The day in Lampone was sunny, perfect for exercise. It had become common for Silas to join Professor Richard’s classes at the general school, even though his peers didn't look kindly upon it. But Professor Richard knew that Silas, regardless of being a Scholar, had a talent for replicating the gestures and techniques he observed.

  ‘This kid… it’s a shame he isn’t a Legionary, but he wouldn’t do badly at all as a Battle Scholar,’ Richard thought.

  —Okay, everyone, today we’ll look at some techniques from the kingdom’s fighting style —began Professor Richard, demonstrating blocks, takedowns, and counterattacks based on using the opponent's power against them—. It is important you know that if your opponent is big, use their strength against them; the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Now, this won’t help you much against a very skilled Speedster, because...

  The professor kept talking. The other Legionary students whispered, “The professor’s going on about Speedsters again,” with the look of someone hearing the word “Speedster” for the thousandth time. Silas, on the other hand, paid close attention to what Professor Richard was saying.

  —Professor Richard, then how could we stop a Speedster? —asked Silas.

  —Well, you have to watch their feet and hips; that will tell you where they’re going to move. Now, if they are very skilled, they might change direction, but it isn’t easy at all.

  —And what if the Speedster is the one defending? —Silas continued.

  —Let’s see, I’ll show this only once because I don’t have much Ether. You, come here and attack with everything you’ve got —Professor Richard told a student.

  When the boy attacked him, one could feel the professor channel Ether. It was as if the attacking boy passed right through him, while Professor Richard seemed not to have moved a millimeter.

  —Wow! —several students exclaimed.

  —And if two Speedsters attack each other? —Silas countered.

  —Well, the faster one wins —Professor Richard said with a laugh.

  As days passed, and his dreams became more frequent and vivid, Silas began to gradually assimilate the fragments of those three years of memories, distinguishing them more and more from his own childhood reality. Upon waking, he would greet Jean, his roommate and the first friend he had made at the academy. Given Silas's initial focus on simply staying in the academy as a Scholar, he found in Jean someone to talk and joke with.

  For Silas, whose mind oscillated between thirteen and fifteen years old despite his twelve-year-old body, making friends was a challenge; the others seemed like small children to him. He saw Jean, however, like a younger brother he could play with, reminding him of the times he used to play with Roque back in the village, who was older than him.

  Jean came from Pompelmo, a district three times larger than Lampone (Silas's hometown) and a three-day journey on horseback from Haniel. He was an intelligent and disciplined young man, a member of a mid-ranking Legionary family. He had been fortunate enough to be born with a channeling percentage of 49%, which meant that, with effort, he could surpass the rank of his parents, both Lieutenants. The Jared Academies had no tuition costs and offered food and maintenance scholarships to their students; the only requirement to remain was excellence, so the end-of-year exams were anything but simple.

  To Silas, Jean was like a walking encyclopedia of the academy. Jean had learned a great deal to achieve top performance and make his parents proud, so Silas asked him:

  —Hey, Jean, what do you have to do if you wanted to go back to where you live?

  —Hmm, it depends —Jean asked into the air, then answered himself—. It depends on whether you want to go back to your village forever or just for a couple of months.

  —Tell me both —said Silas.

  —Well, if you want to leave the academy, you just need to fail or have low performance in the four subjects we have —explained Jean—. I hope you aren't thinking of leaving, because if that happens, they might send you to your village, but they might also send you to another school even further away. Now, if you want to go for a few months, you can wait for the summer break.

  Silas planned in his mind: ‘I think failing isn't an option, but during the break, I won't be able to do much for Vin.’

  —And there is also another option, but it isn't easy —said Jean, which caught Silas's attention even more—. You could obtain the title of Senior Brigadier, which is awarded to the best student of their level. They are allowed greater privileges, like going on exchange for six months to other academies. Usually, they choose to go to the capital or another Jared Academy. No one chooses to go to a village school, but in theory, it could work.

  Jean finished explaining and then asked Silas:

  —Why the question?

  —Nothing special, I just miss some people from the village and would like to go see them.

  —I hope that helped, Silas. Today I won't be attending classes because I have my channeling re-evaluation —said Jean.

