“Just like sylvani are the kin of pure blooded elves, so are Tieflings to Fiendfolk. Like their parents, they have a generous amount of magic, especially of the Nox variety. Records of the Fiend Wars are few and far between. However, it is beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was the genesis of some of the younger races that exist today…” excerpt by Valerith Quillworth in his book; An Exposition on the Genesis of Races

Every new day was a chance to start things on a clean slate. And every morning held the promise of a fresh mind, and a fresh perspective.

Unlike the days before when he woke up whenever, Arthur had a change of pace that saw him rise with the sun at the crack of Eryth's dawn. In lieu of the usual intellectual routine spent in the study, Arthur found himself in the training grounds.

As he held a plank position for however long he could, his muscles groaned under the bulk of his body . His watch , which had not found use on account of losing time in a world where a day was an hour out of sync, found use once more as he used it to gauge his endurance.

He'd been holding the position for a while now, according to his watch's timer, one hour had already elapsed. Sweat was beading on his brow as he pursed his lips and exhaled through clenched teeth. His eyes were closed in concentration yet some of the perspiration made its way inside and stung his eyes. But that was non-consequential, it was nothing compared to his muscles screaming from an inundation of lactic acid.

‘Welp, that confirms it, [Regeneration] does not prevent muscle cramps,’ he mused, disappointed in said ability. His hopes of becoming a world class athlete had been dashed on the rocks.

Water vapour rose from his bare back condensing in the dayspring’s air as his body continued to warm up from the exertion. He'd turned off the climate control on the wards for this reason and welcomed the biting cold that fought against his body heat even as he kept his core muscles taut..

However, the rictus of exertion that was on his face broke when he heard the crunching of footsteps on the training yard’s sandy ground. A pale pair of limber, barefooted legs came into his field of vision.

“What are you doing?” said the owner of the legs, crouching down to his eye level. " Is this some sort of self-mortification?” Then cupping her cheek and narrowing her eyes, she gasped, "Oh me, oh my! Could it be you're—"

“No!” Arthur snorted, exhaling a puff of mist as he released the plank.” I don't get my kicks from putting myself in pain.”

He sat down in a lotus position as he regarded the originator of the voice. “ I'm trying to exercise to see how far I can push this body. I have to train my strength otherwise I'll break anything I touch and without fine control, I might not be doing enchanting work as it is,” he said as he flexed his fingers. “ Speaking of which, can you teach me how to fight?”

“Ho? What would you have me teach you?"

Scratching an itch at the back of his neck he replied, “How about swordsmanship?”

"If I had a class I'd be a [Mage] not a [Warrior].” Aeskyre sniffed derisively.” However, I have not lived as long as I have without learning a thing or two. I will impart you the basics, little it may be.”

“However, before we begin, I need to see your spells. Depending on what you have, you might want to complement your sword fighting style. Who knows, you could even become a [Magic Swordsman] or a [Spell Blade]”

“Eh, okay...I'll leave it to your discretion. Though, I should let you know that my classes consolidated. I am now a [Magitech Aercrafter]. No idea why I levelled but I lost most of my skills.”

“Hmm, is that so? Are you sure you haven’t tried using them after your recovery?”

“Short of doing this,” said Arthur as he wreathed his arm in lightning bolts. “I have yet to try out anything.”

“Oh, interesting. [Fulmen Mastery]? Aeskyre’s brows rose in interest. “That is a boon. It might help you learn unique skills,”

“Huh?! I didn’t know that. I have Aer mastery too but I have yet to see what they do.” he replied sheepishly.

“Remember when I told you to learn spells without over-reliance on the World?” Aeskyre pointed out, Arthur nodded. “That method of learning has its benefits. Besides larger rewards like a chance of acquiring a [Mastery] skill, it also means that your body will always remember how to cast the spells by instinct.

Even when you lose your class to a consolidation, your spell-casting is not affected…adversely. Those who depend on the World to cast their spells or use their skills have to relearn their old spells after class consolidations.”

“What happens during a class consolidation?” Arthur asked as he furrowed his brow.

