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Redemption Arc 14
🕑 Added 2025-10-11 06:30:07 +0000 UTCEven if a great deal of what Lucian knew from the War of Four held true, he needed to be prepared for every eventuality. This wasn’t a turn-based strategy game anymore. It was a living, breathing reality. He wasn’t the tactician for the battles. As a matter of fact, the people that were his allies couldn’t be expected to defend him. They might enjoy his death: as a matter of fact.
Lucian needed to have a plan of attack for every enemy that would be on the battlefield. He needed to predict what way the battle would probably flow, based on several outcomes. Because of how weak he was, he needed to have some things prepared to compensate for his weaknesses. And when the time came, he needed to seize opportunities that would strengthen his position to achieve his long-term objective: survival.
There was only one real way to do all of that: hard, focused work, coupled with robust plans and contingencies.
First, he needed a solid foundation.
***
“Up!” the instructor shouted.
Lucian thrust toward the small buckler the instructor wore, hitting it hard enough to rattle his arms.
“Right!” he shouted again.
Lucian thrust again, rightward this time. This hit felt weak.
“No, see? Pay attention to your arms,” the man said, walking forth and adjusting Lucian’s grip. “The way you hold the spear is important. Now… right!”
Lucian thrust once more.
“Up!”
Another.
“Left!”
“Again.
“Down!”
Once more.
“Up! Up! Down! Down! Left! Right! Left! Right!”
On and on this went until Lucian had sweat pouring down his back, blisters on his hands, and his breathing had become hard enough he could barely think. The instructor certainly wasn’t letting him rest easy—but then, Lucian needed it that way. By the end of it, the instructor stood over him.
“Now, why are we practicing like this?” the instructor quizzed.
“To master… the feel of the polearm… so I can hit the right… place,” Lucian said, panting.
“That’s right. Snaking around enemy shields, piercing the joints of armor, stabbing into the weak spots of monsters—these are necessities. As you become more powerful, you’ll come to wield strength enough to stab through a breastplate. Any expert worth their salt will tell you not to, because you’ll just exhaust yourself. An exhausted fighter is a dead fighter. The smart fighter takes the path of least resistance.”
Lucian looked up at the man. The words ‘path of least resistance’ stuck in his head. He liked that way of thinking.
The solid foundation was important for the basics of fighting. Even if he calculated that he had the stats to handle his opponents, it didn’t matter if he hadn’t trained to fight. The biggest fight Lucian had been in before all this was a fistfight—and considering the world he came from, grabbing shirts, wrestling, and throwing limp-wristed punches didn’t reside in the same ballpark as killing armed bandits. Most of the bandits were deserting soldiers or militiamen. This was stuff he had to learn.
Atop the foundation, Lucian could begin to build up other skills. Learning about polearms had felt like something he had to do, but other classes were infinitely more fun.
***
“The incantations of spells will be paramount until you become well-practiced,” the holy magic instructor told him. Like most of the ones here, she was a woman. “Until your magic power grows to a certain point, your spells may not even manifest if you don’t speak their words out loud. For now, you’ll stick with one-word spells. As a rule, the more complex and powerful a spell is, the longer its incantation is. Even still, incantations shouldn’t be secondary to the routing of magic within yourself…”
Though the instructor talked quite a bit, Lucian listened with rapt attention. It didn’t feel like a chore to learn about magic. They were some of the few moments of genuine excitement that he had in this new reality. Even still, he didn’t eschew practicality for his own personal fulfillment. After listening for a while came practicing.
“Élûn,” Lucian said. Thereafter, a pure white light surged out from his hands and encircled him.
The instructor, though she looked meek and mild, took a club and swung at his shoulder violently. Lucian felt it, but only just—then, he heard a cracking sound as the ward he’d just created fell away. The first tier of the very important defensive magic: namely, First Sanctuary.
“Excellent,” the instructor praised, setting the club on the ground. “Now, the next. Face the target.”
Lucian braced himself, holding his hand out toward the target. “Vorr,” he said confidently.
“No, no. Vörr,” she emphasized, casually flicking her hand to cast out a golden scarab. A faint string of gold remained tethered to her hand, and she guided the scarab gently until it struck the target. “Now, again.”
Lucian inhaled and exhaled. “Vörr,” he said with particular emphasis. This time, a pure white scarab surged out of his hands. He could feel its weight on his mind as he guided it just as she had. Eventually, it hit the target. Compared to the Angel’s Arrow he’d used, it seemed incredibly weak. Everyone had to start somewhere, though.
“I always marvel at the purity of your affinity whenever I see it,” she remarked with a shake of her head. “You will be joining the healing magic class, won’t you? I think it’d almost be a waste not to.”
Lucian nodded. “Of course.”
That class was half the reason he’d gone with holy affinity, after all. He just needed to get 15 MAG first. After all the holy lessons he’d taken, it was just about time.
***
“Þael,” Lucian said, holding his hand out to a patient with a wound—a jagged cut on his leg.
His pure white magic flowed out, encircling the wound and kneading it closed. The resident instructor—they called them doctors, and they weren’t wrong to do so—nodded approvingly.
