The training yard of the Vileth Estate was a theater of wasted energy. Every morning, the "Silver" and "Iron" rank youths gathered under the watchful eye of Captain Harl, shouting and swinging their heavy practice swords until their muscles burned and their Aura flickered.
Azrakar stood at the edge of the yard, leaning against a weathered stone pillar, his Junior Guard spear held loosely in his hand. To anyone watching, he was the picture of a lazy, unmotivated guard. In reality, he was conducting a series of "Micro-Exercises" that would have terrified a Master.
He was currently balancing the three energies in his spear-hand. He would send a pulse of Qi down the wooden shaft to find the grain of the wood, then a pulse of Mana to "soften" the air resistance around the tip, and finally a pulse of Aura to make the spear-point as heavy as a lead weight—all without moving a single muscle.
"Still daydreaming, Azrakar?"
Captain Harl approached, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel. The veteran was a man of "Gold-rank" Aura, his presence alone causing a faint pressure in the air. He stopped in front of Azrakar, his scarred face unreadable.
"I am observing, Captain," Azrakar replied, giving a shallow, respectful bow that was perfectly calibrated to look "Bronze-rank" in its stiffness.
"Observing what? Kaelen's footwork?" Harl nodded toward the center of the yard, where Kaelen was currently dominating a sparring match, his silver Aura flaring with every strike. "He has talent. You... you have a Bronze-rank core, but your eyes... they don't look like a child's eyes."
Azrakar felt a cold ripple in his soul. Harl is more dangerous than I calculated. He doesn't have the knowledge, but he has the instinct of a hunter.
"I was wondering why he wastes so much energy on his backswing," Azrakar said, his tone neutral. "If he shortened his arc by three inches, he wouldn't leave his left flank open to a counter-thrust."
Harl blinked. He looked back at Kaelen, then at Azrakar. "A counter-thrust? From who? No one in his age group can get past his silver-shield."
"The wind doesn't care about shields, Captain," Azrakar said, then caught himself. He had revealed too much of his past-life perspective. He quickly added a clumsy cough. "Or so I read in one of the old scrolls in the Archive. It was a poem, I think."
Harl grunted, but his eyes narrowed. "Don't fill your head with poems, boy. Even a Bronze-rank needs to be able to hold a wall. Tonight, after the others are finished, you will stay behind. You'll be the training dummy for the Iron-rank scouts. They need to practice their 'Aura-Sensing' on a target that knows how to hide."
Azrakar's mind whirred. Being a training dummy is an opportunity. It allows me to test the 'Primal Spark' against real Aura in a controlled environment. I can 'absorb' their strikes to further temper my body.
"As you wish, Captain," Azrakar said.
As Harl walked away, Azrakar watched Kaelen. The boy was preening, enjoying the cheers of the other children. Azrakar didn't feel envy. He felt the same way a wolf might feel watching a particularly plump sheep celebrate its own weight.
Three inches, Azrakar thought, watching Kaelen swing. In a real fight, those three inches would be the difference between a victory and a decapitation. I will have to ensure that when the time comes, Kaelen never gets the chance to learn that lesson.
He returned to his spear, closing his eyes. He began to draw the ambient Mana from the very sunlight hitting his skin, funneling it into his heart. He was a sponge, and the Golden Era was a sea. He would drink until he was ready to drown the world.