Brushing the sand off the hem of her dress, Aeskyre stood and regarded Arthur, “During class consolidations you will lose two compatible classes then get a new class. The World will also allocate you a new level that is slightly lower than your highest class level.

“Oh, that’s why my [Magitech Aercrafter] is level 13,” Arthur opined.

“When you get an advanced version of a preexisting skill, the less powerful one will be lost. Whilst when you gain powerful skills different from your old ones, they are retained in your skill set,” she said, arms akimbo. “ Now then, lets not dawdle; get creative. ”

“Alright then,” Arthur said, rising from the ground. He dusted off his pants and faced the training dummies, which were ways off towards one of the walls of the training field.

He held out a hand as if grabbing something from the air and lightning started coalescing around his arm. His right arm was more resilient to his own magic. For his left, he dared not chance such a thing.

Concentrating, he funneled the lightning to his palms forming an amorphous spheres pun around like a pulsar as stray bolts lapped at the air. He took a javelin thrower’s stance and then pitched the chaotic ball of amber lightning towards his target.

It went sailing through the air in a parabolic curve, twenty paces, thirty…forty, lost cohesion and grounded itself at fifty paces leaving nothing but a circle of scorched glass. Disappointing—it didn’t even make it half-way to its destination.

“Hmm, what a brutish spell-work! When I said be creative, I wasn’t asking for a light show. What in Vesper’s Pits was that?! Do you want to become a pyromaniac?”

“That’s a new curse I’ve not heard you use before.” Arthur mouthed under his breath, mussing his hair.

“That magic you cast was chaotic, unrefined and utterly superfluous. You cannot tame lightning, like air, it does not conform into a shape; like water, you should let it flow where it wants to go.”

“ I was just trying a new idea I had, I thought magic spits in the face of physics that’s all.” Arthur smiled wryly.

“You are a couple of centuries too young [Lost Worlder]. Please take this seriously.” Aeskyre stressed, arms brought forward under her bosom.

Arthur decided that he’d start from the basics—using his old spells, well not really that old considering he hadn’t used them for long. True to Aeskyre’s word, the spells were just sitting in his core waiting to be used.

He went through the motions casting one after the others to get a feel for whether they’d changed after acquiring mastery over his affinities, well, three of them that is; Locus was still the way he left it.

However, he’d lost [Flashstep] but retained [Inventory]. The former, he’d not even gotten around to using it while the latter, perhaps something about it being a heritage derivative skill meant it was supposed to stick around.

First, he cast [Wind Shield]. The spell formed a spinning gale of air with him at the centre; Its spell matrix was stronger than its previous iteration and would have qualified as a [Wind Barrier] spell.

Had he managed to cast it in time during the explosion, it would have deflected the shrapnel to the side instead of attempting to arrest its momentum—at the speed the missile flew, it would have been impossible to outright stop it.

The same could have been said for his water based spells which had significantly more power to them. His [Water Vortex] was now a swirling bubble instead of individual vortexes. Another alteration to a pre-existing spell matrix.

He saved the [Thunderbolt] spell for last but as far as lightning based attacks went, its devastation spoke for itself. Ultimately besides the increased power to his magic, the World did not recognize them as new spells since he was merely spamming them with mana.

“Great, about time then. I was getting bored of watching you,” said Aeskyre with a clap of her hands. “I think it’s passable, you have enough utility to hold your own.”

“Nothing to add at all?” Arthur replied looking at the divots and gouges disfiguring the sand as well as the dismembered training dummies around the target area. The wards would always clean up the mess overnight…magic was convenient that way.

“I think your mastery skills have passed the bounds of what I can teach you. You can even go toe to toe with a level 20 [Mage] in a scrap and come out on top. you are simply overpowered for your class. But I should warn you, lack of experience will not cover for your strength so you’ll have to temper your pride and your body too.”

Aeskyre appeared to contemplate for a moment and then added, “You have ranged attacks and defences. Now to fill the gaps for when someone breaches past those defences; that brings us to close combat— swordsmanship.”

