Chapter 48 – First Training Session

  Frostveil 20, 200

  Recovery & Magic Drills

  A week had passed since Seven eagerly signed his contract with the War Rabbit Guild, a moment that felt both exhilarating and daunting. The days since had melted into a blur of bitter medicine, painful scars, and the profound absence of his right arm. On the second day, the medics had made the difficult decision to amputate, cutting down to the socket to halt a relentless infection. However, by the fourth day, Seven had surprisingly found himself back on his feet, and by the fifth, he was seated on the Healing Burrow’s mats, confronting a challenge he had always shied away from: the world of magic.

  The training chamber hummed with the soft energy of sigils etched into the floor. Seven sat cross-legged, beads of sweat on his brow, while Ripper stood nearby with his arms crossed, watching intently. Fluffy and Raven were positioned along the wall, offering quiet encouragement as spectators.

  “Again,” Ripper instructed, tossing him a palm-sized mana crystal with a confident flick of his wrist.

  As Seven caught the crystal, he took a deep breath and concentrated. Light flickered into the air, jagged and erratic, with the sigil glitching as if it were made of shattered glass. For a fleeting moment, it flared magnificently but then sputtered out into nothingness.

  Frustration flickered across Seven’s face. “Fireball. It’s supposed to be a basic spell. Five days in, and I still can’t make it work.”

  Fluffy puffed her cheeks, her demeanor earnest. “That’s because you’re approaching it all wrong! You’re forcing the mana like it's a hammer. It's meant to flow like a dance, not a brawl.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Seven replied, a hint of a smile breaking through his exasperation.

  Yet Ripper had observed something unique. When Seven tapped into his unusual Examine skill on the healers, he could visualize the spells in a way they often couldn't articulate—like intricate blueprints waiting to be built. Once, he had even managed to replicate a Minor Heal—a bit clumsy but undeniably successful. Beyond that, however, his attempts crumbled. His mana control wasn’t lacking; it felt overwhelmingly chaotic.

  “You’re not lacking potential,” Ripper said, his tone firm but encouraging. “You have an affinity for healing and a sharper instinct for manipulation than most recruits. However, until you can stabilize those sigils, you’ll remain a risk.”

  Seven felt a tightening in his chest, aware of the truth behind Ripper’s words. What Ripper didn’t realize was even more daunting: he might struggle to wield magic in the way that this world demanded. But the journey had just begun, and he was determined to find his path forward.

  Training Grounds – The Proving Fields

  The next morning, the cold bit deeper than usual. Seven limped into the Proving Fields, body stiff but will unbroken.

  Around the arena, recruits sparred—steel clanging, mana bursts flashing bright against rune dummies. Conversations dimmed as heads turned.

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  “That’s him? The human?”

  “Doesn’t look like much.”

  “Probably luck he survived out there.”

  Seven ignored them, though the whispers clawed at his nerves.

  Fluffy hopped into the sparring ring, blades flashing as she twirled them in mock showmanship. Raven stood at the perimeter, her crossbow idle but her eyes sharp.

  “Ready, rookie?” Fluffy grinned. “I’ll even go easy—maybe.”

  “Don’t underestimate her,” Raven cut in, her voice precise and cold. “She’ll punish hesitation.”

  Ripper raised a hand. “Begin.”

  Fluffy lunged first, a blur of blonde curls and steel. Seven’s borrowed training sword clashed against her blades, jarring his shoulder and throwing his balance off. He staggered, the absence of his right arm glaring like a wound.

  “Not bad!” Fluffy called, pressing the assault. “But you’ll need more than that, soldier boy!”

  Seven rolled aside, narrowly avoiding her strike. His breath came ragged. The jeers grew louder from the sidelines.

  “Thought he was supposed to be strong!”

  “Looks like dead weight to me.”

  The words dug under his skin. His frustration boiled over. Without thinking, he tapped Enchanted Combat. Just for a heartbeat.

  Strength and speed surged into his limbs. He countered sharply, ramming his shoulder into Fluffy with enough force to stagger her. Gasps rippled through the recruits.

