Arena 3. The space was empty, silent. Stone seats ringed the sandy fighting ground, rising in tiers. Weapon racks neatly lined the wall.
Ryan stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Should we spar? I want to try what I’ve learned."
Jas shook his head. "Ryan, I’m sorry but I’m itching for a... real fight. Let and Jared go first, then I’ll help you work on your form after. Deal?"
Ryan tried not to feel stung. "Sure. I’ll watch."
"You’ll learn more from watching anyway," Jared said. "See what proper technique looks like."
Jas and Jared moved to the center of the arena, wooden swords in hand.
They squared off.
No warning.
Jas lunged.
Jared sidestepped, blade coming up to deflect. The crack of wood on wood echoed through the empty arena.
Woah, these two are bloody quick!
Jas pressed forward, aggressive, each strike heavy and committed. Jared circled, defensive, footwork precise. He blocked, deflected, waited.
"Woohoo! Go Jas!" Ryan called out like a cheerleader.
Their swords were fluid. Combinations Ryan could barely follow—feint, strike, parry, counter. Jas swung high, Jared ducked and thrust low. Jas twisted away, brought his sword down in a heavy chop.
Jas was smiling through the exchange, clearly enjoying himself. "Co on, Jared! You’re getting slow!"
"You always say that," Jared muttered, blocking another strike.
Jas feinted left, struck right. Jared deflected but stumbled back on a rock, losing his concentration.
With three rapid thrusts. Jas’s sword tapped Jared’s ribs.
"Dead."
"You’re lucky—there was that rock," Jared said in between heavy breaths.
"Luck had nothing to do with it." Jas wiped sweat from his forehead. "I’m just better."
"Maybe—in your dreams." Jared said.
Ryan was impressed with both of them, this was the first ti he’d seen either brother fight properly.
They fought like they’d been training for years. Which, he supposed, they had.
"Alright," Jas said, turning to Ryan. "Your turn. Let’s see if you’ve improved since yesterday."
Before Ryan could speak, a voice spoke from the arena entrance.
"Training at dawn on Saturday."
All three of them turned.
An elf stood there. Thin, middle-aged, wearing casual-ish clothes. He hadn’t been there a mont ago... or maybe he had, and they just hadn’t noticed.
He was just... standing there. Not moving.
"Uh," Jas said. "Good morning, instructor."
The elf didn’t respond imdiately. His gaze swept over them slowly, lingering on each face.
"Unusual for first-years. Most take weekends off."
His voice was flat. Quiet.
"We like to stay sharp," Jared said carefully.
The instructor nodded slowly. But said nothing.
An uncomfortable silence stretched.
Ryan shifted his weight. This guy’s odd.
"Do you... need sothing, sir?" Jas asked.
"No." Another pause. "I was just passing by and saw so movent. Wanted to ensure the facilities weren’t being... misused."
"We’re just sparring," Ryan said.
"I can see that." The instructor’s eyes fixed on Ryan.
The instructor stood there, silent, still staring at them.
"Actually," Jas said, breaking the awkward silence, "we were wondering if Ryan could test wether he’s reached tier 1 yet. Do you know where the testing equipnt is?"
The instructor blinked. Once. Twice. "Testing equipnt. Yes. There are weights in each arena, for this one... Beneath the stands. There’s a door."
He pointed.
"Thanks," Jared said.
The instructor didn’t move. Still watching.
Jas cleared his throat. "Are you... going to supervise?"
"Do you require supervision?"
"Uh. I don’t know. Do we?"
"Testing should be logged." The elf finally moved, walking down the steps and into the arena. "I will supervise."
He walked past them without another word, heading toward the east side of the seating area.
The three of them exchanged glances.
"Who is that instructor?" Ryan whispered.
"Never seen him before," Jas muttered. "But hey, at least we can test ourselves."
They followed the instructor beneath the stone seats. Sure enough, there was a door—heavy wood, iron-banded. The instructor pushed it open.
Inside was a torch-lit chamber. Stone walls. Simple. Functional.
