Will of the Battlefield

The afternoon bell rang through Blue Leaf Academy, its deep bronze note rolling over courtyards, weapon halls, and training fields alike.

The combined lectures had finally ended. History, technology, and military doctrine.

Each lesson had left something behind. Most students carried notebooks filled with pages of careful handwriting.

Thane carried absolutely nothing. He had forgotten where he placed his notebook halfway through Military Studies.

"I think I left it in History."

Conor rubbed his temples. "You left it in Bentram Studies."

"Oh, damn." Thane exclaimed, holding his forehead.

He lowered his gaze back to Conor, "Then where did I leave my History notes?"

Max answered without looking up from his own journal. "You never wrote any."

"Goddamnit!" Thane yelled as though that explained everything. "It makes sense now."

Simon whispered toward Sky. "How did he pass two trials?"

Sky retorted irritably. "Go ask him."

The weapon training grounds occupied nearly a quarter of Blue Leaf Academy.

Unlike the polished lecture halls, this place smelled of sweat, oiled leather, timber, and steel.

Weapon racks stretched across the enormous hall.

Every imaginable weapon rested upon them. You name it, and it was present.

Even unusual weapons rarely seen outside distant kingdoms.

Dozens of instructors supervised different sections.

The clashing of wooden weapons echoed endlessly.

Garret stood beneath the shade of a tall green tree, lazily spinning two training axes around his wrists.

He yawned. "You lot are late as hell." His hands left his pockets to cover his wide open mouth.

Thane immediately pointed. "Pervert." He waved.

Garret didn’t even blink. "Morning, Gay."

Thane frowned. "It’s afternoon."

"Didn’t ask." Garret didn’t spare him another glance.

Conor sighed. "They’re doing it again."

Garret clapped once. "Enough."

He looked toward the students assigned to him.

Today’s class consisted of only a handful.

Thane and three other axe users who recently changed weapons.

And two students experimenting with secondary weapons.

Garret tossed a pair of smaller wooden axes toward a lad. "Catching lesson."

The boy barely managed to grab them.

"They’re lighter than expected," he commented after examining the weight.

"They’re supposed to be." Garret folded his arms. "If you’re planning on swinging axes like oversized clubs... choose a mace instead."

He walked around the small group. "Dual axes aren’t about brute force. They’re rhythm, balance, and continuous pressure."

He casually demonstrated.

The twin axes began moving around his body almost lazily.

Slow and smooth.

Without warning, one axe vanished.

The lad blinked. Then felt cold wood resting against the side of his neck.

Garret smiled. "Dead."

The axe disappeared again. A second later... its twin touched the teen’s ribs.

"Dead again."

Another spin.

This time behind his knee. "And again."

That boy slowly lowered his weapons. "I couldn’t even follow that."

Garret shrugged. "That was the intention."

The lesson began. Garret corrected every tiny mistake.

"No. Your shoulder. Relax. Stop gripping like you’re strangling chickens."

One student lost balance.

Garret clicked his tongue in frustration. "If a child pushed you... you’d invade the floor. Fall like that again and you are out of my class."

The boy learned astonishingly quickly. His movements lacked athleticism, his muscles were average, and his stamina merely decent.

But... his mind absorbed patterns almost instantly.

Garret noticed. "Hm. You’ve got good eyes."

The boy nodded politely. "I understand movement better than execution."

Garret snorted. "Students rarely do."

Meanwhile... Thane had somehow wandered toward another rack.

Garret turned. "...Gay."

"Huh?"

"What’re you doing?"

"I wanted to see if this axe is heavier."

Garret pinched the bridge of his nose. "We’re learning footwork."

"I know."

"So why’re you lifting weapons?"

"I got curious."

"..." Garret pointed. "Back."

Thane obeyed.

Eventually, Garret paired everyone.

He watched carefully as students repeated combinations.

Thane moved entirely differently. He copied Garret’s stance once.

Twice, three times. Then, his body simply remembered.

Garret frowned. "Again."

Thane repeated it cleaner.

"Again."

Even smoother.

"Again."

Perfect.

The lazy instructor stopped talking.

He walked around Thane, slowly.

Watching every movement. Every shift of weight, the turn of the hips, and adjustment of the feet.

Garret raised his eyebrows in dumbfounded shock.

He suddenly swept Thane’s leading leg.

The giant stumbled and recovered... adjusted his footing and naturally lowered his center of gravity.

Without instruction. Garret’s eyebrows rose, and he did it again.

This time harder. Thane corrected himself even faster.

"Huh." The instructor scratched his chin. "Do that combination again."

Thane obeyed. Left, right, step, turn, recovery.

No hesitation, no stiffness, and no wasted motion.

Garret’s sleepy eyes narrowed. At first, he had assumed it was talent.

Now he wasn’t so sure. He stepped closer, much closer.

Until he was almost inspecting Thane.

The giant blinked. "...Pervert?"

Garret ignored him. Instead... he poked Thane’s shoulder.

Pressed against his arm, his back, his ribs, and waist.

Thane frowned. "...Why’re you touching me?"

Garret muttered to himself. "...That’s weird."

Thane took one careful step backward. "You are the one acting gay now."

Garret rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Gay."

He folded his arms. "I figured it out."

Everyone looked toward him.

"Most large fighters become slow because they train their muscles into stone."

He tapped Thane’s arm. "This idiot... didn’t."

Garret explained. "Look closely."

He squeezed Thane’s biceps. "They’re huge but not carved, not overly compressed. They’re naturally grown."

