Chương 9: Round two, first class

This time Ungore didn't give me any time to think. He flowed from stance to stance, style to style, always shifting his pattern just as I got a handle on it. I met him on an equal footing; my gladius or a shield was always where I needed it to be, but he evaded or shrugged off the blows I managed to land with my telekinetically guided tools.

Taking care to avoid bringing the sharp edges of my shields into play reduced their effectiveness, but I had no wish to breach the rules of the duel and anger this dangerous man. Tall, heavyset people are only assumed to be slow by idiots. Taking their intelligence for granted just because someone was big was a mistake that I hadn't made for thousands of years. We danced.

While we exchanged blows I circled back to where he had been standing when I won the last bout, taking the opportunity to work the bonedust from the sand into the seams of my discarded cloak. As Ungore rushed forward, his blade flicking from high to low jabs, his free hand held out to grapple if he could latch onto me, I flicked the cloak up and over his head.

I launched a strike at his gut, lightning fast, planning to pull the blow so I only touched his rotund midriff, perhaps parting his doublet enough to show it would have been a serious wound had I carried it through. His blade cleaved upwards, batting my strike away and slicing my cloak in half. A fist the size of a melon slammed into the side of my skull and knocked me to the ground. I went limp, rolled with the landing but bounced straight back to my feet, however he was already closing on me.

Another series of attacks and ripostes followed, then I yanked the shield I'd let fall to the sand from beneath one of his feet, destabilising him. Our blades locked, and we each scrabbled for the other's throat with our free hands. It was not a great concern for me; I did not breathe, but the fleshy mortal couldn't claim the same. The swords crossed between our chests, his temporary loss of balance, combined with my leverage, drove him backwards, my blade getting closer to his throat." YIELD!"

he bellowed in my face, and there was power behind the word. For a fraction of a second, his ability made me pause, and he used the opportunity to shove me to my knees, ignoring my shields battering at his head. The point of his sword ended up so close that it was within my left eyesocket, and I relaxed slowly, giving him the win. When he stepped back, the tip of his blade glowed a dull red colour from the heat of my eye-flame.

"You were holding back," he muttered, stepping back and bowing with his sword out to his side.

"The other tricks at my disposal would have violated the rules of the engagement, sir." I could have exposed a bone and melted it or turned it to dust. But that was more of an injury than would have been acceptable within the Lore Duello. It would also have spoiled the fun. Getting to fight a talented, well-trained, and experienced swordsman was a rare treat for me.

"We will call it a draw, and you can claim your reward." He flicked a badge at me that he produced from a pouch. Faculty Badge: Martial Instructor (sword) I looked down at my lack of clothes to pin it to, and my now ruined cloak. Placing it against my chest, over where my heart ought to be, I grew a lip of bone around it to hold the badge in place. Ungore nodded, then walked out to the middle of the arena, where he sat down on the sand and produced a waterskin. I picked up my ruined cloak and went to join him.

He offered me the skin as I sat down cross-legged next to him, but I just shook my head.

"Course not. Apologies. Habits, you know. Who was your master?"

"I had many teachers, but no masters."

"Huh. I started under Narvon. He was a bastard, but he taught me a lot. You've got to make them sweat when they're starting out." I shrugged.

"Stamina is vital in any fight, but there are muscle groups that can be trained by other means. Swinging a sword properly is only half the battle; footwork is possibly more important. Do you dance?"

"You aren't my type." The beard bristled in a way that I was beginning to suspect meant he was smiling.

"I had dancing classes as well, but they weren't fun. Nobles tend to look down on my kind."

"Powerful people?"

"Common born, I wasn't always powerful. That's changing, though. Now the nobles are the ones who tend to catch the shitty end of the stick a lot of the time. Especially in the Academy."

"A deliberate move on your part." It wasn't a question.

"I wouldn't dare try something like that," he lied.

"But it's making things tough on people like young Bork."

"The lower nobility will always be the ones who suffer first as a society moves to a more meritocratic system. He's a good kid, at heart, and talented. I don't see him having any issues competing on an even field."

"Oh, I agree. But the boys and girls like him are starting to band together and… push back. It's pranks and fistfights at the moment. I don't want it to escalate." He fixed me with a glare, bushy eyebrows pulled down over eyes like shards of jade. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Bork isn't involved in that." From what he'd said, the only people he cared about were Gangle and Nomin. One of whom he loved like a puppy, and the other he feared.

"Yet. And perhaps not ever. You seem like a sensible skeleton. I'm sure you'll guide him in the right direction." He was probing me for something, possibly my views on social structures and the petty nobility, as it appeared at face value, but possibly something more. Bork's rise to power within the city was necessary to save this world; perhaps I could use this restlessness among the lower classes to his benefit.

"I'll do my best to keep him on the straight and narrow."