  Jean, who had arrived a few days before Silas but whose Baptism was a week after Silas's, had arrived earlier because his village was much closer than where Silas came from.

  Silas went to the training field for the “Legionary Combat” class. He already knew something about this class from Professor Richard’s memories.

  ‘Silas, the Legionary combat style considers three key factors: distance from the opponent, the number of opponents, and the environment of the encounter,’ Professor Richard said in his memories. ‘That’s why the kingdom’s fighting style can adapt to diverse situations, from a battle against an army on a plain to combat against a Mana Beast inside a cave.’

  Professor Richard explained that Legionaries had to hone their perception to determine if the situation was in their favor or against them. The Legionary fighting style, in addition to having several currents that focused more on one or another of these variables, taught defense and close-range attack in the first years, the basic pillar of every Legionary.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  This class was taught by Professor Bilard, a man between 30 and 35 years old, 1.70 meters tall, with a strict face, a dry tone of voice, a leaner build than most Legionaries, and strange gray hair for his age (which, according to him, was due to family genes).

  Professor Bilard began by greeting the class and explaining the lesson's objective. While everyone performed the stances and strikes he demonstrated to the sound of his voice, he corrected with precision, but always highlighting the positive aspects of each student.

  Silas executed all the stances, strikes, and blocks almost perfectly—one could say even better than Professor Bilard himself. For Silas, it wasn't difficult; the memories of Professor Richard’s classes and the days of training with Andros posed no great challenge.

  This did not go unnoticed by Professor Bilard or by some students, among them one clearly taller and bulkier than the rest. His name was Leon, son of a Legionary family specialized in strength. Leon had blond hair, wheat-colored skin, eyes as black as night, and a body that lived up to his name. Generally, Leon didn't speak much, not out of arrogance, but because he didn't know how to relate to his peers, who felt intimidated by his appearance.

  The one who looked at him much more inquisitively was Jormun, a boy with dark green hair, pale skin, average height, a slightly athletic build, and yellow eyes with a strange congenital malformation of the iris that made them look elongated.

  Then, Professor Bilard let out a compliment that took Silas completely by surprise, words he cherished instantly:

  —Quite good, cadet. Keep it up, and you might become the brigadier of your section.

  The same words, however, were poison to Jormun. He felt an icy fury run through his veins as a single thought formed in his mind: ‘Never. I will never accept orders from a simple villager. I'm going to rip this idea out by the roots before it grows.’

  After observing Silas several times, both Leon and Jormun waited for the moment when Professor Bilard would start the practical part, where sparring matches were held in pairs. Both Leon and Jormun wanted to fight him, though for different reasons.

  When the pairs were formed, Jormun, with a fake smile of kindness, rushed to speak with Silas to be partners. Silas didn't refuse, although he sensed some bad intentions from him.

  As the combat began, Jormun took a quick step to land a blow to the pit of Silas's stomach. Upon receiving it, Silas almost vomited but held it back. While Silas had the memory of practicing the stances, he lacked real combat experience, even sparring.

  To avoid another hit, Silas channeled Cognis to accelerate his information processing. He quickly understood why Jormun had rushed to be his partner and that, furthermore, he seemed to have Speedster genes. Silas composed himself and adopted a defensive stance.

  Jormun thought, ‘Who does this newcomer villager think he is? I'll show him his place.’ With this in mind, he lunged again for the same strike.

  Silas, having already activated his Cognis—which helped him think of more efficient solutions in less time than most—calculated Jormun's trajectory with precision, based on the position of his feet and hips as Professor Richard had shown him. He knew that, however skilled they might be, novice Speedsters couldn't change direction once they took the first step.

  Silas dedicated himself to dodging attacks almost at the last moment, analyzing subtle changes in Jormun's pre-attack posture. Indeed, being a twelve-year-old boy, Jormun wasn't very skilled at changing directions yet. This was a stroke of luck for Silas, because while his Cognis gave him greater mental agility, his body couldn't keep up to move as fast as his thoughts.

  Jormun shouted: —Stop dodging, new kid!

