The recruits stood on the vast, rectangular training ground. Their bodies ached, their egos were shattered, and their minds still reeled from Akira’s swift, brutal defeat.
The other combat teams, who had paused their own drills to watch, now leaned against the stone walls. Their expressions held a mixture of amusement and pity.
“Fresh meat for the grinder,” one of the older mages muttered to his teammate. A grim chuckle was in his voice.
“Gendric’s gonna have fun with this batch.”
As if summoned by the comment, two figures emerged from a high archway overlooking the field. It was the Director, Gabriel, his divine white wings folded neatly behind him.
Beside him stood a man Carter had never seen before. He was tall and lean, with long, straight black hair pulled back into a neat ponytail.
It accentuated his sharp, aristocratic features. A playful, almost cocky smirk was on his face.
His dark, intelligent eyes seemed to take in the entire scene with a cool, appraising gaze. He moved with a liquid grace, a stark contrast to Gendric’s brutish power.
But he radiated an aura of quiet, dangerous confidence.
“It seems the lesson has already begun,” Gabriel said. His voice was a low murmur that somehow carried to the man beside him over the din of the training ground.
Down on the field, Gendric ignored the onlookers. His focus was entirely on the terrified recruits before him.
He pointed a thick, scarred finger at Yulian.
“You, the big one,” he bellowed. “You’re first.”
Yulian swallowed hard. The sound was a loud gulp in the tense silence.
He hefted his heavy mace, Tiberius, and stepped forward. His knuckles were white.
He settled into a boxer’s stance, a familiar, comforting habit from his old life.
“A boxer, eh?” Gendric grunted. A flicker of interest was in his bright blue eyes. “Let’s see if you can take a punch as well as you can give one.”
Yulian charged. Not with a wild, undisciplined rush, but with the focused, explosive power of a trained fighter.
He bobbed and weaved, his footwork surprisingly nimble for a man his size. He unleashed a furious combination, a jab to test Gendric’s defenses, followed by a powerful, bone crushing right hook aimed at the old warrior’s jaw.
Gendric didn’t even bother to raise his hands. He simply swayed his head to the side.
The jab whistled past his ear. As the powerful right hook came around, he dropped his shoulder and flowed under the punch.
His movement was a blur of controlled, efficient motion. He rose up inside Yulian’s guard and drove the heel of his palm into the big Russian’s solar plexus.
It was not a full force blow. It was a precise, targeted strike, but it had the effect of a sledgehammer.
The air exploded from Yulian’s lungs in a pained, desperate gasp. His eyes bulged, and his massive frame folded in on itself.
He stumbled back. His mace fell from his numb fingers and clattered onto the stone floor.
“You have power, boy,” Gendric said.
His voice was a low, gravelly rumble as he stood over the gasping Russian. “But you fight like a tavern brawler.”
“You rely on brute force, and you leave yourself wide open. In a real fight, a faster opponent would have put a blade through your heart before you even finished your first swing.”
“You will learn speed. You will learn efficiency. You will learn to be a scalpel, not just a hammer.”
He turned. His gaze swept over the others until it landed on Keyona.
“You. The girl with the farmer’s tool.”
“You’re next.”
Keyona’s eyes flashed with defiant fire. She stepped forward, her massive scythe, Akan, held in a two-handed grip.
With no formal training, she relied on pure, unrestrained aggression. With a furious cry, she charged.
Her scythe was a whirlwind of black steel, a terrifying arc of death aimed at Gendric’s head.
Gendric simply waited. His stance was relaxed, his expression almost bored.
At the last possible second, as the scythe was about to cleave him in two, he stepped inside her guard.
His movement was a blur. He didn’t block the weapon; he moved with it, redirecting its momentum with a single, open-palmed hand on the haft.
Keyona was sent spinning off balance. Her own momentum was her worst enemy.
Before she could recover, Gendric delivered a single, precise chop to her wrists. Her hands went numb, and the scythe fell from her grasp.
A gentle but firm push to her shoulder sent her sprawling to the ground.
“You fight like a cornered animal, girl,” he said. His voice was a low, disappointed rumble. “All offense, no defense.”
“A true battle is an exchange, not just an assault. You cannot win a fight if you do not know how to survive one.”
“You will learn to parry. You will learn to block. You will learn that the shield is as important as the sword.”
Gendric’s piercing blue eyes scanned the remaining recruits. His gaze finally landed on the smallest of the group.
“You. The bookworm,” he barked, gesturing to Paige. “Your turn.”
Paige visibly flinched. She clutched her grimoire, Lellibel, to her chest like a shield.