  Fluffy’s grin widened, exhilarated. “Now that’s more like it!”

  But before she could recover, Ripper’s voice split the air like a whipcrack.

  “Enough!”

  Ripper’s Rebuke

  The old warrior strode into the ring, his shadow falling over Seven. His voice was thunder.

  “What did I say about using those tricks in training?” He jabbed a finger at Seven’s chest. “Every time you’re cornered, you reach for that power. That crutch will get you killed.”

  Seven's jaw tightened as he acknowledged, “I really need this to stay in the game.”

  Ripper shot back, “The enemy won’t listen to excuses! You have one arm—that’s the reality. It’s time to adapt and overcome, or the consequences will be severe.”

  The arena went still. Even Fluffy sheathed her blades, lips pressed in a pout.

  Raven spoke into the silence, her tone sharp but measured. “He has instinct. His roll, his counters—those weren’t magic. Those were tactics. He compensates, just not consistently.”

  Ripper studied Seven for a long moment. His weathered eyes softened—but only slightly. “Then that’s what we sharpen. Strip the crutch away. No enhancements. From now on, you fight with what’s left. Learn your balance. Learn your limits. Then, and only then, you earn the right to push them.”

  The recruits whispered again, but this time the tone had shifted. No laughter. No jeers. Only curiosity.

  Seven tightened his grip on the practice blade. His body trembled with fatigue, but his eyes burned with the same thing that had carried him through the frost: refusal to quit.

  And that, at least, the Guild recognized.

  The Council Chamber

  That same week, while Seven sweated through drills in the Proving Fields, another test was unfolding inside Novastra’s council hall.

  The chamber was a monument of stone and light—pillars etched with runes, banners of crimson and silver hanging behind the long council table. Torches burned steadily along the walls, their smoke curling upward into the vaulted ceiling. The War Rabbit Guild’s crest gleamed faintly on the polished floor where Miss Hopps now stood, her posture rigid, her ears twitching with restrained irritation.

  Lord Adrianus Deogon V presided at the head of the chamber, his expression carefully neutral as he sifted through a pile of reports. His voice, when it came, was quiet but edged.

  “Sad to say, Miss Hopps… the rumors are spreading. The city whispers of a human carried through the gates under your banner. Yet not a soul has seen him since.”

  Hopps met his gaze without flinching. “He’s recovering. Training. Nothing more.”

  The calm broke when General Rorik, iron-plated and broad-shouldered, slammed a gauntleted fist on the table. The sound echoed like a war drum.

  “So it’s true!” His voice was thunderous, drawing startled murmurs from the peace faction councilors. “Unacceptable! If the Guild shelters outsiders, the council must be informed. For all we know, this human is an Aku spy!”

  Hopps’s eyes narrowed, her tone snapping like a whip. “An Aku spy who lost an arm to a Nekomata? He barely crawled out of the snow alive. He’s no infiltrator, General. He’s a survivor. And one who deserves more than your paranoia.”

  The chamber bristled with tension.

  Deogon raised a hand, silencing the quarrel. His voice was colder now. “The Aku don’t keep humans. They devour them. If this man truly faced a Nekomata and lived, then he is no pawn of theirs.”

  His gaze shifted back to Hopps, sharp as a blade. “But if what you imply is true—if he survived beyond the walls alone—then Novastra cannot ignore him.”

  Hopps exhaled slowly through her nose, forcing her voice steady. “He is no weapon, my lord. Just a man who’s lost. But he is not ordinary either. Give me time. If he proves himself, you’ll meet him. If not…” her eyes hardened, “the Guild will take responsibility.”

  A hush fell over the council. Deogon studied her in silence, then finally leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming once on the armrest.

  “Very well. But remember this, Hopps—rumors can topple walls as surely as siege engines. Keep your wild card close… or the council will force your hand.”

  Hopps gave a sharp nod, turned on her heel, and strode out of the chamber.

  Only when the heavy doors shut behind her did her voice soften, the words meant for no one but herself.

  “Seven… you’d better prove me right.”