Theron sat in the midst of the class along with everyone else. Though he didn’t show it, he was quite surprised by this change as well.
Eleven credits weren’t a lot, but it depended on how you looked at it. If one considered those who were already close to graduating and suddenly had this requirement thrust on their laps, it was devastating. It was also particularly bad for those without any talent for the military stream.
The military stream wasn’t entirely combat; it also included commanding and military tactics. However, the academic stream covered the bulk of those classes, while the ones unique to the military stream were upper-year classes that had a laundry list of prerequisites to clear first.
Teacher Burne Thistle tapped his cane on the ground twice, and the hushed murmurs came to a lulling stop.
“I will be taking you all to get a taste of the military stream today. Call it a field trip. Come on, up and at ’em.”
…
“Theron, I’m nervous.”
A small voice came from Theron’s side, her little hands tugging on his sleeve.
Little Sadie didn’t know what to do with herself. She had joined the academic stream to avoid combat, but now she was being forced into it.
Sadie’s eyes lit up, her pigtails bouncing. “Really?”
“Really.”
Theron looked up, sensing a gaze on him. Teacher Burne Thistle had sent a toothy grin his way.
With a nod, Theron returned the greeting calmly.
It wasn’t long before the class was taken to a dusty training field. Grunts and the sound of sharpening blades swirled through the air.
Compared to the prim and proper academic stream students, those in the military stream seemed much more rambunctious. Most didn’t even follow proper school dress code.
“What kicked up these preppy boys to this neck of the woods?”
A young man with a belly as round and hard as a wok and a chest that looked carved from twisting steel wires set down a heavy stone with a BANG!
Theron recognized him at a glance. He was Wasian, a second-year Flux Mancer who had accumulated 19 credits.
All things considered, he was ahead of schedule and well on his way to graduating. But he was also a bit of a meathead. His credits were only so low because he had barely passed his auxiliary classes.
By Theron’s calculations, he would have at least 24 credits if he put in a little more effort on that front.
“Line up!”
A roar came before Wasian could get his answer.
In a rare showing, the military stream Imperial Scholars displayed actual discipline, rushing to their places and dropping whatever they were doing. Soon, they had lined up just like the academic stream students had.
A bald man who stood seven feet tall strolled into the dusty arena. He had a smoldering heat to him, almost as though his bronzed skin had just come fresh out of the forge.
His gaze was no less intense, and Theron was fairly certain he saw some of the military stream students trembling in terror. In one moment, they were carefree and full of life, and in the next, they didn’t dare to breathe too loudly.
Sergeant Dulcow.
It was said that he didn’t like being called “Teacher” at all. When you were under his tutelage, you were already in the military. You either fell in line, or you’d be wrapped up in so many military law punishments that you’d forget which way was up and which was down.
Teacher Burne Thistle walked over to the man as only an old man could—slow and laboring. After whispering something to him, Sergeant Dulcow couldn’t help but frown.
“This was not the plan.”
Burne didn’t reply, only giving a light smile in return.
Theron couldn’t hear exactly what was happening, but he read the body language quite well. He looked away, and though his expression didn’t change, whatever respect he had for Sergeant Dulcow was flushed away in the same toilet he used last night.
The Sergeant cleared his throat.
“What you all might not know is that the eleven credits you must accumulate this time will be different from the norm. The point of this exchange is to ensure that both streams gain experience from the other, and as such, you cannot expect to complete the same sort of classes you would in your normal stream and make it past.
“Today, we will give you a taste of the military stream—a small bit of what we do every day.
“Sparring.”
Sergeant Dulcow waved a hand. “Wasian!”
“Yessir!”
The wok-bellied teen stumbled up. He couldn’t have been a day over 15 years old, yet he looked like he was another year or two from 40. Maybe Sergeant Dulcow had influenced him, but his clean-shaven head certainly didn’t help.
“You’ll be our guinea pig for the day. Show the academic stream the strength of the military stream, but remember that these are your fellow classmates.”
“Yessir!”
Wasian greedily rubbed his thick fingers together, scanning through the class of academics with a wide grin.
“Haha, Theron,” Teacher Burne called out. “These brutes seem to think that size is all that matters. Why don’t you go and spar a round or two with him?”
“Okay,” Theron said calmly. He felt a strong tug at his arm—the last thing Little Sadie wanted to do was let go of his hand. But Theron just reassured her with a smile and stepped out onto the field.
Theron wasn’t granted a weapon, and he knew it would be a waste of time to ask for one. Now he, a Water Mancer stuck in the middle of a dusty field, was somehow supposed to spar with a Flux Mancer with an iron body.
A fantastic “exchange,” indeed.