A Deal Made

Jacob stood in front of Provost Thomson, watching her inspect him. While Jacob was younger than her by a good ten years, he had still put up a good fight. He hoped that not all the competition would be so strong during the Autumn Tournament. Winning a masterwork sword would be a great use of his week in Steelshade.

"You're the Reaper of Writha Pass, no?" she asked, her tone confused. "No offense meant, but you don't fight like one who'd earn that nickname." Ah, of course she had heard of his efforts. Jacob would have to give the creator of the name a good thrashing.

"None taken. I'm a mage, Provost. Without using my magic, I am not capable of recreating such feats," Jacob explained politely, though he did take slight offense at her words. Seriously, who honestly thinks that saying "no offense" does anything? Provost Thomson's eyebrows raised at his proclamation.

"Why is it, then, that you train with a blade? Are you not a graduate from an Academy?"

"I am not." This admission did nothing to the soldiers of the Fourth, for they were well aware of his status as a former illegal mage, while the faculty of Relentless around them whispered to each other in hushed tones. Jacob knew that this was a scandal not often seen, but the Provost took it in stride. Appreciating her politeness, Jacob explained. "Weak as I am, I am only able to cast minor spells. I have used it to accompany my sword at the battle."

Now the Provost showed emotion. Her lips drew into a grin, her eyes glinting eagerly. "Let's spar again. Use your magic this time," she proclaimed.

"Are you sure, Provost Thomson?" Jacob confirmed, already predicting the woman's response. He was already in guard stance when she attacked. Far from refined, Jacob's application of wind magic to alter the trajectory and speed of his blade was enough to fend off the first flurry. Suddenly, he was capable of matching the woman's ridiculous speed.

That said, his mana pool was not infinite. While this method of fighting used relatively little compared to a full-blown blast of air, it still drained on him. The longer the combat dragged on, the less likely he was to win. Meeting the attacks were no longer a problem, but the impact from taking all of those strikes wore on Jacob's physical strength. He attempted an attack, but the experienced Provost attacked faster, forcing him to redirect his sword back onto the defense.

She was fighting with a lot more skill and precision than she had been previously. Had she been holding back? Was this the power of someone who had been in the Autumn Tournament's top four? How many others were like her in the Kingdom? The more experts there were, the stronger Jacob would have to become to dethrone the King. His neck burned as he mused, but he shook off the pain, the adrenaline rushing through his veins rendering him unfeeling.

Each additional use of wind wore on his pool. There wasn't much remaining in Jacob's tank. With that in mind, Jacob used a relatively large chunk of mana to accelerate his blade rapidly as he drew to parry one of the Provost's strikes.

A loud crack echoed through the hall. Jacob's wooden sword hard sheared straight through the Provost's. The effort had drained Jacob, but it was a calculated risk; now the only one with a weapon, he was the winner of their spar. Pointing the tip of his sword at the Provost, he smiled. "That last attack took a lot out of me; I'm not sure how much longer I could've held on if that failed."

The Provost looked at her shattered weapon, and then up at Jacob. She repeated the process a few times before settling on returning Jacob's smile. "Your title is well-deserved, Jacob of Leafburrow. Note, however, that you may not use your magic while participating in the Tournament. If you still intend on entering, know that you will most likely not be able to place in the final four."

She let her words sit. Jacob mulled them over, he realized he didn't even know when the event was. "When will the Tournament take place?"

"It's on Wednesday, next week. A full day is dedicated to the competition. You'll have less than five days to train," she explained, but Jacob got the sense that she had more to say. At the least, the timing worked out well for Jacob. It was before his departure from the city. "I'll train you personally."

That declaration got a rise from faculty and the Fourth alike. Sara Thomson, for those that were local to Steelshade, was a legendary warrior. The opportunity to spar against a person like her would be any swordsman's dream. To do so for four days was an impossibility. Jacob was about to accept the offer when she stopped him.

"It will not be for free." The catch. Jacob should have seen it coming. Now it was he who interrupted the Provost.

"I don't have any coin on me to afford that, Provost. I'll have to decline."

The Provost laughed; this was not a chuckle or a giggle, but a full-stomach laugh. "You think I don't know a soldier's salary? No, I wasn't expecting you to pay with coin. In exchange for sparring with you in the mornings, I wish for you to return the favor in the evenings with your magic. When you are utilizing the wind, you are among the best swordsmen by virtue of your speed alone. Perhaps it will allow you to refine your technique as well?"

Now this was a deal Jacob could get behind. Sure, it would throw his nightly meditations into disarray on account of not having enough mana to circulate the wind around him, but it would help him greatly. Mundane practice would allow him to improve his skill, while the magical sparring against the Provost truly would give him the opportunity to turn his experimental fighting style into a thing of art.

"You have a deal. When do we start?"