face?"
Melina just blinked. Judge wisely stayed silent.
"Oh! Right!" Eleyn said suddenly, as though remembering why they were all here. She reached into her bag, producing a long, polished wooden box with a gold-lined crevice. "Your new weapon."
Judge eyed the box suspiciously. There was something about the way she said "weapon" that made his stomach shift uncomfortably.
He reached out, opened it slowly, and there it was— a long dagger, perfectly balanced, resting on a dark cushion. Its handle was plain, but there were two jewels embedded in the weapon: one dark green, the other a fiery red.
Two catalysts? Either this dagger was ridiculously sturdy enough to withstand that much ether, or it came with a really confusing instruction manual.
Eleyn tapped the red gem, and a faint rune glowed within it. "This one has a spirit inside. It'll guide the blade— just a little. But…"
Oh no, here it comes. Judge braced himself.
"…You'll need to tame the spirit after each use, or, you know, it'll go berserk and kill you. But I'm sure that won't be an issue, right?"
Judge blinked. Motherly love at its finest.
But the gifts weren't over. His mother pulled out another box— this one blood-red, with a golden lock. "This is for your magic. The dagger's just for emergencies. This—" she cut his hand with a flick of her finger and let the blood drip onto the lock, "—is the real deal."
The box squirmed like it was alive, the colors shifting from dark red to golden hues in a disturbing dance of shades. Judge watched it with unease, healing his cut hand in the process. Why does everything in this family have a dramatic flair?
"Open it," his mother urged, handing him the box. Melina was smiling from the side— a smile that definitely said, Good luck with that.
Judge sighed. This is not going to be easy.