Chapter 5 : La Première

“Now, let us begin the first ‘official’ lesson!” Azama declared, his index and middle fingers creating makeshift quotation marks.

With the end of lunchtime, came yet another homeroom lesson. While not within the schools given curriculum, the fact of the matter was, that it did not matter. Teachers of the dubbed ‘practical’ program were essentially allowed to do whatever they wanted. As there are only a couple of them that specialize in this, it can be said that their overly abnormal tendencies are offset by their diminished numbers.

Today, it just so happened that Azama demanded an additional briefing lesson.

As he had lacked the time to explain a few important details due to their last ‘math lesson’ he had called them back again.

“First, let me go over what this course throughout the year shall encompass,” Azama announced, before he smacked his one meter long ruler onto the blackboard behind him.

Lucius’s assertion that everyone in the Academy was delusional seemed increasingly probable, as he gave a small sigh.

“By joining this program, you all have agreed to the potential trials and tribulations that encompass it.”

Observing the class as if expecting a surprised reaction, the students' gazes did not falter: they knew from the beginning what they were getting into. Well at least, somewhat.

Lucius had only come here at the behest of his butler Guillaume. A middle aged man with the temperament of a saint, and the skills of a first class warrior. The majority of the boys upbringing had been brought up under his tutelage and guidance, and it was also under said guidance that he was instructed to come here.

Because Guillaume is a being that specializes in swordplay above all else, he had ordered him to come here to develop his pursuit of magical prowess. Or atleast, he claimed. Truth be told, with all his insistence to ‘go outside’ and to associate with ‘normal young folk’, Lucius suspected that there might have also been an ulterior motive at play.

“Very well then,” Azama said, satisfied. “Since further warnings are unnecessary, let us move onto the main lesson. I believe that by now all of you have heard of Idari, otherwise commonly known as ‘Resolve’...”

It was then that the door flew open with a thunderous boom. The whole class shaking from the impact, Lucius lunged forward to save his million-laine fountain pen from rolling off to its demise.

“Sorry I’m late!” The intruder hollered.

The pen now safe in his firm hand, Lucius shot a quick glare at the origin of the disturbance.

An elf. Ragged in both breath and long blonde hair, he was a boy that could only be described as particular. Apparent from his lack of stamina, it seemed that he had run all the way here to kick the door open.

Amusement stirred in Azama, as he saw in this newcomer the qualities of a fellow door-kicking connoisseur.

Seeming to be around fifteen, yet perhaps older, his face held the likeness of a human teenager. Yet, appearances were often deceptive. Many races who appeared young by human standards, could in fact be hundreds of years old, and Harux was no different.

In possession of distinct elvish features, which held the ability of reducing the effect of longevity, and paired in conjunction with Lucius’s own inexperience, could only lead him to wonder what his actual age was.

Though Lucius is familiar with the approximation of the ages of dwarves and humans, who held great prominence in his former technocentric city state, Elves, not so much.

An unbuttoned gambeson worn atop a wrinkled white shirt, the Elf completed it with khaki cargo pants and running shoes. In line with traditional Elvish custom, a visible weapon is also seen by his hip.

An ornate scimitar was tucked in his belt along with a small pouch.

For Lucius, who rarely saw such weapons, such a sight was amusing, to say the least.

The scimitar, with golden accents and intricate engravings on its sheath, was most likely the product of supreme elvish craftsmanship. One that with all its qualities and calibre, was nigh irreproducible in this day and age.

Even with Lucius’s own limited knowledge over such clumsy melee tools, he understood the weapon to be at the minimum, something marvelous.

Though, that only made it worse. A pity really.

It need not be mentioned that such a relic seemed more fitting in a museum than in the scabbard of this door-kicking elf…

But even if Lucius thought this way, the ultimate purpose behind a true weapon, is not for mere decoration, but battle.

One look at the tattered, yet still reasonably well-maintained ray skin handle revealed that the Elf took this mantra to heart.

Lip nudged under the force of her teeth, Morgana looked forward to the day where she would be able to inspect it. Lucius who tilted her head to observe her, moaned in disbelief. Truly, no matter where she went, there was at least one weapon which enchanted her.

“Now, now, your apology has been accepted.” Azama replied, before he patted the lad on the back.

The benevolent tone of his voice still present, the teacher took a few more steps forward.

“By the way, this is the other student that I was talking about this morning, Harux Y’saanith! Harux, say hi to everyone will you?”

Harux, who mustered all the energy he could, lifted his arm in proclamation.

“Heya, I’m Harux! My favourite food is meat and my hobby is fighting strong opponents. All of you look pretty strong so you can challenge me anytime!” he declared, flashing a wide grin.

Smiling gleefully, Azama bestowed a few nods of approval.

With the feeling that Harux had been accepted in the form of burrowing eyes and deathly silence, the elf went for the nearest seat possible and integrated himself comfortably.

Just as Jaiga had thought that the worst had already passed, Azama had to introduce yet another troublemaker. One without class or refinement of any form, was kicking the door really necessary?

