[Clang!]
Simultaneously, the final wind blade collided with the helmet! A metallic ring chimed through the training hall like a cathedral bell. The knight golem was struck so violently by the ventus mageia that it spun mid-air and crashed heavily onto the ground.
[Thump!]
Fortunately, the helmet and every other segment were sealed tight to prevent them from detaching even under severe assault. Had a living person sustained such a strike, they would have been confined to the Infirmary Hall for an extensive duration.
The mageia golems in the training hall were never designed to be frail. Since Sanctus housed not only acomages or magis, but also magisters and Warlocks who shared these facilities, these golems were forged to a high threshold of strength equivalent to a true knight. A mageia golem was no mere ineffective scarecrow; it was a ferocious beast of the Sanctus arena. It was rare for one to be treated with such utter disrespect in combat.
Seraph gazed at the mageia golem lying incapacitated on the arena floor with absolute jubilation. His hand gripped the wooden staff so tightly it trembled. Had he not struggled to maintain his composure, he might have let out a triumphant roar. This brief duel had proven that his soul and mageia power had transitioned forever.
Casting spells with such fluidity was a feat he had never achieved before. Previously, the young man was the one routinely beaten into submission by training golems and other acomages. Not once had he been able to resist. Now, he felt as though he had depleted almost no mageia power or mana after unleashing his spells.
It was the first time the young man had sent a mageia golem crashing so pathetically to the ground. Even amongst full acomages, few possessed the sheer strength to fell a training golem with a single incantation!
"Again!" Seraph commanded, his eyes burning like a blazing flamus. "Back on your feet! I'm not nearly finished with you yet!"
✧ . ✶ . ✡ . ✶ . ✧
✧ . ✶ . ✡ . ✶ . ✧
The days and nights gradually ebbed away.
His mageia training progressed flawlessly; his capabilities ascended at a visible rate. Yet Seraph did not spend his entire day within the training hall.
When afternoon arrived, he would venture out to continue his training at the forest's edge near the Stormcloud Citadel. At dusk, he would partake in his evening meal, thereafter returning to the Labyrinthine Basilica of Tomes to read and resolve lingering doubts in mageia theory, or perhaps to seek wisdom from a Master within the citadel.
Many days passed in this manner, his daily routine remaining almost entirely unchanged. His schedule was nearly identical to his previous life. Curiously, despite the passage of time, no one had approached him to challenge him to a duel or attempt to use him as a training puppet.
This was likely due to Seraph's concerted effort during this period to evade other magis as much as possible. Fortuitously, since most magis awoke late, the young man had already vanished from the training hall by noon, leaving the other acomages unable to track his whereabouts.
The Sanctus Sanctum functioned as a magis association, not a mageia school. Consequently, there were no lecture classes within the citadel. Every acomage and magis was required to master their training through self-study; each had to strive and push their mageia capabilities along the path they had committed to follow.
Only when they could fully ascend to the rank of magis would they be assigned a magister or warlock as a mentor. Even then, these elite magis lacked a fixed schedule to instruct every magis in the mageia arts.
Each warlock was often occupied with duties and missions that required them to venture outside the Arkflame Kingdom. While some magisters, such as Marina, held responsibilities within the Sanctus citadel, they were seldom free enough to provide coddling supervision to every individual magis and acomage. Furthermore, magisters and elite magis typically focused on academic or support disciplines, whereas warlocks were the ones distinguished in offensive and element mageia.
The Sanctus Sanctum merely provided the appropriate resources to allow acomages and magis to grow through self-reliance—facilities such as the Mageia Training Halls, the Labyrinthine Basilica of Tomes, the Central Arena, mageia apparatus, the Infirmary Hall, and demon-hunting missions.
These finite resources of Sanctus existed solely so that the magis could sustain themselves and evolve through their own merit. This had been the way of the Sanctus Sanctum for a millennium, remaining unchanged. Through this methodology, they had forged the great magisters, warlocks, and Archwarlocks of history.
The absence of magisters and warlocks to protect the acomages was precisely what had birthed Seraph's nightmares. Any acomage driven to ascend in power with the utmost haste was forced to seek out others as dueling partners.
For a magis or acomage of sufficient affinity, they could duel the training golems. However, these mageia golems knew nothing of restraint; being lifeless, they fought and struck solely according to the mageia circuitry and ancient glyphs etched into their cores. Thus, those whose prowess fell below the necessary threshold would gain no experience from such training, only grievous injury.
These constructs were named mageia golems simply because they were forged through energia engineering, yet most were incapable of wielding mageia. They mirrored the appearance of knightly armour in every detail, just as their combat patterns were simulated from warriors and knights. Training with these golems offered experience akin only to facing enemies in close-quarters combat.
Should one seek experience against a foe who was a magis or a demon hunter, the training golems were of little use—unless one faced a mageia golem capable of casting. Yet, such puppets were absent from the central training hall. Mageia golems of that echelon were typically the private spells or treasures of those ranked warlock or higher; naturally, none resided in this practice chamber.
Regardless, the frail Seraph had become the most convenient dueling partner for the acomages and magis alike. That was the destiny he had endured for years.
In the afternoon, while the young man unleashed ventus spells upon the trees at the forest's edge, three men strode directly into his makeshift training ground. They were the very acomages who had long tormented him. The accidental encounter startled them at first, until one of the trio shouted with sudden, cruel delight.
"Well now, look what the cat's dragged in. If it isn't Seraph, our favourite little lowborn brat," Zurek sneered. "I knew we'd find you skulking about the woods eventually. Cornered at last, eh? Don't you even dream of scurrying off this time."
When Seraph heard the voice, he turned, his eyes narrowing with irritation. He couldn't help but let out a weary sigh; now that this group had found him, his peace was effectively over.
Zurek was a primary instigator within the Sanctus Sanctum. Though twenty-nine years of age, he remained at the echelon of an acomage. Having resided under the banner of Sanctus for over a decade, he had become one of those arrogant fixtures who sowed discord wherever they went.
In the past, Seraph would have been paralyzed by dread, not even daring to lift his gaze. But everything had transitioned. He feared them no longer, yet he had no desire to incite a commotion. These thugs dared to act so basely within the hallowed Sanctus because they were backed by noble houses; engaging with them would only drag him down. The fewer problems, the better.