With a bone-jarring clang, the katar hit the buckler. The buckler’s shape guided it to its center, metal sliding on metal with a terrible screech. Bug and Aaron jumped back in unison.

  Aaron fell into a combat stance, knees bent. The air grew hot, and rushed toward Bug as he swung back his other hand. On each outstretched finger, a deep blue crystal was growing to the size of a walnut.

  Bug's arm shot forward impossibly fast. Aaron tried to dodge behind a rack of katars. Too slow. Something heavy hit his buckler. Four ice crystals fell to the ground before him—and began growing.

  They rapidly turned from walnuts to footballs to the size of small chairs. Aaron finally reached the weapon rack in the rushing airflow.

  Bug chuckled and held his hands up. “As you see, the magnets in the center allow you to deflect spells. If I hadn’t hit the buckler, you would have lost the arm to my ice flowers.”

  Aaron stared, wide-eyed, at what had grown from the floor. A cluster of five deep blue boulders lay before him. They looked like cabbage heads sculpted from filigree and ice—translucent, fractal, eerily still. A weapon as art.

  “Couldn’t that attack have killed me?” Aaron inquired. Strange—I should be angry, but after what I saw last night, I just feel... distant.

  Bug chuckled. “Look around. No one's worried.”

  He gestured at the armorers and attendants, who were all watching but silent. “I’m a Master Mage. My reflexes are sharp enough to carve a fly off your skin without cutting you. This is how we train—remember that.”

  Bug walked forward through the low fog created by the melting ice boulders. Everyone was looking, yet no one was alarmed. Why is no one mad at him? He just effectively fired a gun inside an armory.

  Then Aaron noticed the fearful glances of the other armorers and attendants. Ah. No one here dares to speak against a Master Mage. This place. Gods. Aaron’s stomach tightened at the thought.

  Bug reached him and clapped him on the shoulder. Holding the last walnut-sized crystal up on his suit's thumb, he spoke up. “Hold the buckler like a bowl. I will show you how it works.”

  Aaron complied. Bug dropped the walnut and it floated half a finger’s width over the center of the bowl. Aaron watched with an intrigued smile. “The spell is called Frost Seed,” Bug said, pointing to the interface between buckler and spell. “See how the spell’s framework can’t hold onto the mana close to the field? That’s one of the common anti-magic paths.”

  Aaron nodded, but before he could ask more questions, Bug held a katar out to him. Bug grinned. “Remind me to show you how I can use it to shatter a boulder.”

  Aaron took the blade twice as long as his hand. The grip felt solid as he clasped it. The guard was wide and curved outward. He could almost feel the power of the piercing punches the weapon would deliver. He looked over the various combat suits the mages wore.

  Spell deflection shields make sense. And I guess their weapons need a lot of penetration power. I haven’t seen a single sword since I’ve come here.

  Over the next while, Aaron inspected various halberds with Bug. None of them felt right. Aaron ground his teeth at Bug’s insistence on finding one that “felt like him.” His skill guide kept sending him uncomfortable tingles as he tested weapon after weapon—heavy axes and hammers, balls of spikes, bladed glaives, strange constructions made of hooks.

  The others had long since left. Seeing Aaron’s frustration, Bug shook his head. “Your skill guide carries a specific talent. Sure, you can use it on something else and be decent, but with the right halberd, you’ll become unstoppable.”

  Then Aaron came across the one.

  The moment he felt its balance, he knew it would be great. A rapier-like blade formed its core, enabling fencing. One side had a stubby, flanged hammer to crush armor and bone. The other bore an inward-curved spike—a brutal piercing tool. Above it sat a smaller protrusion to catch blades. A small but nasty cutting hook beneath the hammer completed the setup.

  Aaron took several thrusting steps forward. The weapon felt natural. The blade became a deadly blur, a concentration of all the force. Hammer and spike would break even combat suits.

  He grinned at Bug. No words were necessary.

  Here, training wasn’t about sparring—it was war in miniature. And right now, that war was about to begin. They stepped onto the last unoccupied training ground. Rhea could be heard laughing, between the clash of metal. Theon used a push-dagger-style rapier and a buckler with a katar for backup. He kept failing to hold Bark and Blade at bay. The frustration on his face stood in stark contrast to Rhea’s ecstatic glee. Let’s see where I’ll fit on this spectrum.