She looked from Gendric’s immense, scarred form to the hard stone floor where Yulian and Keyona were still trying to catch their breath.
A look of pure, intellectual terror crossed her face.
“I… I’m not a fighter,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.
“I am aware of that, girl,” Gendric growled, his voice impatient. “But our enemy will not care.”
“They will not give you a written exam before they try to kill you. Now, step forward.”
Trembling, Paige did as she was told. She stood in the center of the courtyard, a small, fragile figure in the vast, intimidating space.
She knew she couldn’t win a direct confrontation. Her strength was in her mind, in her ability to analyze and strategize.
Gendric was a wall of muscle and experience she could never hope to break. So, she wouldn’t try.
“What are you waiting for, girl?” Gendric bellowed, his voice impatient. “An invitation?”
Instead of panicking, Paige took a deep, steadying breath. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second.
Her mind was a flurry of calculations. Then, she did something no one expected.
She ran.
She didn’t run away. She ran at him, her small frame a blur of motion.
She didn’t attack. She feinted, ducked, and weaved, moving with a surprising, desperate agility.
Gendric, looking almost amused, let her come. His massive form was an unmoving mountain in the center of the courtyard.
He reached out a hand to grab her, but she dropped into a low slide. Her grimoire scraped against the flagstones as she passed right between his legs.
“Clever,” Gendric grunted, turning to follow her. “But you can’t run forever.”
She scrambled to her feet and continued her evasive maneuvers, circling him, forcing him to turn, to pivot.
To the other recruits, it looked like a desperate, terrified dance. But Carter noticed something odd.
Every time she ducked or rolled, her hand brushed against the stone floor. A few small, dark objects were left behind.
They were almost invisible against the gray flagstones. Seeds.
After a full thirty seconds of this frantic, evasive dance, Paige suddenly stopped. She breathed heavily, her face flushed with exertion.
But a look of fierce, triumphant determination shone in her eyes. She stood at the center of a wide, invisible circle she had drawn around Gendric with her movements.
She slammed her open grimoire shut. The sound was a sharp crack in the air.
She spoke a single, clear command in Irish Gaelic. The word resonated with a green, vibrant energy.
“Fás!” (Grow, Irish)
The flagstones at Gendric’s feet erupted.
Thick, woody vines, as thick as Carter’s arm, exploded upward from the stone in a dozen different places at once.
They grew at an impossible, supernatural speed. They twisted and wove together, guided by Paige’s will.
They formed a dense, cage-like prison of living wood around Gendric, trapping him completely.
The other recruits gasped in stunned silence. Their minds struggled to process what they just saw.
Yulian, who had been nursing his bruised ribs, now stood with his jaw hanging open. A look of pure, slack-jawed disbelief was on his face.
He had tried to meet Gendric with brute force and failed. This small, quiet girl had met him with pure intellect and, for a moment, had actually succeeded.
Keyona’s eyes were wide. Her earlier, aggressive confidence was replaced by a look of dawning respect.
She had seen Paige as a non-threat, a bookworm. But this… this was the move of a predator, a trap door spider luring its prey.
Even Nico, who had been a bundle of nerves, now looked at Paige with a newfound sense of awe. A silent acknowledgment that there was more than one way to be strong.
From his vantage point, Gabriel let out a soft, appreciative chuckle.
“Well done,” he murmured.
She wasn’t just dodging, Gendric thought. A look of genuine, impressed surprise was on his face as he tested the strength of the vines.
She was planting. Every roll, every slide… she was setting the trap. And she managed to use a spell THIS early into her training?
She turned her own perceived weakness, her speed, her size, into a weapon. He let out a booming, appreciative laugh.
“AHHH HA HAHA HA HAA!”
This one… this one has the mind of a true strategist. Damien and Agamor will want her in the archives.
But, with her thinking skills, on the right combat team she would be an absolute monster on the battlefield.
The prison of wood held for a grand total of three seconds.
With a deafening roar of pure, unrestrained power, Gendric flexed his massive frame.
The thick, woody vines didn’t just break; they exploded outward in a shower of splintered wood and shredded leaves.
Gendric stood in the center of the wreckage, completely unharmed. A wide, appreciative grin was on his face.
“Clever, girl,” he bellowed. His voice was a mixture of surprise and genuine respect. “Very clever.”
“You knew you could not beat me in a direct fight, so you changed the rules.” He walked over to her, his earlier, intimidating demeanor gone.
It was replaced by that of a proud teacher. “In a real battle, that would not have held me for long. But it would have bought you time.”
“Time to escape. Time to regroup. Time to prepare a more powerful spell. You used your mind as a weapon.”
