Chương 38: Chapter 36: Team Assignments (1)

Velron continued glaring at the front wall.

"I remember hearing about it recently," Yibleen went on when no response came from the tall Rudox.

"A manaweaver from the Rudox clan was returning from last year's Tarim exams when a Vamiri kill squad ambushed his team. Everyone else died, but he made it back to Korsivir with his instructor's relic sword." The conversations around them began to fade at the mention of a relic, as everyone looked toward the Rudox boy. The Rumiosi twins had stopped bickering as well and were listening from a few desks away. Even Nemirie turned away from her scroll. Velron's shoulders had gone rigid.

"It was Kadiron," he said after a moment. Aloric recognized the name immediately, though he could not remember where he had heard it. Yibleen leaned forward.

"You know him?" Velron finally turned toward the group.

"He's my older cousin." That explained where Aloric had heard the name. Perilia must have mentioned him at some point. Arla's brows drew together as she searched her memory.

"So his instructor was the one who stayed behind to hold off the Vamiri squad? So the students could escape?" Velron gave a humorless snort.

"That's the version everyone likes repeating." Yibleen hesitated.

"What do you think happened, then?" Velron looked around at the students listening to him. Their attention did not seem to bother him. The anger in his expression suggested that, for once, he was more than willing to explain exactly what he thought.

"His instructor was a Rudox too," he said.

"He had been training Kadiron to use that sword long before the ambush. When the Vamiri squad attacked, the instructor stayed behind and gave Kadiron the relic so it wouldn't be taken if he died." Hovaru stopped chewing.

"And Kadiron was the only one who escaped?"

"The only one who returned alive." The distinction in Velron's voice made the room quieter. Yibleen frowned.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means everyone else in that squad died while Kadiron came home carrying the most valuable thing any of them owned." Velron's hands tightened over his folded arms.

"Maybe he did everything he could. Maybe there really was no way to save anyone. But I know my cousin. If he saw a choice between going back for the others and surviving alone with that sword, I know which one he would choose." Yibleen looked unsettled.

"You really think he abandoned them?"

"I think Kadiron has always cared about Kadiron first." Arla studied him carefully.

"But he still brought the relic back instead of running away with it. And he still must have fought his way out of an ambush that killed his entire squad. Whatever kind of person he is, that takes ability." Velron's gaze snapped toward her.

"I never said he was weak!" The answer came so sharply that Arla raised both hands slightly.

"Fine! I was only asking." Hovaru swallowed the remains of his cookie.

"Why would the instructor's family let Kadiron keep using the sword? Aren't relics supposed to pass down to the owner's family?"

"Because Kadiron already knew how to use it," Velron grunted.

"The instructor had been training him personally, and nobody else in the family was ready to take up the sword. Letting Kadiron continue using it was better than locking the relic away for years." Ralovit grunted.

"Makes sense. A weapon that powerful shouldn't sit in a box gathering dust." Velron glared at him. Ralovit shrugged.

"Doesn't mean I like the bastard. I don't even know him."

"Was Kadiron promoted to Tarim after all that?" Arla asked. A satisfied smirk crossed Velron's face.

"No. He may have completed the examination in Vamir, but after he returned alone, Korsivir did not approve the promotion. Losing every member of your squad does not exactly convince the city that you are ready to lead one."

"So he remained a Nourim?" Hovaru asked.

"For a while." Velron leaned back in his chair.

"They promoted him eventually."

"How long did it take him to become a Tarim after graduating?" Aloric asked, still wondering where he had heard the name of the cousin.

"Five years." Aloric thought about it. Five years... That placed Kadiron in the same graduating class as Perilia. She had definitely been the one who mentioned his name.

"If your clan trusted him with a relic sword while he was still only a Nourim," Aloric said, "he must be one of the strongest Tarim in the city by now." Velron's expression darkened again.

"He is strong," he said.

