Morning arrived, and Richard was already on the training grounds before the sun had fully risen. He swung his wooden sword with practiced grace, each motion sharp and controlled, but his mind was anywhere but calm. Today felt different. Today felt right. He was sure this would be the day he finally beat Manuel—and maybe learn more about that strange power he'd begun to sense inside himself.
Every second dragged like it had been stretched thin. His anticipation only grew sharper as he waited, until at last he spotted Manuel crossing the courtyard.
"I was beginning to think you didn't have the heart to show up," Richard called out.
"You're awfully excited today," Manuel replied, grabbing a practice sword and stretching his shoulders. "What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing." Richard shrugged innocently. "Just a feeling."
"I love the optimism." Manuel smirked. "I want you to win, truly. But I'm not handing it to you. If you want the win, you're going to have to take it."
"Keep that optimism after I kick your butt," Richard said, grinning.
"As you say." Manuel stepped onto the training ground—then paused as Richard immediately dropped into his stance. "No warm-up exercises today?"
"Nope." Richard shifted his weight forward. "We're going right in."
Manuel sighed, then took his stance as well.
Richard lunged first, thrusting with speed—but Manuel parried without effort. Richard swung again, a heavy downward arc, but Manuel sidestepped it. A follow-up slash met only air.
Richard pushed harder, attacking with a powerful strike aimed at Manuel's chest, but Manuel slid half a step back, letting the swing miss completely. The miss sent Richard stumbling forward. A sharp blow hit his stomach, another clipped his back, and he hit the dirt hard.
"I'm still waiting to see what you're so excited about," Manuel laughed. "Seems like the usual to me."
"Shut up!" Richard snapped, punching the ground before jumping back to his feet.
He attacked again, and again, but every attempt ended the same way: with him on his back, gathering more bruises than victories.
"If you're trying to overpower me, it's not going to work," Manuel said, sounding almost sympathetic. "You've gotten sloppy today."
Richard didn't answer. He just swung—cheaply—aiming right for Manuel's head while Manuel was still settling back into position. Manuel ducked easily, and Richard's swing sailed harmlessly past his hair.
Then came the shoulder. Manuel rammed straight into Richard's stomach. Richard's feet left the ground, and he was slammed flat. Lights flashed across his vision. When the world snapped back, Manuel's wooden sword hovered inches from Richard's face.
"A cheap shot?" Manuel asked, annoyed. "Since when did you start that?"
"There are no cheap tricks," Richard muttered, forcing air into his lungs as he stood. "There's only a winner and a loser."
"How's it feel," Manuel asked casually, "being the loser all this time?"
Before Richard could reply, Manuel blocked an incoming flurry. Richard unleashed everything he knew—tight forms, clean technique, every improvement he had worked for.
For nearly five minutes, nothing filled the air but the sharp clack of wooden swords. Their footwork circled. Their blades flashed. Their breathing quickened. And then—
Manuel parried Richard's thrust with a flick, sending Richard's sword down into the dirt. A fist connected with Richard's nose. Copper filled his mouth as he spat blood onto the ground.
"No cheap tricks, right?" Manuel teased. "Winners and losers."
Richard gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles burned. A wild scream tore from his throat, and he charged, blade raised high for a crushing arc.
He never made it.
A strike hit his stomach so hard his breath collapsed. Richard staggered, gasping, unable to draw in enough air. Manuel frowned and stepped closer.
"Hey… are you alright?"
Richard nodded, but the violent wheezing told a different story.
Manuel reached to steady him—
And the sky spun.
Manuel slammed into the ground, breath knocked out of him. A tight pressure pinned his chest. When his vision focused, Richard was on top of him, training sword pressed to his neck.
"Winners and losers!" Richard yelled triumphantly, hopping up and pumping his sword into the air. He was laughing harder than Manuel had ever seen.
"What was that?" Manuel barked.
"I created my own opportunity," Richard said proudly. "It would've worked earlier, but honestly? You were hitting too soft."
"So your plan was to act like you couldn't fight?"
"No," Richard corrected. "My plan was to play your emotions and make you drop your guard completely."
"That," Manuel declared, "is a dirty move."