He stepped behind the giant. "Meaning... his muscles still leave room."

"Room for flexibility."

He looked genuinely intrigued now. "Your body developed differently. You’ve got the mass of a heavy fighter... without sacrificing mobility."

He shook his head. "I’ve seen wrestlers, axemen, knights. None moved quite like this."

Thane scratched his cheek. "So... that’s good?"

Garret snorted. "You accidentally won the genetic lottery."

The instructor walked away muttering. "...Unfair."

Thane raised an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

"I’m offended," answered Garret.

"By what?"

"Nature."

The two-hour weapon lesson eventually came to an end.

Students stretched aching shoulders before making their way toward the martial arts courtyard.

Unlike the noisy weapon halls...

This place carried an entirely different atmosphere.

Mats covered the stone floor; wooden dummies lined one wall.

Sandbags hung beneath a covered pavilion.

Hawk already waited there, hands folded respectfully before him.

The moment he saw Thane approaching...

He bowed. "Master Thane."

Several nearby students froze. Even after hearing the story.

Watching an instructor bow toward a student still felt surreal.

Thane immediately bowed back. "Master Hawk."

Hawk smiled awkwardly. "If Master insists on calling me something formal..."

He scratched the back of his neck. "...Teacher would make me far more comfortable."

Thane tilted his head. "Teacher Hawk?"

Hawk chuckled. "That sounds wonderful."

Unlike Garret... Hawk didn’t begin with attacks. Instead, he simply stood. "Copy me."

Thane tilted his head a bit and asked in confusion, "...That’s it?"

"That’s it," he answered.

Hawk slowly demonstrated. Feet shoulder-width apart, one slightly behind the other.

Knees relaxed, hands raised. Not tight, not clenched. Simply ready for every possible movement.

"Most beginners," Hawk explained, "make fists immediately."

He shook his head. "A closed fist commits; open hands adapt."

Thane copied. His elbows looked awkward, and his shoulders stiff.

Hawk gently adjusted them. "Relax. A fight begins long before the first punch."

He walked around Thane. "Your breathing, slow. Your chin, lower. Eyes, never stare at one hand; see everything."

Half an hour passed. They hadn’t thrown a single strike.

Many students grew confused.

Rimon whispered, "They’re... just standing."

Conor answered quietly, "They’re building habits."

Finally, Hawk carried a large kicking pad into the center.

He strapped it against his chest. "Today, only one technique. A middle kick."

He demonstrated slowly.

"Lift your leg. Turn your hip, and extend your leg."

Everything flowed together. Thane remembered the kicks he faced against Topda.

"Again," he repeated.

This time faster; the pad boomed.

"Watch my hips, not my foot. The power starts here."

He pointed toward his waist. "The leg merely delivers it."

Thane practiced. The first kick looked terrible.

Too stiff and high.

Hawk corrected him again. The next attempt was better.

He practiced several times until the mat sounded different.

Hawk widened his eyes. "...Already?"

Thane shrugged. "What? Did I do it wrong?"

Hawk shook his head and then slowly smiled.

"One more, Master Thane."

He secured the pad tighter. "Kick me."

Thane nodded. He planted one foot, turned and twisted his hips, and struck.

BOOOOOOM

The sound exploded across the courtyard.

Not a thud, but an explosion.

The impact echoed against surrounding buildings.

Birds burst from nearby trees; students stopped sparring.

Weapon instructors turned around.

Even Garret looked over. "...What the hell?"

Hawk didn’t move.

His mind went blank as his boots dug several inches into the dirt.

The leather straps behind the kicking shield snapped apart.

The pad itself bent inward.

He stumbled backward three full steps before regaining balance.

He was not hurt, but he was bewildered.

Silence. Absolute silence.

Every student stared. One boy slowly lowered his practice sword.

Sky whispered, "Did... did Teacher Hawk block that?"

Conor answered, "I don’t think he had a choice."

Garret wandered over. "What happened?"

Hawk didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he slowly removed the damaged kicking shield.

A massive footprint had been imprinted into its center.

The wood backing beneath the padding had cracked.

Not splintered—cracked. From one kick.

Hawk looked toward Thane.

The giant scratched his head nervously. "I’ll pay for this."

The instructor remained speechless.

He had spent years fighting in the underground arenas.

He had battled assassins, mercenaries, veteran soldiers, and even blessed fighters.

He had seen gifted prodigies; he had seen terrifying physiques.

He had seen men capable of lifting horses.

But... never. Never once.

Had he met a seventeen-year-old capable of generating that level of raw force from a newly learned technique.

"Master Thane," his voice carried unusual seriousness. "How many people have you kicked before?"

Thane thought carefully. "I kicked two, but it was a shit kick."

"...Only two?"

After pondering a bit, he added, "And a goat."

Hawk blinked. "...A goat?"

"I was angry."

Garret burst into laughter so hard he nearly fell over. "We are teaching a damn natural disaster."

Even the veteran instructors nearby couldn’t hide their expressions anymore.

Baelor looked at the shattered shield, then at Thane. "That wasn’t technique."

Hawk nodded slowly. "No, it was technique backed by a monstrous strength."

He looked directly into the giant’s confused eyes.

Around them, the academy had fallen completely silent.

For the first time since Blue Leaf Academy had opened its gates...

Every instructor present found themselves asking the very same question.

Just how powerful would Thane Ironforge become before the start of the Grand Aspirant Tournament?