"Far stronger than he deserves to be." For once, nobody interrupted. Yibleen leaned forward excitedly.

"Can you tell us anything else about him?" Velron turned away from the group, his jaw still clenched.

"I'm not going to sit here praising Kadiron. He already thinks far too highly of himself." His gaze dropped to one of his tightly closed fists.

"One day, I'll be stronger than him." Arla raised her eyebrows.

"Does that mean you plan to challenge him?" Velron ignored her.

"Come on!" Hovaru said.

"You can't stop there." Still no answer. Sikkar gave a dismissive snort.

"Forget it. The tall bastard isn't going to say another word unless one of you offers him a fight in return." A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Sulia smirked.

"He's already said far more than usual without anyone agreeing to one." A brief silence followed. Hovaru suddenly became very interested in his cookies. Aloric also stepped away from the group, knowing Sikkar was probably right. He had no intention of offering Velron a fight anytime soon. Students drifted back toward their seats, though hardly anyone sat quietly. Around them, the larger conversation of the relic gradually broke apart into smaller ones.

Arla turned toward Yibleen and began asking what kind of instructor she hoped to receive.

"I really hope we end up in the same squad," Yibleen said.

"So do I," Arla admitted.

"But I'm not expecting it."

"Obviously, Sulia and I will receive a Siurim as our instructor," Sikkar announced from across the aisle.

"Anything less would be an insult to the Rumiosi clan."" Obviously," Sulia agreed. On the right side of the classroom, two civilian-born graduates were speaking in much lower voices.

"I don't care if our instructor is only a Tarim," one of them said.

"That's still better than being sent to the reserves."

"You say that now," the other replied.

"Wait until you get someone who treats the squad like free labor."

"At least it would be a squad." Similar conversations were breaking out across the room, all circling the same worries: who would receive a Siurim instructor, who would remain with their friends, who would be separated from everyone they knew, and who would be sent to the reserve force. Aloric reached his seat near the middle and glanced through the window. Reddish-yellow leaves were falling from the trees in the academy courtyard, turning slowly in the late-afternoon air. Winter would arrive in a few months.

Korsivir did not receive much snow, but Aloric still didn't like the cold. He pushed the idle thought aside. Just like the worried civilian-born graduates, he had no clan supporting him and no reason to expect special treatment. A squad led by a Tarim instructor would still be far better than the reserve force. Honestly, any real squad assignment would feel like a victory. He glanced at the Rumiosi twins. As long as I'm not assigned with either of those bastards.

They did not have to wait too long. The classroom door opened, and Teacher Daisor walked inside carrying a rolled up scroll in one hand. A faint smile rested on his face as he lifted it high enough for everyone to see. The remaining conversations died almost immediately. Aloric's heart began beating faster. This is it. The moment when he would finally learn whether he had been assigned to a squad or sent to the Nourim reserves. Teacher Daisor crossed the room without hurrying and stopped behind his lectern.

He placed the scroll carefully on its wooden surface but kept one hand resting over it.

"Well," he said, looking across the classroom.

"Here it is." Nobody spoke.

"This will be the last time we gather in this classroom as teacher and student. When we meet again, you will be registered manaweavers serving in the field, and we will stand together as comrades of Korsivir." His gaze moved over the familiar rows of desks.

"For four years, it has been my responsibility to teach you, correct you, and occasionally stop you from doing something stupid." Several students glanced toward the Rumiosi twins. Sikkar noticed and scowled. Teacher Daisor continued as if he had seen nothing.

"Some of you made that responsibility easier than others. But all of you reached this point, and I am proud of what this class has accomplished." The words struck Aloric harder than he expected. Teacher Daisor had congratulated them before. Sir Ganisaar had spoken to the entire graduating class. Perilia had nearly crushed him with a hug when he told her he had passed. But this was Classroom One. Their classroom.

