Vol. III Chapter VII: The Academy of Valdrath

It smelled of death, smoke, and wet earth.

Below the foothills, the plains churned with mud, torn apart by wheels and blades. 

Rain from the night before had soaked the earth, turning it into a heavy, sucking morass.

At dawn, the Yashari launched their assault across the border, their troops hastily assembled but confident.

Massive cavalry legions had crossed the Pass of Malikth and gathered in the shadow of the mountain range, ready to strike.

They expected a swift advance. Clean, efficient, and lucrative.

Rivora, the first town beyond the border, waited like a ripe apple, ready to fall to their fury and greed.

Exactly as Commander Marcthain had expected.

Tiberun's armored cavalry had erupted from the mist unseen. 

Not ordinary soldiers, but the feared Fist Legion. Clad in heavy armor, wielding long lances in tight formation. Their horses wore iron masks, their riders showed no mercy. Disciplined and deadly.

They struck the Yashari flank like an axe splitten rotted timber. 

Panic spread, orders vanished in the chaos. Blood sprayed, men screamed, horses collapsed.

The Yashari tried to regroup, their mounted archers loosing volley after volley on the knights, trying to break their formation, to no avail.

Tiberun's foot soldiers were prepared too. In a compact phalanx, they closed in around the attackers, inflicting heavy losses.

Soon, the Yashari were forced to call in their reserves to save their trapped army from annihilation.

Then the Yashari mages appeared. 

Their blood-and-shadow magic carved them a moment’s breathing room, pushing the defenders back and buying their soldiers time to regroup.

The battle was far from over.

Lucius stood apart on a rocky hill not far from the battlefield. The sounds were muffled by the wind, but every detail was visible: the chaos, the filth, the desperation.

He watched Marcthain's plan unfold. A plan his small group had largely enabled, at great cost.

"I hope it was worth it," Lucius whispered into the wind, wondering whether the man himself was down there.

He hadn’t seen him since the arrest. Not since Hecate revealed her true form and freed him from the cell.

"You are my tool," she had said. "And your task begins now."

Lucius clenched his fists. He hadn’t forgotten what he was fighting for. Not gods. Not war. But Melissa.

Yet the road to her was blocked. The way back to Yashar closed by fire and steel. 

And his mission was a different one. It led him away from the front.

He cast one last glance at the battlefield, where screams were swallowed by the mist.

The wind shifted. The scent of blood was suddenly close.

Lucius pulled the hood of his cloak deeper over his face and turned away.

The faster he completed Hecate’s task, the sooner she would reveal Melissa’s whereabouts. 

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

But Valdrath was still a day’s journey away, two, if he stayed off the roads.

And that was exactly what he did. 

He wandered through golden fields and sun-dappled forests, along brooks and small valleys, always alert, keeping out of sight.

He was technically a fugitive, though whether anyone was actively hunting him, he didn’t know. Still, he chose not to take chances.

To avoid the main road, Lucius took a trail across the northeastern hills. 

By early evening, he found a small clearing at the edge of the woods and made camp.

He sat with his back against a tree, closed his eyes, trying to sleep.

A sound broke the silence. Twigs snapped. Then came a grunt, heavy and bestial.

Three dark shapes emerged from the shadows. Two meters tall, maybe more.

Broad shoulders, mottled gray flesh, massive wooden clubs in hand.

The ogres bared their teeth and let out a deep, guttural roar that rolled through the night.

Only one word escaped the first one’s lips:

"Mmmh... meat."

Lucius rose slowly, took a small iron orb from his pocket, poured an essence over it, and whispered:

"Mutaglavior atharraigh."

The orb shimmered and reshaped into a long, slender blade, which he raised toward the ogres in warning.

The first charged, clumsy but powerful.

Lucius ducked the blow as if it were second nature.

The next strike came. He sidestepped, his sword arcing in a smooth motion. A cry, a slash. Flesh and muscle gave way. Blood splattered.

The ogre staggered, and Lucius spun gracefully, leaped over a root, and let the blade dance.

He struck a leg, then an arm, then the neck.

The first ogre collapsed, dead.

Lucius stood still, sword in hand, chest barely rising, unscathed.

The other two ogres exchanged astonished glances, then turned and fled clumsily into the dark.

"No... meat..." one of them called before vanishing into the trees.

The blade returned to its orb form. Lucius pocketed it and sat back by the fire.