"All I can ask, Dusty, all I can ask. Ah, your first class has arrived." The doors to the magical elevator had swung open, and a new monitor led the pupils out onto the sands. They were young, ten or eleven at most, and the twenty children formed a double line that trailed along behind the grizzled monitor. We both stood as they got close.

"Greebus, class, I'd like to introduce Instructor Dusty. Now I know what you're thinking…"

"A stinking skelly!" hissed one of the children, whom I added to my "gets extra PT" list.

"Are you sure this monster can be trusted with the children, sir?" Greebus demanded in a voice that made Bork sound like a pleb.

"Who summoned such a thing?"

"Young von Heffleslump succeeded in a very advanced summoning ritual and brought Dusty into his service. I have tested him, and can confirm that if he had the same number of levels as I do, I wouldn't pick a fight with him lightly. You will all treat Instructor Dusty with respect."

"I must protest!"

"Give me your complaints in writing, Greebus. In the meantime, you are needed elsewhere." Ungore's voice was cold and firm.

"Very well, sir." Greebus bowed, shooting me an angry glance in the process, then turned and stalked back to the doors.

"Do you mind if I watch?" Ungore asked.

"Not at all, Headmaster. Class, I am Instructor Arbuthnot, but you can call me Instructor or sir. Spread out so there is a couple of metres between each of you. We will begin with stretches before we proceed to physical training." Most of the class did as requested, moving apart and standing ready in their loose-fitting exercise clothes. The one who had described me as stinky, which, considering my complete lack of glands, was a foolish insult, chose to refuse.

Vilnash de Martan Class NA Level NA STR 4 AGI 6 MAG 2 ARM 5"I don't take orders from corpses." Refined accent, fancy name… probably a noble brat.

"I am not a corpse. If you don't want to learn with the class, feel free to go and wait by the elevator. I won't waste my time on a student who doesn't want to improve." I pointed back the way he'd come, and he looked at the trail of scuff marks the class had made in the smooth sand on their way out.

"What part of I don't take orders from the likes of you don't you understand? I bet I could beat you if you didn't have a class!" The scraps of my cloak, still laced through the seams with bonedust, swept out, wrapped the little shit up and deposited him to one side. I kept them pulled tight around the kid, binding his arms to his sides and pinning his legs together. Ignoring his annoyed bleating, I turned to the rest of the class.

"You won't be able to do this before a real fight, but warming up and stretching is an excellent idea before training. It will help prevent injuries and ensure you get the most benefit possible from the exercise time. Follow me." I jogged backwards until they all started following me. The kids automatically formed a twin line, just as they had as they headed towards the headmaster and me.

Running through the least filthy marching songs I knew, I settled on one that was fine as long as I skipped the second, fourth and ninth verses.

"Goddamn I hate the sun! You repeat it back to me!"

"Goddamn I hate the sun!"

"It makes my life no fun!" They repeated the call.

"I gotta carry this f-flipping gun!"

"I gotta carry this f-flipping gun!"

"And sarge has drunk all my rum!" We looped the arena at a steady pace, but they were all short of breath when we returned to the still squirming Vilnash. Sweat had broken out on their brows, and their armpits were stained.

"Now we stretch. You will copy my pose, and hold it for ten seconds." I moved into the warrior pose, arms held out horizontally and legs spread, then spent five minutes correcting individual students' posture. The feeling of the Headmaster's gaze never leaving my back was a little unnerving.

"Now relax, shake out your muscles."

"Sir, you don't have muscles?" I stopped shaking out my limbs.

"Force of habit. Now, the warrior pose is a good end point for a lunge, but balance is often underrated. Failing to maintain your agility stat at a good ratio to your strength makes you slow and clumsy. There's no point in being strong enough to break someone's arm if you can't catch them. How do we learn balance?" A timid hand went up, a young girl with black pigtails over her shoulders.

"Yes?"

"Pushing each other?"

"That comes later. For now, you will begin to practice the pose known as the master. Your leg comes up to put your foot flat against the other thigh, and you hold your palms together over your head." I demonstrated. Starting them with basic yoga would not only improve their overall health and flexibility, but it would also help them when I moved them up to more serious training in a few weeks.

"No, not like that, your foot isn't in the right place." The child fell over and spat out a mouthful of sand. I offered a bony hand to help him up, which he glared at for a second before accepting my assistance.

"The key is to focus your awareness on your hips. That's where your centre of gravity is. Now try again." Half an hour later, I'd taken them through half a dozen stances, and most of them had gotten the hang of moving through them slowly and carefully with short breaks between each pose.

"You will practice those poses first thing in the morning and last thing at night."

"Aw what? Training doesn't have homework!" a boy complained.

"You are five or six years away from getting your class. The more you train now, the better trained that you are when you get to roll for one, the better the class you will get." Their mouths had dropped open, and they stared at me like a sandy nestful of hungry baby birds.

"No one had ever told you that?" A bony finger scratched at my ivory head.