  Aaron walked carefully over the uneven, muddy ground. Bug walked behind him and spoke in a sardonic tone. “Ready?”

  Aaron began to answer as he turned. “What rules are—”

  His helmet rang like a bell as one of the sharp crossguards of Bug’s halberd glanced off it. Aaron stumbled back, found a pothole. His back foot slid into water and slick mud. He fell down and froze for a moment. As he tried to move, he felt the front spike of Bug’s weapon press against his throat.

  Bug grinned, utterly at ease. “There’s a Grandmaster Healer and more than a few Magisters on standby. The only rule? Try not to scramble my brain too much.”

  Aaron exhaled, steadying his grip. A friendly spar? No—this is a test. One I can’t afford to fail.

  Bug smiled like a cat toying with a mouse. “Everything else is fair game.”

  The butt of Bug’s halberd slammed down with a wet thunk into the soil between Aaron’s legs. He gulped loudly. Bug laughed. Very funny. I hope he’s holding to my skill level. What is my actual skill level? I need to follow the warmth of the guide. But I didn’t memorize much from that.

  As Aaron levered himself out of the mud, he studied Bug’s weapon. A short central spike. A long blade cutter beside it on one side. An inward-curving slender spike on the other, guarding a cutting hook—just like Aaron’s own weapon.

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  Bug whistled, unconcerned. Aaron leveled his weapon at his chest. The world slowed. His heartbeat filled his ears. A spike of warmth pulsed through him.

  He moved before he thought. Stabbed. Metal clanged. Deflected.

  Aaron took another step forward, and the staff clashed.

  Bug leaned in, freeing one hand by bracing the weapon with his shoulder. The hand went for his katar.

  Aaron took a half-step back and thrust the spiked butt of his halberd down toward Bug’s foot. Bug stepped rapidly backwards. As he go a few steps away from Aaron, he hefted his halberd over his shoulder—and threw it.

  Aaron went low and avoided the projectile, but Bug was already closing in behind it. Bull-Rushing him, katar poised to strike. If the buckler gets my weapon, I’m fucked.

  He stepped into another pothole, but caught himself and went on the offensive.

  Feint high. Thrust low.

  The crossguard of Bugs katar caught his blade—and locked. Shit.

  The katar’s crossguard wasn’t just decorative—once it caught his blade, the curvature twisted and locked it in a split-second vice. The katar was a trap. One that tore his halberd to the side by leverage alone.

  Aaron let go of the weapon and they crashed into each other. Bug rammed against Aaron’s ribs in a bone-shaking collision. Aaron was thrown back, then a sudden shield bash came in with unnatural speed.

  Mantis suit exo-muscles. Fuck.

  His hand flared cold—the unarmed guide’s pull. But when he reached forward with his shield arm, the warmth surged instead.

  He reveled in the motion as he thrust his katar at Bug’s guts. A rapid exchange of shields, thrusts, and punches followed. The katar slid over suits and arms. The brutality of a knife fight on full display.

  Then Bug stepped in even closer. Devoid of hesitation, he headbutted Aaron in the face. Aaron fell asleep but stepped forward, placing one hand on his shoulder and his leg behind Aaron's knee. Fuck, he’s bringing me down.

  The beast in him snarled. You’re coming with me.

  With a strike to Bugs face, Aaron found the opening to hug Bug. Warm blood ran from Bug’s nose. They fell and slid on the wet ground. Bug slithered over him like a cobra.

  One knee slammed to his groin. Aaron cringed with pain.

  The other knee pinned his shield arm. The pain contracted his abdomen. I have to attack.

  Aaron’s fist snapped forward—

  Crack. Bug’s elbow intercepted it mid-swing, knocking his strike wide.

  Before Aaron could recover, a flash of steel caught the corner of his vision. Bug’s katar hovered a hair’s breadth from his eye.

  Aaron gasped, pain spiking through his ribs.

  Bug’s knee ground into his chest. “I win?”

  “Yes,” Aaron croaked.

  Bug replaced the katar with a small towel, wiping the blood from Aaron’s face. They grasped each other’s wrists and Bug pulled him up without effort.

  “What have you learned?” he asked, like a calm teacher covered in blood and mud.

