Chapter 93: Masters
The crowd within the Hall of Arms slowly split as the instructors divided the first-year warriors according to their chosen weapons.
The clang of wooden blades echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling while instructors barked orders from every corner.
Spears occupied the eastern rings.
Sword users gathered in the central lanes.
Shield bearers drilled against one another beneath heavy wooden frames.
And for axes... only one instructor stood waiting. Garret.
He leaned lazily against a weapon rack, scratching the back of his neck with little enthusiasm.
A pair of compact axes rested upon his shoulders.
Unlike Thane’s monstrous training axe, Garret’s weapons were considerably shorter, their crescent heads polished from years of relentless practice. They looked swift rather than powerful... They were made for speed, angles, and precision instead of overwhelming force.
Garret looked at Thane, then at the giant axe, and then back at Thane.
"...Put that thing back," he ordered.
Thane frowned. "But I chose it."
"I know."
"It feels good in my hand."
"Shut up and do as I say."
Thane didn’t understand Garret. Instead of listening to him, he tightened his grip around the axe.
Garret sighed. "You’ll still put it back."
"...Why?"
"Because you’re learning my style of dual axes."
Thane blinked. "What’s the difference?"
"You picked oversize axes; add two inches and they’ll be poleaxes."
"That’s the only size that can fit in my hands."
"Shut up, you sass too much." He looked at Sky and asked, "What’s your name, lass?"
Sky answered, "Sky Ressler."
Garret then looked at the axe and commented, "This shit weighs more than Sky Ressler."
Several students nearby chuckled.
Garret walked toward another rack and lifted two enormous practice axes.
Even these were larger than ordinary training weapons.
He tossed them casually.
Thane caught both, and his eyebrows rose instantly. "Oh."
Garret nodded. "Now we’re talking."
The instructor rolled his shoulders. "My fighting style uses dual axes."
He raised his own pair. The weapons were noticeably smaller and slimmer.
Fast enough to blur through the air.
"You..." Garret pointed at the giant. "...will never fight exactly like me.
You’re too large, too strong, and too heavy. Your reach alone changes everything."
He circled Thane once, studying him like a craftsman examining raw steel. "But the principles remain.
Every fool believes dual axes are about attacking twice. They’re wrong."
He suddenly moved; the axes in his hands danced.
One struck, the other covered. One hooked, the other guarded. Every motion flowed into the next with an effortless rhythm.
No wasted movement or hesitation. The class watched in silence.
Garret stopped. "The second axe isn’t another weapon. It’s another hand."
Thane stared. "...That looked cool."
Garret smirked. "It is."
The lesson began.
Unlike swordsmanship, which emphasized measured cuts and disciplined footwork, Garret’s style was aggressive without being reckless.
"Never swing both together. One attacks, one threatens to kill. The other makes certain the first survives."
Thane learned quickly; not gracefully, but quickly.
His enormous body lacked finesse. Yet once shown a movement twice, sometimes only once, he rarely repeated the same mistake.
Garret noticed.
Fast learner.
The giant’s instincts were remarkable. His feet naturally adjusted, his shoulders rotated correctly.
His wrists learned to redirect impacts almost immediately.
He had no theory, only the raw instinct.
Exactly how mountain folk often fought. Brutal, natural, and almost honest.
After nearly an hour, Garret finally called for a pause.
Students scattered toward water barrels.
Thane remained where he stood, wiping sweat from his forehead.
His gaze drifted toward the western wall.
A massive marble statue towered over every weapon rack.
Nearly twenty feet tall. A warrior, broad-shouldered and square-jawed.
A colossal warhammer rested across one shoulder.
Seven black lines adorned the carved face.
The name beneath had already caught Thane’s attention once.
Marshal Godfrey Ironforge.
He pointed. "Instructor."
Garret glanced over. "Hm?"
"Who’s that?"
Garret followed the giant finger, his expression softened. "That? That’s Marshal Godfrey Ironforge."
"I know... But who is he?"
Garret looked back. "...Your great-great-grandfather."
Thane frowned. "My... what?"
Garret repeated. "Great-great-grandfather."
Thane scratched his head. "What generation is that?"
Garret scratched the tip of his nose. "Fuck my life."
He tried again. "Your grandfather’s grandfather."
Realization dawned. "Oh."
Thane nodded enthusiastically. "I know grandfather, I’ve seen his pictures too."
"I would hope so."
"So that’s his grandpa?"
"Exactly."
"Huh." The giant stared at the statue for another moment. "He looks stronger than Father."
Garret laughed. "Don’t ever say that in Borderstone."
"Why?"
"They’ll start a civil war."
Thane accepted this explanation immediately, wordlessly.
The conversation should have ended there. Instead, Thane looked directly at Garret.
The instructor suddenly felt uneasy. "What?"
The giant tilted his head. "How’d you get those?"
Garret blinked. "...What?"
"The scar, the blessed lines."
He pointed shamelessly. "You didn’t have either during the Yearly Aspirant Finals."