Well, the answer obviously was no. Door handles did exist for heaven's sake…

The only redeeming trait it seemed, was Harux’s martial prowess. As he carried a sword and armor, Jaiga surmised that it was proof of some virtue as a warrior and thereby competence if anything.

Time. Azama, who remembered that he was in fact a teacher, heard the ticking of the clock behind him, and was thrust back into reality.

“So where were we again?” Azama pondered. “Oh that’s right, resolve!”

“Resolve? What’s that?” The newcomer called out excitedly.

“Good enthusiasm Harux!” Azama replied in his usual tone. “Resolve is the force that enables us to be able to compete against monsters.''

Not necessarily true, Lucius thought. While he partially wanted to interject that a armed machine gun might have had a similar effect, he stopped himself.

“To explain it with great proficiency, lemme just grab my trusty chalk.”

With a face full of earnestness, he whipped out a piece of white chalk.

Though he had not seen someone use such an archaic system of a blackboard in a long time, Lucius listened. Currently, Azama was in the middle of drawing a large bubble. Labelled ‘soul’ in the middle, he then stopped.

“The soul, excluding philosophical mumbo jumbo, is basically what composes living beings.”

Azama, who concentrated to his fullest, then drew a tree and a stick figure.

As if to correspond to the respective sizes of their souls, he then drew a circle next to each one of them. The smaller one next to the tree, and the bigger one next to the figure.

“Now normally, souls tend to be the same size across living stuff, but sometimes this is not the case.”

That was only the case for ‘normal’ things. The rest understood this, and their faces showed as much. Azama, who interpreted the wishes of his students, progressed.

“However in cases where the soul experiences a near death experience, or is just born as a special snowflake, we get cases of people with Resolve.”

Perhaps due to linguistic difficulties, or just confusion, Harux asked what the difference between Resolve and Magic was.

Chalk still on the blackboard, Azama was stopped in his movement. Paused in motion, he took a moment to contemplate. The students suspected that he was unsure of what to say, but they were wrong. In truth, Azama was contemplating what color of chalk to use.

His mind settled, he pulled out a blue one from his pocket, and began to draw again.

In a few seconds, half of the soul of the stick figure was dyed in blue.

To finish it off, Azama then titled this colored part ‘magic’.

“Now I want you to think of the soul as a big colorless pool of water, and magic as a smaller kiddie pool inside it.”

An odd explanation, Lucius supposed it made sense.

“Certain people, who possess the rare mutation known as ‘magic vessels’ can essentially divert part of their soul into it, and through it cast magic.”

Initially, during the advent of civilization, there was only people with Resolve. Magic was a principle that came far after, the product of procreation between those with the same rare ability. It is common knowledge that magic is a concept reserved for long lineages.

Though the exact approximation is debatable, there is around a 0.12% chance that you will randomly be born with these magic vessels.

Therefore, the common belief was that those without magic may as well be worthless against monsters. As magic is originally channeled through the imitation of gods, demons and nature, most do not see a scenario where they can be powerful without it.

This is an inaccurate assessment.

The underlying idea behind magic is the ‘Conviction Theory’, before science existed, and concepts could be understood with modern ideals, there existed myths. These same myths, which would otherwise be but false truths, exist in the tangible unconsciousness of the world and are thereby able to be controlled by ‘mages’.

So, if one cannot rely on magic and the governing beliefs around it, what can they?

The answer is Idiosyncrasies. No less powerful than magic but unique to each and every individual, it is instead power drawn from one's innate unconscious, rather than the world. Tommy for one, who would otherwise be incapable of fighting, utilized ‘One to One’.

Formed from his own desire for power and kinship, he was able to contract and channel demons without the application of magic.

“Now in order to increase our Resolve, the school has designed a special program in which you lot will be frequently placed under perilous situations and undergo fighting with monsters, demons, and even amongst yourselves!”

Naturally, the power of ‘Idiosyncratic Techniques’ and ‘Magic’ are both drawn from Resolve, so a program dedicated to the strengthening of it would have great effect on anyone.

Azama, then proceeded to merrily list different dangers and potential tribulations that the students could have potentially undergone. Not limited, but including crunched legs, smashed arms, snapped necks, and broken… just about everything really.

However, to ease any potential regret and worry, he did elaborate that proper psychological compensation did exist. In the form of an undead therapist, spa, and magic and technology capable of repairing most wounds.

In addition to this, Azama also elaborated on the fact that there were classes pertaining to more ‘mundane’ subjects such as magic, weapons crafting and other run of the mill activities.

A formality for the smooth integration of the newcomers, Tommy and Jaiga, with their experience, were left a little bored.

Well, nothing new here. Jaiga lamented. Because of various reasons, she and another particular student had skipped past the initial examination to enter the school this year. The two, needless to say, had already been informed about all this.

To her side, Jaiga looked to Tommy. She saw that the student who was in the same position as her also held very obvious disinterest in the current classroom. Even going as far as to read a book in the middle of the lesson.

Her weariness, alleviated by the knowledge that someone else was in her position, gave some measure of relief. At least they were in it together.