  Aaron let out a ragged breath. What have I learned? Don’t fight a stronger opponent? Bug matched me at every turn. He’s clearly much better and just training me.

  Aaron picked up his halberd while he thought. “I assumed we were training, but the way you do it here is just pure combat without limits.”

  Bug tilted his head. “Why would you limit combat? That would create weak warriors.” Yeah, mate, we ain't got healing magic where I come from.

  Aaron looked at the ground where he had fallen. “I anticipated a ranged polearm fight. I wasn’t prepared for the close combat.”

  Bug snorted. “Your ‘not prepared’ is able to defeat half the martials in Pella. Your skill guide is truly a bookworm’s secret.”

  He studied Aaron carefully. “How did the fight feel to you?”

  Aaron furrowed his brows. “It was chaotic. I followed the warmth of the skill guide. Every attack just made sense. But I still lost.”

  “That’s the trap. Skill guides build instinct—but instinct can’t see ahead. That’s how I beat you.”

  Aaron nodded. “So I need to explicitly learn the basic techniques and strategies to choose the right branches of the intuitive paths the skill guide offers?”

  Bug nodded. “We begin with basic grips.”

  He grabbed his polearm with two hands at the very bottom of the shaft.

  “Long—gives you the greatest power, but weakest defense. Center—” He repositioned to the middle, hands spaced evenly. “Standard combat grip. You lose range and power, but gain versatility. Short—” His hands shifted again, one behind the head, the other low. “Close combat grip. Use it for staff wrestling and to initiate grappling.”

  Aaron followed Bug into each grip.

  Next, he was shown basic attack and defense forms in all grips. Cuts, thrusts, and pulls. They drilled on the uneven mud until Aaron was soaked and exhausted. A bonded servant brought them a water keg.

  Bug stood opposite Aaron. “How were your dreams tonight?” he asked as he moved to attack.

  Aaron nearly failed to deflect the strike. Stepping backward as he parried further strikes, his thoughts raced. Each step of the defensive pattern left him barely enough time to think.

  Did the mind mage tell him?

  Block. Step.

  But why is he making this oblique reference then?

  Step. Parry.

  Aaron balanced his foot as it slipped in the dirt.

  Fucking ground. Why can’t we have a sand arena?

  He shuddered, thinking of the last sand arena’s collapsing floor.

  Aaron finished the pattern, shifted to a short grip and attacked.

  Cut to the face.

  What can I tell him?

  Butt-thrust to the feet.

  I need to ask the mind mage.

  Diagonal cut.

  Let’s throw him off.

  Staff-leg hook.

  “How do you—”

  Swirl, upward diagonal thrust.

  “—want to—”

  Center thrust.

  “—preserve what matters?”

  Hook under left arm.

  Bug stumbled and failed to block. Aaron pulled hard with the hook. He felt a pulse of heat. Moved sideways. Dodged the butt-thrust to his knee. His palm shot toward Bug’s face.

  Bug thrust forward with the center of the staff, and they fell, the halberds between them.

  I can’t end up under him.

  Aaron twisted his body and they slammed into the mud side-by-side. As Bug went for his katar, Aaron pulled his halberd upbetween them. Bug’s hand shot up with a gasp as wet mud sprayed onto Aaron.

  With a groan, Bug blocked the spike soaring toward his skull. Aaron noticed Bug’s hips shifting and swirled onto his back. The knee slammed painfully into his thigh. Steel blurred upwards.

  The world shook with a sickening crunch. Aaron’s jaw rattled, and something felt strange.

  As if I could split my jaw in the middle.

  The warmth tore at him. Made him push the enemy aside.

  Too slow. Too weak.

  He heard someone screaming.

  A grass-green-robed figure touched blood-wet hands to his face. The pain subsided. The strange feeling in his jaw went away. His mouth still buzzed with phantom pressure. His jaw ached, a dull echo of a break already healed.

  Bug offered his hand with a wry smile. The healer's touch still burned as Aaron blinked away the pain, disoriented by the sudden return of normalcy. “We need to work on your heads defense.”

  Aaron rubbed his jaw, still buzzing from the break.

  Bug’s voice cracked like a whip. “Continue the sequence, Initiate. You leave this field in dreams only.”

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