Garret stared, and silence lingered for a moment before he sighed. "...You asked the same question about Kitty Kat."
Thane blinked. "I did?"
"Yes."
"You already forgot?"
Garret folded his arms. "Exactly how stupid are you?"
"I ain’t stupid."
"You forgot a conversation from two weeks ago."
"I remember important things."
"You remembered Kitty Kat?"
"...Who’s Kitty Kat?"
Garret closed his eyes. "The gods truly abandoned me."
"Ahh, that half-naked shameless woman."
Several nearby students burst into laughter. Even Conor had to look away.
Thane stubbornly crossed his arms. "You still didn’t answer."
Garret opened one eye. "Ever heard of makeup?"
The giant stared blankly. "Damn, you made those lines and scars from makeup?"
"Yes. Wait... no. I hid them with makeup before."
Thane paid no attention to his other words. "The scar, the blessed lines. They’re fake, but why?"
Garret gritted his teeth and retorted. "So idiots don’t recognize me."
"Oh." Thane nodded thoughtfully. "That’s smart."
"It is." Garret could no longer argue.
After a brief pause, Thane spoke again. "Can I use makeup?"
Garret looked him up and down. "...No."
"Why not?"
"Because everyone would still recognize you."
Those words shattered the escape idea that was roaming inside Thane’s head; he looked disappointed.
The afternoon sun climbed higher. Weapon training eventually came to an end.
Students returned their practice weapons before moving toward another enormous hall.
This one lacked weapon racks entirely.
Its floor consisted of smooth wooden planks divided into dozens of fighting circles.
The walls displayed paintings of various martial disciplines.
Wrestling, boxing, joint locks, throws, kicks, palm strikes, and more.
Dozens upon dozens; waiting within were nearly twenty instructors.
Young and old. Men and women.
Some lean, others broad.
Every one of them carried the quiet confidence of seasoned fighters.
Garret spoke. "This is where real warriors are forged."
One elderly instructor stepped forward. "Our academy teaches numerous hand-to-hand disciplines.
"Each possesses strengths and each possesses weaknesses. You may study whichever path suits you."
Thane’s hand immediately shot upward.
The instructor smiled politely. "Yes?"
"Which martial art can I master in two years?"
Several instructors exchanged amused glances.
The elderly master answered kindly.
"The foundations? Certainly.
The intermediate stages? If you train diligently. The complete art?"
He shook his head. "No. Martial arts aren’t merely techniques."
"They’re experience. They’re timing. They’re instinct, and they’re failure. Mastery requires years."
"Five for prodigies, a decade for most, sometimes longer."
Another instructor added, "Some spend their entire lives improving."
Thane scratched his head. "...That’s too long."
Nobody argued.
The giant wandered away in deep thought.
Garret watched him. "What now?"
Thane stopped before him. "I got a question."
"I’m afraid already."
"Can I learn outside the academy?"
Garret frowned. "What do you mean?"
"If there’s someone stronger, someone better. Can I train under him?"
Garret considered. "It isn’t impossible. You’d need permission from the principal."
"Why?"
The nearby instructors had begun listening.
One folded his arms.
Another raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? You already found someone better than us?"
There was a challenge in his voice. Not anger, but professional pride.
Another instructor chuckled. "Tell us, which grandmaster has caught your eye?
"Some retired legend? The Imperial schools? The Sword Monastery? The Mountain Clans?"
Garret scratched his crotch. "I’d like to know too."
Thane smiled. A broad, honest smile.
The sort that always preceded trouble. "I already know him."
The room grew quiet.
"What’s his name?" Garret asked.
Thane answered without hesitation. "His name is Hawk."
Silence; the instructors exchanged puzzled looks.
Garret frowned. "Hawk... I don’t know any master by that name."
Thane nodded proudly. "He lives in Gambit Grounds.
"He fought in the undergrounds for years, and recently, he defeated one of the blessed possessed by a cursed beast.
"I forgot his name; damn it, it was easier."
The giant scratched the back of his head.
"He was one of the sons of Morrid."
Garret squinted his eyes. "Who is Morrid?"
"A guy who started the underground fighting," Thane replied.
Garret was a bit uneasy now. "Do you mean, Morris?"
"Yes, damn. Morris. Hawk is also the son of Morris, and he beat his elder brother who was possessed by a cursed beast. Hawk beat him with his diamond fist."
Several instructors looked at one another; none laughed.
Something about the way Thane spoke. He wasn’t exaggerating; he wasn’t boasting.
He was simply stating facts.
The old martial art master mumbled. "Are you talking about Diamond Head, who recently defeated Vidu ’The Fiend’ Morris?"
Thane chuckled and nodded. "Yes, Vidu." Thane smacked his forehead, "Reginald was calling Hawk as Diamond Head; I don’t know why."
For the first time that afternoon, every instructor in the hall fell completely silent.
Garret’s lazy expression disappeared.
The man he described was not a mere martial artist but a prodigy, a legend of his time.
Garret slowly folded his arms.
"I think the principal is going to want to hear about this man."