A few more days passed by and Dale noticed that he barely felt any of it.

By that, he meant that his muscles were almost always numb and aching from training so he couldn’t feel the passage of time — or anything else.

"I will be turning 18 in a couple of months. I should be living my life to the fullest, not stressing out over avoiding blades and kinetic thrusts." He groaned as he turned over in bed.

Austin nodded in the bunk above him. Overall, their days had gotten more stressful especially after the appearance of General Todd.

He had challenged Austin a few hours after Dale... and just like him, his roommate had ended up in the clinic though for a horrible concussion rather than a broken arm.

Dale turned over and sat up. His eyes lazily traced the outlines of the mundane sabers on his room table.

’Didn’t that old man say that I have another lesson with him?’

He mentally groaned as he pushed himself off the bed and picked up the weapons. Just what was the point of the constant training?

Without extra words to Austin, Dale left the room and headed to the weapons hall.

Lord Byron was waiting cross-legged and floating in the air. It was almost like he was showing off.

The old man’s eyes opened and he stared at Dale with an unreadable expression. "You’re finally here. Good, we can begin."

Decay and Blight materialized in his hands as he unfurled his legs, letting them finally touch the ground.

Dale stared at him for a while, blinking slowly before taking on his battle stance.

He leaned forward as though he was about to run and spread his arms out, with the saber blades facing back.

Lord Byron nodded and kicked the ground, charging at him. The space in front of him rapidly shrank, squeezing and twisting itself to facilitate his movement.

The distance between them was crossed in an instant and the might of the Hall Master was upon Dale.

Decay and Blight turned their edges towards him, falling with a near unfathomable speed.

If he had paid attention to the sabers, he would have noticed them briefly vanish and appear just a little bit closer to him — short bursts of teleportation to reach him faster.

Yet he didn’t notice because that was not his focus. The moment the blades started to trace an arc toward him, Dale smiled inwardly and shot his arms out.

His right arm wrapped around the left arm of Lord Byron and he used it to anchor himself. All without letting go of his weapon.

Dale twisted his body, moving against the motion of the swing and bypassing the range of attack while simultaneously ensuring the old man couldn’t adapt in time.

Without hesitation, he leaned forward.

The sudden weight shift pulled Lord Byron’s hand down, altering his center of gravity and throwing off his balance.

Dale raised the heel of his left foot, causing the old man’s head to slam directly into the sole of the limb.

He quickly let go and spun around him, while keeping his eyes peeled for any possible movements.

Dale’s arms shot out, knocking both sabers from his hands.

’Defense. Disorientation. Disarming.’ Those were the three basics of the Winged Snake saber style.

But just as a snake was tactile and serpentine, it had fangs... and those fangs had to be put to use.

Dale, in less than a moment of doing all these, put some space between them and jumped, using his body weight to swing the sabers at Lord Byron.

However, Lord Byron vanished from underneath Dale.

The latter landed and immediately felt cold steel pressed into his back. He shivered at the sensation.

Over and over again, one thing was made clear: Skill without power to back it up is worthless.

After all, the best mundane swordsman couldn’t take down a mere Dormant soldier.

"Impressive." Lord Byron remarked and nodded, turning the handles of Decay and Blight over to Dale.

The latter’s eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion.

The old man adjusted slightly. "You have proven yourself to be capable enough to wield the sabers."

Dale’s confusion slowly gave way to joy, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop his face from breaking out into a wide smile.

Lord Byron just stared at him in silence. "One final thing. The martial art I taught you is indeed based on an actual beast; a winged snake. Its small size and potent toxins made it a feind to deal with."

He paused, as though contemplating whether to continue but he eventually did. "When you coil around your enemies, use your blades. Graze their skin, poison them, and then devour. That is the fourth doctrine of the art."

’Defend. Disorient. Disarm. Devour.’

Dale dropped the mundane sabers and picked the quasi-Ascended ones from the old man’s hands.

He bowed and walked out of the hall.

’Everything is going my way. Nothing can go wrong.’ A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

Dale turned the corner and his steps came to an abrupt halt. There was a student, unmistakably someone in his year, lying on the floor in a pool of their own blood.

The crimson liquid was still spreading out, filling the air with a strong metallic smell.

A weapon was cleanly lodged into the recruit’s chest and after spending weeks using a pair, he recognized the handle of a saber.

Pieces of a puzzle clicked together in his head.

’Shit!’ His eyes widened and he tried to run but it was too late.

A staff member appeared from the other end of the hall, led by a student... none other than Ream.

Ream raised a finger at Dale, "Sir. That is him."