“That is a lesson some warriors never learn.” He clapped her gently on the shoulder.
“Well done.”
Akira, however, looked visibly irritated.
A scowl twisted his features as he watched the small, supposedly weak girl accomplish something he couldn’t.
Actually landing a successful spell on the mighty Gendric Valhallor.
It was a cheap trick, he told himself, not a real display of power. But the thought did little to soothe the sting of his own humiliating defeat.
He then turned to Nico. A sharp, appraising look was in his eyes.
“You. The opposite of the last one. You are all shield and no sword. Show me.”
Nico stepped forward. His face was pale, but his stance was surprisingly solid.
He raised his glaive, Lianghai, not in an attacking posture, but in a defensive one.
The broad, leaf-shaped blade was held between himself and Gendric.
Gendric charged. His movements were a blur of controlled, efficient violence.
He launched a series of lightning-fast jabs and hooks. His fists were a blur of motion.
Nico, to his credit, met the assault. He didn’t try to counterattack.
He focused entirely on defense, using the long shaft of his glaive to parry, block, and deflect Gendric’s blows.
He absorbed the kinetic energy of each strike. The air around him shimmered with a faint, invisible power.
For a full thirty seconds, he held his ground. It was a testament to his natural, instinctive talent for defense.
But he was only delaying the inevitable.
“Good,” Gendric grunted. His assault never slowed. “You can take a punch.”
“But a battle is not won by standing still. It is won by taking ground.”
“You are so focused on not losing that you have forgotten how to win.”
With a final, powerful blow, Gendric shattered Nico’s defense.
He hooked his leg around Nico’s ankle and pulled, sending the young man crashing to the floor.
Nico panted for air as he lay on the ground.
“Ah… Ah… Ah…”
“You have a gift, boy,” Gendric said, standing over him. “But you use it like a crutch.”
“Learn to be proactive. Learn to use that energy not just to absorb, but to attack.”
“Control the flow of the fight, not just react to it.”
He moved on to Amy. Her confident, almost arrogant posture was a stark contrast to Nico’s nervous energy.
She swung her silver-bound book, Lucy, like a club. A wild, powerful arc was aimed at Gendric’s head.
Gendric simply sidestepped the clumsy attack and tapped her on the shoulder.
She stumbled forward, her momentum carrying her past him, and tripped over her own feet, landing in an undignified heap on the floor.
“You have confidence, girl,” Gendric said, shaking his head. “And you are fit. But you have no skill.”
“You swing like a farmer’s wife with a rolling pin. Your confidence is a mask for your incompetence.”
“You will unlearn everything you think you know. You will start with the basics. You will learn to stand, to move, to breathe.”
“Then, and only then, will you learn to fight.”
Finally, his gaze landed on Carter. He was the last one standing.
“You, boy,” he said. His bright blue eyes seemed to look right through him.
“The one with the angry ghosts on his hands. Show me what you’ve got.”
The man standing next to Gabriel locked in. He asked Gabriel, “Is he the one?”
“Yes he is,” Gabriel replied.
“This should be interesting…”
Carter’s heart pounds in his chest. He has no training, no experience, only the raw, athletic fitness he has honed through years of running and weightlifting.
He raises his hands, the heavy, unfamiliar weight of Atlas and Archer a clumsy, awkward burden.
He charges, his movements a desperate, unrefined imitation of the fighters he has seen in movies. His movements easily telegraphed to Gendric.
Gendric simply sighs. A sound of profound disappointment.
He doesn’t even move. He lets Carter’s wild, telegraphed punch sail past his face.
Then, with a speed that seems impossible, he taps Carter lightly on the chest with two fingers.
It is not a hard blow. But a jolt of pure, kinetic energy explodes from Gendric’s fingertips.
Carter is sent flying backwards. The air explodes from his lungs as he crashes to the stone floor ten feet away.
He lies there, dazed and gasping for air. The world is a blurry, spinning mess.
“You hold back,” Gendric says, his voice a low, disappointed rumble as he stands over him.
“I saw what you did in the council chamber. I know the power you have. But you are afraid of it.”
His massive frame blocks out the sun.
“You have little skill, but the highest potential of any pup I have seen in a decade.”
“Stop being afraid of what you are, boy. Embrace it. Or it will consume you.”
He turns and walks back to the center of the courtyard. His lesson seems complete.
Until…
A high-pitched whistling sound, the sound of something heavy falling fast, cuts through the air.
Gendric stops. His head snaps up.
“WHAT THE—?!”
Two massive stone pillars, each weighing several tons, are plummeting from the high colonnade. They are aimed directly at him.
