Cyrn stumbled out of his room, eyes heavy and hair defying gravity.
As he walked towards his classes, he repeated his schedule in his mind.
Practical Combat on Mondays and Wednesdays, with off-campus training every other weekend. Sword Sparring every Tuesday and Thursday. Sword Technique Theory every Monday and Wednesday afternoon. SoulCurrent Theory every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. And finally, SoulCurrent History every Monday and Wednesday night.
A relatively heavy schedule, but nothing Cyrn couldn't handle. The only issue was the two weekends a month he had to sacrifice, but he could live with that.
Thankfully, Silas wrote alcohol into this world, so my weekends shall be well spent otherwise. Cyrn smiled to himself as he stumbled into his first class, barely on time.
It was Tuesday morning, so Sword Sparring and SoulCurrent theory.
Cyrn gathered with the rest of the students there, everyone standing around a large elevated platform.
Where's Elyon? We signed up for this class together?
Soon, a sickly pale man took the stage, coughed a few times to gather everyone's attention, then began speaking.
"Good morning, class. I'm glad to see that most of our students decided to come this fine Tuesday morning, and please don't forget the severe penalties that come when one is truant. Is that understood, Mr. DeBeaumont?"
Cyrn heard from his left some faint shuffling and saw Elyon, who was in worse shape than he was, trying to slide into the group unnoticed.
"Yes professor Amon, it won't happen again."
The professor nodded before continuing, "Good, now let's separate into groups of two. This is a Sword Sparring class. There will be no lectures, no notes to take. You will spar, I will critique, you will spar again. Simple and efficient. No SoulCurrent is allowed during battles, only sword skill shall be expressed here."
Everyone nodded as they began to separate, everyone hovering away from Elyon, Cyrn, and lastly Virelya. 3 freaks of nature no one wanted to fight against.
The professor spoke up, "Mr. DeBeaumont, you sit this one out. We can spar at the end if you like. Cyrn, Ms. Ravenswood. Pair up for sparring. I saw your fight during the tournament. Perhaps it's time for a rematch?"
Fuck my life, ok Cyrn, no ogling, no leering, no lustful gaze. Think about how unnecessarily mean she is. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts.
Cyrn stepped onto the platform with Virelya, her gaze cold with an undertone of frustration.
Cyrn succeeded in not staring at the girl's figure, but his eyes were glued to her face.
God, this is harder than it looks. Who would want to hurt her so badly that feelings like that flow through her so often?
Cyrn was baffled, and Virelya seemingly sensed what she thought was pity from across the platform and attacked with barely restrained rage.
Virelya dashed forward, her blade a silver streak aimed for Cyrn's collarbone. A classic opener — fast, precise, surgical.
Cyrn was caught off guard, but successfully dodged the attack. Before he could press further, he heard her whisper something.
"Don't you dare EVER look at me with that pitiful gaze again, or I will fucking kill you."
Cyrn was stunned; he never meant to pity the girl; he just empathized with her. He may not know the full story, but he knows how she feels.
Maybe I should keep the fact that I know all her emotions under wraps. She doesn't seem to be open to chatting with me.
Virelya's strikes were sharp, elegant — but Cyrn could already see the flaw. Her right hip dropped half a second before every feint. He didn't need a second time
Cyrn didn't move until the last heartbeat. He shifted a foot back, letting the rapier kiss the air in front of his chest — close enough to feel the wind shear. Then he twisted his hips and brought his sword up in a tight arc.
The strike landed clean on her thigh — sharp, jarring. Nerves flared like sparks under her skin. She staggered, just a step, then caught herself. No flinch. No surrender. She lunged again, blade flickering toward his exposed ribs.
Cyrn, however, was an insurmountable wall with pure swordplay. Virelya had no SoulCurrent spells to use, no physical enhancement from SoulCurrent as well. Pile this on top of Cyrn's Sword Technique, the one Elyon calls the best in the world if brought to its full potential, she's going to lose this spar.
Feints were thrown, counters executed, traps laid, and Cyrn didn't fall for a single one of them, landing a strike each time, fresh bruises began to bloom across her body.