And big blocks or balls of stone and other tals.
Three large stone blocks sat on the floor near the entrance, each one roughly carved and massive. Labels marked them: 4 Heft, 5 Heft, 6 Heft.
Further in, three smaller objects made of dull green tal. They looked almost manageable by size. Each were maybe the size of waterlons each growing slightly—but sothing about them seed heavy. Dense. 8 Heft, 9 Heft, 10 Heft.
At the far end, three spheres. Dull orange, smooth, about the size of footballs. 16 Heft, 18 Heft, 20 Heft.
Ryan stared. "What does ’Heft’ an?"
"Are you from another Kingdom?" the instructor said flatly. "Heft is a asurent for weight in this Kingdom..."
"Basically, if you can lift sothing that weighs 4 Heft, you are a Tier 1 Knight." Jas said, pointing at the smallest, but still very large, stone block.
Jas approached the stone blocks. "Alright. Let’s do this properly. Jared, you go first."
Jared stepped up to the 6 Heft stone block. He crouched, gripped the edges, and lifted.
It ca up smoothly. Not easy—his arms strained, his legs shook slightly—but he got it to his chest and held it for five seconds before dropping it with a heavy thud.
"Tier 1. High," the instructor said, making a note on a small ledger he’d produced from his robes.
Jas went next. Sa block. Sa result but a bit cleaner and with less strain.
"Tier 1. High."
Jas grinned. "Alright, let’s see if I’m ready for Tier 2."
He approached the smallest green tal object. 8 Heft.
He crouched. Gripped. Pulled.
The object ca up—slowly. His face reddened. Arms trembling. He got it to his knees. Then his thighs. Pushing, straining—
It rose. Chest height. Then—
His arms gave out. The tal object dropped with a resonant tal clang.
Jas stepped back, breathing hard. "Damn."
"Close," the instructor said. "High Tier 1. Half-step Tier 2."
Jas nodded, still catching his breath. "I’ll get it next ti."
"Your turn," Jared said, looking at Ryan.
Ryan swallowed. The stone block looked enormous up close.
He stepped forward. Crouched. Wrapped his hands around the rough edges.
Co on. Those cherry strength boosters can’t have been for nothing.
He pulled.
Heavy.
His back strained.
But it moved. Inch by inch. Off the ground. To his knees. To his waist.
His arms shook violently.
Up. Get it up.
Chest height.
He held it. Three seconds. Five.
Then dropped it.
The stone crashed down. Ryan staggered back, gasping.
The instructor made a note. "Tier 1... barely."
Ryan looked at his hands. They were shaking just like his entire body.
But he’d managed.
Jas clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "Two days, Ryan. Two days and you’re a Tier 1 knight. You must be gifted with strength."
Jared nodded, impressed. "Most people take their entire teenage life."
Ryan managed a weak smile. "I’m just lucky."
"Nas?"
"Jas Kris."
"Jared Kris."
"Ryan Ray," Ryan said.
The instructor wrote them down, then turned and walked toward the door without another word.
"Wait," Jas called. "That’s it?"
The instructor paused. Looked back. "What else would there be?"
"I don’t know. Congratulations, or like a few words?"
"You lifted weights. I recorded it." The instructor’s expression didn’t change. "Training continues. Tiers improve. Or they don’t."
He left.
The three of them stood there in silence.
"That guy is weird," Ryan said.
"Yeah," Jared agreed.
Jas laughed. "Who cares? You’re a Tier 1 knight now, Ryan! Let’s go celebrate—after we beat the hell out of each other in sparring, obviously."
Ryan groaned. "Can I catch my breath first?"
"Nope." Jas was already heading for the door. "Real fights don’t wait for you to be ready."
Ryan followed, legs still trembling, but smiling despite himself.
He was a Tier 1 knight. After two days of training.
Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all.
Though it was definitely all thanks to those Cherry Strength Boosters from the forest.
What they don’t know can’t hurt them.
He greedily soaked up all of the awe the brothers had for him.
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