There is no time to think, no time to cast a spell. Gendric is forced to rely on pure, instinctual reaction.
With a roar of exertion, he leaps to the side.
“AAAAAAHHHHH!!”
He is a blur of motion as the pillars crash into the flagstones where he just stood.
The impact sends a shockwave through the ground and explodes in a cloud of dust and shattered stone.
But the falling pillars were just a distraction.
In the split second that Gendric’s attention is diverted, Carter is moving. He is a blur of motion.
His body surges with an adrenaline-fueled power he didn’t know he possessed. He closes the distance between them in an instant.
As Gendric turns his head, his eyes wide with surprise, Carter is already there.
He pulls his left arm back and speaks two, sharp, clear words. A command directed not at the world, but at the weapon on his hand.
“Atlas! JUMP!”
He throws the punch. The heavy, Vastian Steel brass knuckle connects squarely with Gendric’s jaw.
The sound is not the wet smack of a normal punch, but the deep, resonant BOOM of a magical explosion.
The moment of impact is not the end of the attack; it is the beginning. The spell activates.
Gendric doesn’t just stumble back. He vanishes.
In a flicker of distorted space, he is teleported. His massive frame hurtles through the air at an impossible speed.
He reappears fifty feet away, just in time to slam into the solid stone wall at the far end of the courtyard with a sickening, ground-shaking “CRUNCH.”
A cloud of dust and shattered stone erupts from the point of impact. Gendric slumps to the ground.
A low, pained groan escapes his lips. He is not seriously injured, in truth no single blow could ever truly harm the Berserker.
But he is stunned, dazed, and completely, utterly caught off guard.
The silence on the training ground was broken by a wave of disbelieving shouts from the other combat teams.
“Did you see that?!”
“He teleported him! With a punch!”
“Holy shit, the new kid just put the Berserker on his ass!”
The new recruits were even more shocked. Yulian’s jaw was on the floor.
Paige was staring at Carter as if he were a living physics problem she couldn’t solve. Even Ruby looked completely floored.
Her usual bubbly demeanor was replaced by a look of pure, slack-jawed awe.
Carter, however, wasn’t celebrating. The moment the adrenaline from the fight faded, a new sensation crashed over him.
Dissonance.
A sharp, spiking migraine erupted behind his eyes. It felt like a hot nail being driven into his skull.
Black spots danced in his vision. A wave of nausea made the world tilt on its axis.
He stumbled, clutching his head. A low groan escaped his lips.
It was Dissonance. The Chinese spatial magic of the ‘Jump’ spell was a level six power, but as a Resonant, the backlash was reduced to a brutal, but non lethal, but painful, level three.
It was the worst pain he’d felt since the Safeguard was triggered.
Gendric saw Carter falter. His grin widened.
The little bastard, Gendric thought. A slow, wide, bloody grin spread across his face as he pushed himself up.
He used my own lesson against me. He created chaos. He didn’t just attack me, he attacked the battlefield.
He thinks like a true warrior.
A surge of pure, primal excitement, an emotion he hadn’t felt in years, coursed through him.
This one… this one is going to be a monster.
From his vantage point, the man with the ponytail let out a low, appreciative whistle.
“Well now,” he said. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. “That was interesting.”
He turned to Gabriel. “That grimoire… what was that spell?”
“Jump,” Gabriel replied. A look of profound, almost troubled contemplation was on his face.
“It’s a complex spatial manipulation spell, derived from Chinese magic.”
“It allows the wielder to teleport any object that makes contact with the Atlas knuckles to a desired location. The farther the distance, the greater the magical and physical strain.”
The man’s grin widened. “A boy with no training, who can use thought-based casting to shatter stone and a grimoire that can bend space itself… His potential is… terrifying.”
“But so is our enemy.”
“We need terrifying power, if we hope to win.”
Gendric pushed himself up from the crater his body made in the wall. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
He spat a crimson stream onto the flagstones. He let out a booming, appreciative laugh that echoed across the stunned courtyard.
He looked across the field at Carter. For the first time, the look in his eyes was not one of a teacher to a student, but of one warrior to another.
The pain in Carter’s head began to subside from a sharp, stabbing agony to a dull, persistent throb.
He shook his head to clear the last of the black spots from his vision. He pushed himself back to his feet.
His legs were unsteady, but his resolve was hardened.
Gendric’s gaze swept over the new recruits. Then to the other combat teams who were still buzzing with excitement.
“The show is over!” he bellowed. His voice was a thunderclap that instantly silenced the crowd. “Get moving! 3 mile run.”