“It’s a little bit weak in terms of the magic power, but the purity of your holy affinity compensates for that fact,” the man said objectively and clinically. “You can be admitted to bronze for healing magic, definitely. This class has a lot more hands-on experience than the others. You’ll tend to the sick and injured directly.”
The patient, a young boy, looked between them.
“Is it gone?” the boy asked nervously.
“Yep,” Lucian confirmed.
The boy looked up tentatively, but when he saw his flawless leg, his eyes widened. “But it was… it was so big! You really…?” he looked at Lucian with awed eyes.
Lucian couldn’t help but smile at the kid’s innocence. “Now, just because we can heal doesn’t mean you should keep doing what it was that got you hurt in the first place. If you get hurt real bad, we can’t fix that. You only get lucky once,” he pointed. “Are you going to do it again?”
He shook his head. “I won’t.”
“Best not,” Lucian emphasized.
The young boy scooted to the edge of the bed, and then gingerly tested his leg. Once he was sure it didn’t hurt, he sprinted away quite quickly. Lucian followed him with his eyes for a few moments. In doing so he spotted someone looking at him. Helen Brumaire stared at him. When they locked eyes, she immediately looked away.
Christ, Lucian thought. She saw the kid running. Maybe she’ll think I scared him so much he sprinted out of here.
After the disastrous excuse for an apology at the student ambassador meeting, he didn’t care to spend too much time worrying about what the others thought of him.
“So… I think I’d like to focus on the spells that cure poison next,” Lucian told the instructor. “After that, I think I’ll be done for the day.”
The doctor nodded. “Very well.”
Later, he’d want to learn some spells that would temporarily raise his health. Right now, he didn’t have the magic stats for it. All in all, things were proceeding precisely as he expected them. That being said, common sense dictated that a plan alone wouldn’t be enough to get him through a battle. He needed to remove the potential of human error.
***
As Lucian was receiving instruction, a rather persistent theme developed.
“Could I speak to you a moment?” the polearm instructor asked.
The conversation always began like that. Someone would ask to speak to him for a moment, indicating that the conversation would contain some delicate material which they might not want others to hear. Lucian would be brought off to the side with his instructor, and then they’d tell him something he already knew.
“You’ve been receiving lessons around five days now. I’m not denying that you’re putting in the hard work. You work as hard as any student I’ve worked with,” they began gently.
The preamble always followed the same route. A softening blow before the crushing reality.
“You’re simply not advancing as fast as would be expected,” the polearm instructor said neutrally.
“Your partial arcane paralysis inhibits your future prospects for magic,” the holy magic instructor said kindly.
“Even if your holy affinity is excellent, walking this path will likely be a waste of your time,” the doctor said bluntly.
He couldn’t exactly get mad at what they were saying. He knew they were doing it because they were interested in the best outcome for their students. Naturally, they would recommend a different course of action.
“Your father, Duke Cyril Villamar, was a famed swordsman,” the polearm instructor reminded him. “There’s more than enough reason to believe that you might possess the same talent. You might have more natural proficiency, and even experience faster physical growth working with the sword. Indeed, given your height, working with a sword may be best for you. You already possess substantial reach, which is a large boon to learning the sword.”
Sometimes their advice would contradict one another.
“There are methods in which you might manifest your holy affinity in physical manners,” his holy magic instructor said. “Though this isn’t my field of expertise, as you grow more adept at using swords, axes, or what have you, you can learn skills that employ your holy affinity to empower your attacks. Indeed, there are some weapons in the world that might allow you to exhibit it naturally,” she said optimistically. “Given your physical fitness, it might be the better route for you to take. This isn’t a criticism of your qualities as a student. Indeed, I’ve enjoyed teaching you very much. You learn the material very fast, it’s just… an unfortunate condition you have, I’m afraid.”
The bottom line was always the same.
“I can continue to teach you,” the doctor said bluntly. “It’ll just take you substantially more effort to achieve the same results as other students. I thought that you might want to know so you could make an informed decision.”
Lucian’s answer was the same every time.
“I’ll overcome this.”
***
Lucian ate the breakfast that Walter had prepared for him in the morning. He always felt a little bit paranoid whenever he ate. One day, he expected to start coughing up blood after Metterand had poisoned him. Either way the food was almost always excellent. Even if he didn’t have access to the allowance from his father, he still had access to that wealth in the form of excellent cuisine. Today was a meal of ham and eggs, alongside a glut of suitable side dishes.
“Emm… Lord Lucian,” Walter began tentatively.
Lucian looked over. “What is it?”
“There’s a letter here for you.”
Lucian waited. “And? What is this, twenty questions? Go ahead.”
“It’s from Charlton Lowenthal,” Walter said.
Lucian couldn’t help but smile a little. “Considering you read my mail, why don’t you tell me what it says?”
“He wishes for you to come visit him at his estate at your earliest convenience,” Walter said in some disquietude.
Lucian cut into his ham with a satisfied expression. The seed was sprouting, it seemed. And just in time. It’d make the first mission go a great deal smoother.
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““Up! Up! Down! Down! Left! Right! Left! Right!” — Lucian’s on dance dance revolution
WarStrider72
Thanks for the chapter!