These were the desks where Aloric had spent years taking notes, worrying over tests, nursing headaches after lessons, trying not to daydream, and wondering whether he would ever be good enough to graduate. Now Teacher Daisor was telling them that the next time they met, Aloric would no longer merely be one of his students. He would be a fellow manaweaver. Teacher Daisor would still outrank him in the field, of course. A newly graduated Nourim could hardly compare himself to an experienced Tarim.

But Aloric had graduated. He had truly graduated from the Mana Academy. For a moment, a warm sense of accomplishment pushed aside his anxiety over the squad list. Teacher Daisor tapped one finger against the scroll.

"Whatever assignment you receive today, take it seriously. Some of you will be delighted. Some will complain. A few will probably decide the headteacher has personally ruined your lives." A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the class.

"But these assignments are only the beginning. Your squad will not decide everything you become. Your instructor will not do the work for you. What happens from here will depend on what you do with the opportunity you are given." He lifted the scroll and showed it to the class. It looked far more official than any academy notice Aloric had seen before. Dark blue and red thread had been wound around the parchment, and a broad patch of crimson wax held the final knot in place.

Two marks had been pressed into the wax: the crest of the Mana Academy and the personal seal of the Vazaag. Teacher Daisor slid one finger beneath the thread and broke the wax. The soft crack seemed unusually loud in the silent classroom. He unwound the thread, opened the scroll, and studied it for a while. No one moved.

"All right," he finally said.

"The earlier team numbers remain in service, so this year's assignments begin with Team 16." He read out three names. All three belonged to civilian-born graduates seated along the right side of the classroom. One girl stared ahead in stunned delight, while the two boys beside her broke into broad grins. Teacher Daisor then announced the name of their squad instructor, a Tarim-ranked manaweaver none of them appeared to recognize. The girl assigned to that team raised her hand at once.

"We're only getting a Tarim instructor?" Teacher Daisor looked up from the scroll." Only?" The girl shifted in her seat.

"I just mean... we graduated from Classroom One. Don't we deserve a Siurim instructor?"

"You would have had a far better chance of receiving a Siurim instructor if you had listened when I told you to study and train." Several students laughed. The girl's face reddened. Teacher Daisor's expression softened slightly.

"Do not underestimate a Tarim-ranked manaweaver. Even a newly promoted Tarim could defeat all three of you together with both eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back." The laughter grew louder. The teacher waited for it to fade.

"You have been given a real squad, an experienced instructor, and an opportunity many graduates entering the reserve force would gladly take. Work hard, learn what your instructor teaches you, and earn the chance to sit for your own Tarim examination one day." The three students nodded, looking somewhat less disappointed.

"You should sit near one another for now," Teacher Daisor told them.

"You already know each other as classmates, but it is time to start thinking of yourselves as a squad. If everything goes well, you will spend the next several years relying on one another." Chairs scraped over the floor as the three gathered around one desk. Teacher Daisor returned his attention to the scroll.

"Next one is Team 17." Once again, he named three civilian-born students and a Tarim as the squad instructor. This time, nobody complained. The newly announced members exchanged cautious smiles before gathering together near the side of the classroom. Teacher Daisor's eyes moved farther down the scroll. Aloric glanced toward the clan students seated mostly along the left side of the room. The next few teams would be different. Everyone knew it.

Students from wealthy or powerful clans almost always earned higher scores, received more private instruction, and entered the academy already familiar with principles that civilian-born students spent years trying to understand. They would receive Siurim instructors. For certain. Aloric just wished he could have been part of one of those teams. Still, only a week earlier, he had been terrified that he might fail the graduation exams entirely. He had already come much farther than he had allowed himself to expect.

If Perilia had been right and he received a real squad, even one led by a Tarim, he would gladly accept it. She would never stop boasting that she had predicted it, of course. He could already imagine her grin. See? I told you! Fine. He would endure an entire year of Perilia gloating if it meant avoiding the Nourim reserve. Teacher Daisor moved his finger to the next line in the team-assignment scroll.