“Then 200 pushups, situps, and crunches.”
“Who ever finishes the run last, will do it all over again!”
“NOW GO!”
As the other recruits, now properly terrified, scrambled to join the formation for physical training, Gabriel and the man with the ponytail descended from the overlook.
Gabriel gestured for Carter to stay. He pulled him aside as the others began their warm up.
“A moment, Mr. Cross,” Gabriel said. His expression was serious, the earlier amusement gone. “Yours and Paige’s performance was quite impressive.”
“Not many can catch a seasoned warrior like Gendric off guard.”
“But…”
“It has raised some urgent questions.”
The man beside him, Monk Taichar, watched Carter with a cool, appraising gaze. His arms were crossed.
He was tall and lean, with long, straight black hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. It accentuated his sharp, aristocratic features.
A playful, almost cocky smirk played on his lips, but his dark, intelligent eyes were sharp and missed nothing.
He radiated an aura of quiet, dangerous confidence.
“Lady Seraphina’s examination of you revealed a profound biological anomaly,” Gabriel continued. His voice was low and confidential.
“It is something I must ask you about directly.”
“Carter… do you know anything about your biological parents? Where you were born? Any unusual circumstances surrounding your birth?”
The questions were so unexpected, so deeply personal, they caught Carter completely off guard.
“I… I’m adopted,” he stammered. “I don’t know who my biological parents were.”
“My mom and dad… they found me on their doorstep when I was only a few days old. That’s all I know.”
Gabriel’s expression became even more grave. A look of profound, almost troubled contemplation was on his angelic features.
“I see. I was afraid of that.”
“Why?” Carter asked. A knot of dread tightened in his stomach. “What did she find?”
“It is not what she found,” Gabriel said. His golden eyes met Carter’s.
“It is what she did not find.”
“Carter… you do not have a Gate.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible.
“But… Damien said every human has one.”
“Precisely,” Gabriel said. “Every human has one. We believe your lack of a Gate is the reason you are able to use thought-based casting so instinctively.”
“But no human ever recorded in the six thousand year history of this Library has been born without one. The only beings who do not possess a Gate.
“…are magical creatures.”
“Like myself, Sir Agamor, and General Wulan.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
“I needed to know your lineage to determine if it was possible you had magical creature blood in your DNA.”
“Is that even possible?” Carter asked. His mind reeled from the implication.
Am I not human?
“It could be,” Gabriel confirmed. “Partial magical creatures, while not common, do exist.”
“Lady Seraphina is one such case, though her state is the result of an incomplete transmutation, not bloodline.”
“Your blood work and physical test are completely normal, it is quite strange.”
Carter thought back to what Seraphina had said when they first met.
“I am similar to them, but incomplete… I’ll tell you some other time.” This was what she meant.
The man beside Gabriel finally spoke. His voice was a smooth, confident baritone.
“So this is the anomaly that has the Director so worried. I must say, I am intrigued.” He extended a hand.
“Monk Taichar. Regional Director for Mongolia.”
Carter shook his hand. His mind was still trying to process the revelation that he might not be human.
Mongolia?. He remembered reading about Mongolian magic in the Lexanomicon.
The manipulation of Darkness. The power to open portals to a dimension of pure, endless night.
The Darkness Dimension
He thought of the spells engraved on his other grimoire, Archer. The dark flames.
“May I?” Monk asked, gesturing to Carter’s hands.
Carter held them out. Monk leaned in, his eyes gleaming with a scholar’s curiosity.
“Atlas and Archer. I have only ever read of them. The whispers of their power are… unsettling.”
“I can feel their rage, and I am not even their owner.” He grinned, a flash of his cocky demeanor returning.
“I think these grimoires might even scare old Gendric over there.”
“He has a difficult path ahead,” Gabriel said. His voice was filled with a mixture of hope and concern.
“But the potential is undeniable. If anyone can master them, he has a chance.”
Carter stared down at the weapons on his hands. At the angry, whispering ghosts he now carried with him.
His mind was a maelstrom of confusion. He had no Gate. He might not even be human.
And he was bound to a grimoire that killed its wielders.
“CROSS!”
Gendric bellowed from across the field. His voice was a raw, furious, but undeniably impressed roar.
“ARE YOU WAITING FOR ANOTHER INVITATION? IF YOU DON’T CATCH UP, YOU’LL BE RUNNING SIX MILES INSTEAD OF THREE!”
Carter flinched. With a final, uncertain look at Gabriel and Monk, he turned and jogged to join the others.
The weight of his new weapons, and the even heavier weight of his own impossible nature, settled over him.