She looked to the racks of weapons sitting on the racks gathering dust; a variety of swords and pole arms, the occasional war hammer and axe and all types of shields from bucklers to tower shields.

Willing her magic, she selected a couple of swords that looked unwieldy and would not have looked out of place in a giant’s hands. Even so, she held one of them, a bastard sword using a one-handed grip like it weighed nothing.

“Judging from your increase in strength, I am of the mind to give you a bastard sword or a claymore but bah, it’s not elegant.” she scoffed, spinning the sword by its handle while the rest levitated in the air around her.

The bastard sword was as long as she was tall. Different from its counterparts, its point did not taper, rather it diverged then met like the cutting edge of an axe head. “Swords are an extension of the wielder. This—,” she plunged the weapon, burying it halfway into the ground, “Is a brute’s weapon. It does not require finesse, only unfettered strength.”

She walked around the impaled sword and plucked another weapon out of the air. Again, it was taller than she was and possessed a two handed grip. She held it horizontally by the blade like a smith would appraise their creation and offered it to Arthur.

Arthur received the sword, tested its grip and looked to Aeskyre who took that as a query. “That right there, is a Zweihander. It’s obviously two handed, has the reach and with your strength, it shouldn’t throw you off. It is a symbol of an accomplished swordsman; at least according to me.”

“You speak from experience…” Arthur murmured as he scrutinised the sword.

“Of course, I have bested many foes who wished to covet my hoard,” her eyes twinkled impishly.

By his estimates, the Zweihander was at most two metres long; practical when you were fighting things bigger than you—Eryth obviously had those in buckets. Out of the swords picked, this one had additional extensions before the guard that could be used to parry blows aptly— named parrying hooks.

By its heft, It must have weighed anything between 2 to 4 kilograms. And it wasn’t even the real thing, just the practice version made of very sturdy material.

There was no way Aeskyre would let him handle the real thing lest he lose his fingers. Thus the weapon in his hands was some type of dense wood, with blunted edges. It bore the scars of frequent use from long ago, perhaps when the original inhabitants of the Keep were still alive. Arthur chalked up the wood’s durability to magic; no mundane piece of wood would last that long when exposed to the vagaries of time and weather.

“Get into a stance then. I want to see how much work we’ll have to do with you.” Aeskyre prompted. She seemed to be enjoying it.

‘Battle junkie’ Arthur thought.

With no prior experience to draw from, Arthur did his best impression of the swordsman's stance. While his form was good and his muscles remembered training in some other weapon, it was ill suited to the two-handed sword he was holding.

It aggravated him to no end that his muscles were doing something his mind should have done; remembering.

His impromptu swordsmanship instructor walked around him, like a drill sergeant inspecting a grunt. Her eyes moved from his face, to his biceps, the grip of his sword and then his feet;all the while taking note of their state. And she had words to say about it;

“Your stance is egregious, your feet are too wide apart like you want to trip over yourself.” She took a step back tapping the right side of her temple and sized him up again and then added, “A sword is not a dagger, you’re holding it too far away from your body and that puts your centre of gravity outside your core. Also your shoulders are too tense, here let me show you,” she neared again and adjusted his shoulders from the back.

The dragon passed her hands all over his forearm, poking and prodding at his muscles and adjusted it accordingly. Arthur could feel goosebumps rippling across his skin, like his body instinctively knew the dragon’s aura was close but he retained his focus. “Don't clench your hands too hard, it makes the riposting too slow,” she finally concluded as she once again stepped back.

Aeskyre plucked another long sword from the collection levitating in front of the duo, sent the rest flying to the weapon racks and took up a similar stance. “That right there is the basic swordsman’s stance for two handed swords like Zweihanders—remember it. Now, observe my footwork. This is the foundation for attack and defence. Watch how I move from a lunge, to a parry and a full-on block” she demonstrated. Arthur followed her blow for blow.

The two continued to train their footwork plus a medley of sword stances that the dragon woman could recall. Occasionally, she would give pointers here and there to correct or encourage her singular student. This they did, until the sun was directly above their heads, shining hazily through the overcast sky.