BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

  Svein opened his eyes with a start and sat up abruptly, his heart pounding in his chest.

  "I am not late!" he cried instinctively, still half-asleep.

  "Up, Adept Svein!" a familiar voice rang out.

  Blinking to shake off sleep, Svein saw Folka standing beside his bed.

  "Oh, it is you, Folka," he grumbled, before snuggling back into his blankets. "Is this your way of getting revenge? Waking me up five minutes early?"

  Folka, arms crossed, wore a stern expression.

  "It is Sage Folka to you," he corrected, giving another kick to the bedframe. "Alf is… indisposed for the moment. In his absence, you will be in charge of supervising the young Adepts under his tutelage."

  Svein blinked, dumbfounded.

  "Me? What do you expect me to teach those kids?"

  "The scheduled curriculum," Folka replied firmly.

  Svein ran a hand over his face.

  "I do not think I am the most qualified person," he protested.

  Folka's smile widened.

  "It will put some sense into you and maybe teach you a bit of discipline."

  Folka headed toward the dormitory exit, pausing briefly at the door to make a final comment.

  "And by the way, you are late. The Adepts are waiting for you in the cloister."

  Then, without another word, he left the dormitory.

  Svein leapt out of bed, seized by a surge of panic, and dressed hurriedly, his clothes thrown on in chaotic order. Rushing out of the dormitory, he raced through the Academy's corridors to the cloister, where the apprentices were already gathered. Upon arriving, Svein offered no excuse for his tardiness.

  "Hey everyone, I am Svein. I will be looking after you today," he said casually.

  The young Adepts observed him with curiosity and a hint of skepticism.

  "So, what is on the schedule today?" Svein asked, trying to appear composed despite his late arrival.

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  A confident young Adept spoke up.

  "We have sword training today, sir."

  Svein nodded, a flash of surprise and amusement crossing his face.

  "Perfect, sword training," he said. "Well then, let us get to it. Show me what you can do."

  The young Adepts, in a burst of enthusiasm, rushed to grab wooden swords from a rack. Svein watched them engage in disorderly duels, where energy seemed to outweigh technique.

  After a few minutes of this chaotic frenzy, Svein raised his hand, signaling a stop.

  "Stop, stop, stop!" he shouted. "Who taught you to wield a sword like that?"

  A young Adept, catching his breath after the exercise, replied with a hint of pride.

  "It was Alf, sir."

  Svein gave an amused smile.

  "Of course, why do I even ask," he murmured. "Well, it looks like we have plenty on the plate. You there, what is your name?" he asked, pointing to an Adept who seemed a bit older than the others.

  "Jarek, sir," the young boy replied, slightly intimidated.

  "It is Svein, not sir," he corrected with a smile. "Jarek, you are going to try this sword," he said, pointing to a blunted iron sword.

  Jarek, hesitant, looked at the iron sword, then turned to Svein.

  "Are you sure?" he asked, uncertain.

  Svein nodded encouragingly.

  "Yes, go ahead. Take it."

  With some reluctance, Jarek approached the rack and picked up the sword, weighing it in his hands with apprehension. Svein then turned to the other young Adepts.

  "The most important thing in a duel is not knowing how to use your sword, but knowing when not to use it," he explained. "A true master understands the value of restraint."

  He then turned to Jarek.

  "Try to attack me," he told him.

  The young Adept, still a bit hesitant, took a deep breath and launched a disorganized attack toward Svein.

  With disconcerting ease, Svein dodged Jarek's sword with a fluid, calm movement. Then, with a swift motion, he swept the boy's legs, sending him to the ground. The other Adepts watched, mouths agape.

  Svein extended a hand to Jarek to help him up.

  "The key is anticipation and control, not brute strength," he said with an encouraging smile.

  "Now, your turn."

  Encouraged by Svein's example, the young Adepts began trying the technique he had just demonstrated. One by one, they attempted to apply Svein's advice, with varying degrees of success. Some showed natural aptitude, while others still struggled to find their balance. Svein observed each of them closely, offering guidance and encouragement.

  "Balance and precision," he reminded them regularly.

  As the session progressed, the Adepts began to internalize Svein's lessons, their movements gaining fluidity and confidence.

  Finally, the training session came to an end. The Adepts, exhausted but satisfied, put away the wooden swords.

  "Thank you, Mr. Svein! We will see you this afternoon for the history lesson, right?" one of the youths asked enthusiastically.

  Svein, slightly caught off guard, nodded.

  "Uh, yes, of course," he replied with a forced smile.

  As the Adepts left the cloister, Svein dropped onto a bench and let out a sigh.

  "Alf, my friend, you owe me one," he murmured to himself, half-amused, half-resigned to his new role as a teacher.