"You’ll know how to wield a blade," Hecate had said when she gave him the shimmering blue essence. "The movement will come to you like a word you never learned, but always knew."

The Essence of the Swordmaster, she had called it.

A permanent essence.

He wasn’t a swordmaster. Not a trained fighter. But ever since drinking that vial, he could fence like no other.

The essence was not a reward, but a tool to shape him. Make him more useful. He knew that.

In the end, I’m just her instrument, he thought. What if she lies? What if all of this won’t bring me closer to her?

But he had no choice, since he needed her power.

By the afternoon of the next day, he reached his destination.

Valdrath smelled of salt, fish, and sea.

Even from afar, Lucius had seen its walls, light gray stone with bronze-tipped battlements, some already green with age, glimmering in the afternoon sun.

Sails and masts rose above the rooftops to the east, hinting at the large trading port.

When he passed through the western gate, the guards watched him but did not stop him.

The streets teemed with people. Merchants shouted, children ran through narrow alleys, and soldiers in blue cloaks patrolled the city.

Lucius kept his hood low. Tension was palpable. Worry in the eyes, whispers in the air. News of the Yashari incursion had already reached Valdrath.

Hecate's words echoed in his mind:

"Find the Academy. Enroll. And retrieve the book for me."

It lay above the city, perched on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea. Towers and domes shimmered green in the sun, linked by arcades and narrow bridges.

Mages in long robes of all ages, genders, and races came and went, focused and hurried. Scrolls and books often in hand.

At the entrance, Lucius was stopped. A young mage stepped in his way:

"You are?"

Lucius paused, then replied calmly:

"I’m here to enroll in the Academy. My name is Lucan di Almarath."

The mage scrutinized him, then stepped aside and pointed to the left stairway.

"New applicants are registered in the southern wing. I believe the entrance exam is starting soon. If you hurry, you can still sign up."

Lucius nodded, thanked him, and entered.

The hallway was cool. Stained-glass windows cast narrow beams of colored light on the red stone floor. Each footstep echoed.

In the southern wing, a long desk stood against the wall. Behind it sat a young elven woman with a tight bun and narrow glasses, leafing meticulously through a thick book.

She didn’t look up until he stood directly in front of her.

"You here for the entrance exam?"

Lucius cleared his throat.

"Uh, yes. My name is Lu..."

She cut him off with a curt gesture.

"Write your name here. Hurry. The exam is about to start."

He filled in the form, handed it back. She glanced at him briefly, a mix of suspicion and indifference, then pointed down a narrow hallway.

"Room Three. Third door on the right."

When he opened the door, the examination room was almost full.

Stone benches stood in a semicircle beneath a high vaulted ceiling. A floating light orb bathed the space in soft, even light.

At a raised lectern stood an older mage with a long white beard and sharp eyes. His gaze was serious, as though he could smell every wrong answer in advance.

Lucius's eyes scanned the room. It was a diverse mix:

At the front, some elves with silver hair and smug expressions, clearly expecting to pass.

In the middle: two Selvarin with wolfish features, grey fur and alert eyes, another with scaly skin and reptilian eyes, motionless as a statue.

Off to the side, a massive orc with three golden earrings.

A handful of humans in varied age and attire completed the scene.

Only one seat remained, in the back row, beside a fidgety goblin girl.

She wore a large round pair of glasses, wild red hair, and a robe at least two sizes too big. In her green hands, she clutched what looked like a squashed notebook.

Lucius sat next to her.

She turned to him immediately, her giant yellow eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Hi! Haven’t seen you before, first exam? I’m Glizzy! Fourth try for me. I always bomb the practical. Totally nuts, right?”

Lucius blinked. "Uh... yeah. Pretty crazy. I’m Lucan"

"But this time I’ll make it! I practiced a lot! Well, in theory. Practically..."

She tugged nervously at her oversized robe. "I’ll just try not to blow anything up this time."

Lucius wasn’t sure if that was a joke and shifted a bit away from her. 

Then the mage at the front raised his hand, and the room fell silent.

"Welcome to the entrance examination of the Academy of Valdrath," he said in a firm but not unkind voice. "There will be three phases: First, theory. Second, essence knowledge. Third, applied demonstration. Those who pass will be given a room today. Class starting tomorrow."

Lucius sighed.

Here he was again, three trials ahead of him.