  Then Silas decided to switch to counterattack. After Jormun committed to his attack, Silas dodged by centimeters, caught his hand, and kicked his supporting leg, sending him spinning through the air—a technique Andros had taught him.

  On the ground, Jormun got back up. —A lucky shot.

  After every attack from Jormun, Silas sent him flying again as if he were shaking out a feather duster. Jormun, furious, decided to launch one last attack, but this time adding some Ether to his legs.

  Just as Jormun was about to strike, a shout was heard: —Halt!

  Besides being loud, the shout carried a special weight, as if someone had thrown a sandbag onto Jormun. The boy stopped, more by someone else's will than his own, as if an external force had decided he must stop.

  Silas, instinctively, turned and moved his hand toward his left hip, almost in an automatic reflex.

  Professor Bilard appeared in the blink of an eye. With an authoritative voice, he said:

  —It is strictly forbidden to use Ether in sparring matches, Initiate Jormun... This will remain just a warning. But if it happens again, I won't be as flexible as today.

  His eyes conveyed the clear warning that the punishment would be severe.

  After this, Professor Bilard ended the class. Then, he called Silas over. Now, his eyes seemed like those of another person, as if the professor had been replaced by the tender Sister Lucia.

  —You are Silas, right? Are you okay? —asked the professor.

  Silas replied: —Yes. The first hit took me by surprise, but otherwise, I think the other guy took the worst of it.

  —Initiate Silas, is your family Legionaries? —asked the professor.

  Silas replied: —No, my mother was a passive Scholar. Why?

  —No, no reason. It seems you have a knack for hand-to-hand combat, and you move much faster than most.

  Silas, knowing that this was the result of his memories and his Scholar mind, only said: —Thank you very much, Professor. I hope to learn more.

  Silas said goodbye to the professor and went to his room.

  Professor Bilard remained with confused thoughts about the moment he stopped Jormun.

  ‘I'm sure I saw the kid, for an instant, adopt a stance—trunk, leg separation, body weight, gaze for counterattack... perfect, but not to Jormun's attack... but to mine... Ha, ha, ha,’ he laughed to himself. ‘I must be becoming an old man like my colleagues say because of my hair... Damn them, I’ve told them it’s genetic.’

  Leon Lugal’s Point of View

  While performing Professor Bilard's exercises, Leon couldn't take his eyes off the new kid, Silas. His stances and movements flowed with surprising naturalness, as if he had been practicing them for years.

  ‘Maybe the kid comes from a Legionary family,’ thought Leon, ‘but his strikes lack weight, lack the fury necessary for momentum. I should offer to be his sparring partner, teach him to improve... maybe that way I'll finally make a friend.’

  When practice began, Leon headed toward Silas, but Jormun beat him to it. Leon felt a pang of anger.

  ‘Damn Jormun, always wanting to intimidate others just for arriving a few weeks earlier. He has never accepted being my sparring partner. According to him, it’s because I haven’t reached his level yet... Coward!’ thought Leon.

  Leon watched the entire fight between Jormun and Silas. The way Silas took Jormun down again and again provoked silent laughter inside him, mixed with admiration for his predictive ability. Silas, in every movement, had the strange sensation of having lived it before; a fleeting flash of a similar training field in his adult memory showed him Jormun's next move.

  ‘Silas stares at the point where Jormun is going to attack, as if he knew beforehand,’ reflected Leon, ‘but his body reacts almost at the last instant, and his face shows great effort... It's strange. Maybe he's faking it so as not to anger Jormun more.’

  At the moment Jormun prepared to launch a strike powered by Ether in his legs, Leon reacted with the intention of protecting Silas. ‘Damn Jormun,’ he thought. However, Professor Bilard stopped Jormun with a slight burst of Ether.

  Being close to Silas, Leon caught a detail that froze him: for a brief instant, almost like a reflex action, Silas adopted a stance nearly identical to that of his uncle Gacel, an expert Legionary in the Invisible Sword. This sub-branch of sword techniques is adapted for Speedsters who prefer not to be spies. It is called Invisible Sword because it is designed to unsheathe, cut, and sheathe in the blink of an eye. In Leon's mind, trained for combat, it was almost as if he saw Silas with a sword ready to kill—an image that startled him.