Marco hustles through the streets of Woodholme, trying to ensure that he isn’t late for the training session with Oren. From the main street on to the narrow side streets before finally arriving in front of the gate to House Ivory.

  Marco quickly navigates the large manor and exits through the back into the warm sun, he makes his way over to the grass ring walled with hedges.

  “You made it on time. Good, I was worried Samirah would cause you to be late.” Oren says, stepping out of one of the shadows, one that was definitely too small to over the entire elf’s body. “Now, I know that your version of Circulation is constantly working at various degrees. I want to see how high and how low you can bring the level of Circulation please.”

  Marco nods and starts to follow Oren’s instructions when he suddenly has to flare his physical buffs to dodge a kick at his sternum. As he moves backward, now dodging a combination of punches and kicks, he flares his Mana Circulation as high as he can and holds it. Mana surges through his body, pouring out of his channels and seeping into his muscles, bones, and ligaments. The infusion of strength isn’t directed like the Mana Strengthening but feels to Marco like he is more solid, almost more real.

  He blocks the next kick with a forearm, not a great idea he quickly discovers and he bones bruise and muscles and skin bleed, forming a nasty purple bruise instantly. He shakes out his right forearm hoping that the increased Mana flow will speed his recovery.

  Moving inside of Oren’s space to avoid the next sweeping kick, he brings his Circulation as low as he can possibly take it, the Mana fighting him the entire time. Sputtering and shaking in his channels as he spreads out the remaining Mana in his body, trying to make it as diffuse as possible. Marco kicks hard off the ground, pushing himself backward to avoid the next attack from Oren, stumbling slightly at the feeling of weakness that the lack of Mana brings.

  “Very good, I can just barely detect your Mana at all. Now that we have discovered the baselines of your Circulation technique, we can move to improving them.” Oren says, stopping the fight and standing in his lecturing pose, arms clasped behind his back. “It is also good that you have not slacked on your marital training in the day between our sessions.”

  “Thank you.” Marco says, panting lightly and returning his Circulation level to normal, Mana rushing back through his channels and washing some of the fatigue away.

  “I know that trying to the find the lowest your Circulation will reach seems unproductive but know that many monsters rely on their Mana senses to hunt.” Oren says, beginning his pace back and forth. “Now flare your Mana once again and ramp up your buffs at the same time, the reflex and perception enhancements might allow you to reach a new height.”

  Marco does as he is told, flaring his Mana hard and pushing all that excess Mana into the buffs and enhancement he learned during the last training session. He does manage to reach a new height in Mana production, the extra Mana in the reflex and perception buff making time stretch enough that he manages to catch Oren striking toward his back.

  [Salt Skin] snaps into place as the fist connects with his shoulder, breaking the armor into small fragments in that area but leaving Marco unharmed. He smiles, rolling forward to dodge the follow up strike. The new power of his buffs makes the fight look similar to a quick slide show, strike and dodge, reposition and strike.

  New crystals form on his shoulder, slightly sharper this time. “Hmm. That is new.” Marco thinks to himself. He gets caught between Oren and the hedge, unable to move out of the way of the next strike, covering his center mass with crossed forearms. The blow feels like his bones are bending, [Salt Skin] returning to magic, having been so damaged by the punch.

  Marco summons his old shield spell, allowing it to hide his movements for a second. [Salt Bolt] forms, hidden by the opaque shield so when Oren breaks through the shield he is greeted with a [Salt] projectile firing into his outstretched hand. A brief of nothingness vanishes his projectile into the abyss.

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  Having expected his attack to be deflected at least, Marco takes the moment of distraction to shoulder past Oren and quickly make some space.

  “Very well done, I haven’t had to use that spell against a new trainee before.” Oren says, returning to his lecturing posture. “Now, I have a feeling the next conversation isn’t one that will be enjoyable.”

  “I am not one to beat around the bush. Please just tell me.” Marco says, slightly nervous about what Oren is going to say.

  “Very well. I see tremendous talent in you as a Warrior, I have a feeling that you wish to follow a Mage’s path however.”

  “Oh. Thank you, you are correct. All of this magic makes me want to follow that path to the end.” Marco says, worried that Oren will say he isn’t good enough to be a Mage.

  “Stop with the self-deprecation, I can see it on your face.” Oren snaps. “You have plenty of talent for either position in a fight, it is just rare that someone has so much talent for the Warrior path right out of the gate.”

  “Sorry. I want to know the differences between the two fighting styles, beyond the obvious. Warriors still use magic, correct?”

  “Yes of course, you cannot kill a monster, let alone most undead without magic.” Oren declares. “Warriors devote a majority of their Mana generation to an armor spell, usually of a physical element but occasionally an energy element manages it.”

  “A physical element is like [Salt] or [Earth], right?” Marco asks.

  Oren nods, “Yes an element summons a physical substance are better for Warrior roles. Other than the armor spell, Warriors use shields or weapon manifestations most commonly.” The elf explains, “Their magic focuses on melee range, keeping the attention of the enemy. Not all Warriors are tanks, with the correct spells Warriors can dish out good damage. I myself am a [Dark] Warrior.”

  Marco, having felt the strength of Oren’s blows personally, understands a little better. “So a damage based Warrior would be like a spellsword? A Warrior who casts their damage spells in melee range and buffs themselves and their weapon damage?”

  “An excellent description. Spellsword, I will be using that with other trainees. Yes, while a traditional Mage is a back line fighter, often neglecting their Mana strengthening and pouring a chunk of Mana into reflex enhancement.” Oren explains, “Large area spells and high single target damage are the realm of a Mage. Often mixing high damage with light crowd control depending on the party composition.”

  Marco digests the new information, still wanting to go into a Mage role but seeing the benefits of Warrior. “Is [Salt] an unsuitable element for Mage?”

  “No, of course not. [Salt] Mages are much rarer; you would be making your own path if you chose Mage. That is not a bad thing, often the most powerful combatants have forged their own path.” Oren says. “Often those with [Salt] Affinities that don’t desire the Warrior path fall into a Ritual Mage role, a noncombat role.”

  “I want to be a combatant.” The conviction of his own voice surprises Marco. The thought of sitting and letting others fight for him and letting his friends go into danger alone making him uncomfortable.

  A smile plasters itself on Oren’s face. “Then I will make you into a monster to your enemies and a hero to your friends.”

  Several hours later, Marco is gasping for breath and staring up at the darkening sky, a gorgeous orange glow from the west keeping the darkness at bay.

  Oren pushed Marco to his limit with spars and Mana exercises; springing at him with a punch the moment he was low on Mana or tired from an exercise.

  Oren seems to fade into the darkness surrounding their grass circle. “Good job today, Marco. You are growing stronger at a staggering rate. Same time tomorrow.” Oren walks into a shadow and is nowhere to be found.

  Marco slowly pushes himself to his feet, smoothing his clothes and groaning at his sore battered muscles. He slowly makes his way to his room to shower off the sweat and grass stains, hoping that he can help the sisters with dinner tonight.

  The hot water washes the stress of the day away; meeting the Guildmistress, the fight between Firebrand and Lockheart, and the hellish training session with Oren.

  Standing under the hot rain of the showerhead, he lets the water run through his trimmed brown hair down his lightly tanned skin and down his muscled abs before draining away. The steam comforting to his battered body, he stretches before shutting the water off and toweling himself dry.

  He throws on some clothes, a comfortable set of gray slacks and black shirt, nearly the same cut as a t-shirt from home. Slipping on his Berkenstocks he heads for the kitchen hoping there is still tasks he can help with.