Wood struck her wrist. Not hard enough to break, but enough to sting. Enough to disrupt her grip. She hissed and backstepped, keeping her guard up. Cyrn didn't chase. He just smiled — small, almost lazy. He'd read that feint a mile away.
She was soon knocked out of the platform. The spar was Cyrn's victory, and he got to display just how overwhelming he is when you take SoulCurrent out of the picture.
Professor Amon took both of them to the side and began to give his critiques. "Virelya, your Erinye's Revenge is a great sword technique, it's incredibly reliant on two things. Your opponent attacks first, and then does not know your technique. Work on this, and you'll be unstoppable in combat."
He turned his head to look at Cyrn, "Cyrn, your technique is stellar, you read your opponents perfectly, never getting hit in the same spot twice, and from what I can tell, this technique will never be at a disadvantage in any given combat scenario."
Cyrn was surprised and happy. Surprised because this man divulged his three principles from one spar, and happy because of the praise, however, it was short-lived.
"However, it's clear your training of this technique is in its infancy. Going against anyone else who is more familiar with their sword techniques' weaknesses will put you at a major disadvantage. You're also too reliant on your constitution. You fight as if you can't die, and maybe that is partially true; however, Cyrn, you fight as if you've never tasted death. That's not a strength. That's ignorance. No matter how strong your body is, or how quickly you regenerate from wounds, you can die."
Cyrn stood shocked, not expecting the professor to say such heavy words on the first day of classes. He dismissed them both from participating for the rest of the class. Cyrn soon joined Elyon on a nearby bench.
Cyrn was contemplating in silence, and Elyon didn't interrupt him.
A few minutes passed, and Cyrn spoke up. "You think it's true, El, that my regeneration might fail one day?"
Elyon shook his head, "Nah, I don't think that's what Prof. Amon meant when he said that."
"Then what did he mean?"
Elyon turned to look at him. "There's more than one way to die, Cyrn. One's soul could become so damaged that one dies. One could be trapped in a seal or separate realm for all eternity. An opponent could attack and destroy what you hold dearest, winning the fight before it even begins. Just because you can't get decapitated doesn't mean you can't die."
Cyrn listened and nodded to Elyon's words, giving himself some time to think about them.
Elyon stood up, preparing for his spar against Prof. Amon. Elyon lost by a small margin. Amon's sword technique was…predatory. Ruthless attacks, incessant from all angles, never ceasing, never giving ground. Elyon put up a good fight for a while, but eventually lost under the onslaught.
Elyon walked up to Cyrn, sweaty and freshly bruised, smiling lightly, "Wanna get some grub, I've finally worked up an appetite."
Cyrn nodded, spirits a little higher than earlier. For class 1 students, food was made to order in the cafeteria. Cyrn got himself a massive bowl of bone marrow, which he recently found could mildly satisfy his urges for blood, and a loaf of bread. Elyon got a bone in ribeye with a side of fries.
Cyrn stared at Elyon's plate. "I can't believe they have a bone in ribeye here. What's the food budget of this place?"
Elyon chuckled, "Most class 1 students are noble children, and they tend to have 'haughtier' tastes than others, so many families ensure their donations go towards accommodating their expensive palates."
Cyrn nodded. Thankfully, he hasn't had many money issues since transmigrating. He'd done a great job of mooching off Elyon's insane allowance. And he was more than happy to spread the wealth, always talking about how "He could never spend it all anyway".
Both took a seat at a 4 person table, though everyone was keeping their distance. Actually, that was only half true.
Every damn woman here is either staring or actively inching closer towards El. This handsome bastard.
It was true, Elyon had already swatted away several suitors, and several more were either working up the courage or just admiring from a distance.
Before anyone could approach, however, an iceberg personified sat down next to Elyon. Virelya sat across from Cyrn, and before he said anything, she spoke quickly. "Name."
Cyrn was confused, "Huh, name? What name?"
Virelya continued, "The name of your sword technique, what is it?" It wasn't so much of a question as it was a demand.
Cyrn was stunned. She was voluntarily talking to him. In fairness, her disdain was evident, and her skin was crawling like she was speaking to a pile of shit, but hey, progress is progress.
Cyrn smiled, something smug and confident. Let her hate me, let her remember it.
"A Vampire's Anamnesis"