"I won!" Richard shouted, grinning. "Deal with it! Now you owe me."
"It was still dirty."
Richard was laughing when a strange humming noise echoed across the manor grounds.
Both boys turned. The sound was familiar… but neither could place it at first.
"Oh!" Manuel's face lit up. "I know that sound! Come on!"
He dropped his practice sword and sprinted toward the manor. Richard followed, confused.
As they rounded the corner, the humming grew louder—a steady, mechanical vibration. They reached the front of the manor just in time to see a mid-sized drone descending and landing perfectly in front of the doors.
"A drone?" Richard asked.
"It's for you," Manuel said. "Your gear. Standard issue for all first-year rookies."
"Rookie?" Richard echoed.
"Lowest rank in the Order. Everyone starts there. Go get your package so the drone can leave."
A large, neatly wrapped box was strapped to the drone. Richard unclipped it, and the drone shot straight back into the sky.
"Let's go to your chambers," Manuel said.
Richard's father spotted them and immediately noticed the box.
"Your gear arrived!" he shouted happily. "Come show me after you try it on! I can't wait to see you in uniform!"
His mother appeared beside him, smiling proudly. Their excitement alone made Richard's own grow.
He hurried to his room, set the box on his bed, and opened it.
The first thing he lifted was a sleek, polished black helmet—semi-enclosed, lightweight, reflecting the room's light beautifully. He had seen many soldiers wearing this exact design.
Next came the chest piece, made of the same shining material, light as air with interior straps for fastening. Then arm guards, greaves, shin guards… and finally a strange, stretchy cloth garment.
He pulled at the fabric. It stretched easily, snapping back into shape instantly.
"What is this?" he asked.
"A body suit," Manuel laughed. "You wear it under the armor. It protects against the elements and covers whatever the armor doesn't. Go put it on."
Richard ducked behind the privacy screen. Manuel watched pieces of clothing drop over the top as Richard struggled.
"There's no way," Richard groaned. "This is too tight."
More shifting. More grunting. Then Richard's head popped up over the screen.
"There is absolutely no way I'm wearing this around anyone," he declared.
"What's wrong with it?" Manuel asked. "It's standard-issue."
"You can see everything," Richard hissed. "And I mean everything."
Manuel collapsed laughing. Fell onto the bed. Then onto the floor. He finally composed himself enough to look up at Richard peeking out.
"I forget how sheltered you are," he said. "Relax. The armor covers anything you don't want seen. Put everything on."
Richard bolted from behind the screen, hands covering himself, bare feet slapping across the floor as he rushed to the greaves. Once covered, he sighed.
"That's better."
"You'll have to get past all that modesty," Manuel said. "You're sharing a dorm with men and women. Privacy doesn't exist during military training."
Richard stared blankly for a full minute as the words sank in.
"Seriously?" he asked.
"You'll be fine." Manuel laughed. "You're a good-looking kid with a strong, well-built body. Trust me, the girls will enjoy the view. Now finish getting dressed."
Piece by piece, Richard equipped the armor. Each part fit smoothly, flexing with his movements. The polished black finish gleamed in the light.
"Helmet," Manuel said, handing it to him.
Richard placed it on his head and walked to the mirror.
A soldier stared back at him.
The armor covered every vital point, simple yet sharp, no fancy engravings or emblems—just clean, functional protection with a black metallic sheen unlike any metal he'd known.
"That's my boy!" Richard's father boomed as he stepped inside. "You look incredible."
His mother rushed over, grabbed his face, and kissed him proudly.
"You're making us so proud," she whispered.
"It's missing the left arm guard," Richard noted.
"It's not," Manuel explained. "That's where your mana bar goes."
"Well… technically," his mother corrected gently, "it's an energy detection system. Students like calling it a mana bar. Mana is for mages. For people like you, it draws from your power's natural energy."
Richard tried to step back toward the screen. "Let me change into my normal clothes."
"You might as well stay in it," Manuel said. "You start living in that armor next week."
"Very well." Richard rubbed his hands together, a sly grin spreading.
"What now?" Manuel asked suspiciously.
"A deal's a deal," Richard said. "Time to pay up."