The classroom was vast, its stone floor covered by a large red mat. A woman sat serenely on a cushion at the front. As the candidates found their places on the mat, the faint, warm scent of incense helped soothe their minds, creating a tranquil atmosphere.
"I am Faala Sorni, from the Leech faction of Gluttony House," the woman introduced herself. A gray, layered cloak was draped elegantly over her left shoulder.
"I will be teaching you the languages of the mainland, the Northern Continent."
With a wave of her hand, brownish-yellow goatskin pages and brown quills flew through the air, landing softly before each candidate.
"You may wonder why this is necessary when your rings interpret languages for you," she continued, her eyes scanning the room. "You are mistaken. These rings will expire in two weeks. If you do not wish to be left deaf and mute in a foreign land, you will apply yourselves diligently."
Instructor Faala paused, as if recalling a vital piece of information, then began her lecture in earnest.
"Consider this a history lesson as well. The Northern Continent is diverse, with many languages. Six are prominent: Sakhrein, Hindari, Angloth, Drakoi, Vanarshi, and Eldar. Sakhrein is the root, the mother tongue from which all others have sprung. Therefore, we master it first. There will be a test at the week's end. Only then will we proceed to the other five."
She started with the Sakhrein alphabet. The children listened with rapt attention.
'In this domain, my past life experience shines,' Ashan thought. 'It doesn't matter if this language is completely alien. I was the god of cramming.'
The language class lasted an hour.
Gong!
The bell signaled the end of the session. "That is all for today. Revise your notes. Now, proceed to the combat building," Instructor Faala instructed.
The candidates filed out and entered an adjacent, spacious structure. Those who had missed breakfast had somehow joined them.
"CANDIDATES! FORM STRAIGHT LINES!" a voice roared.
The group scrambled into formation, quickly organizing into 21 lines of ten.
"I am Yessa Dranvi, from the Lion faction of Pride House!" The muscular man, his silver-white cloak draped over a broad shoulder, glared at them with a stern expression.
"I will instruct you in battle tactics, and hand-to-hand combat."
"Before we begin, you will answer a question," Instructor Dranvi's gaze swept across the lines.
"What does battle mean to you?"
A contemplative silence fell over the 210 candidates.
After a moment, Dris spoke first, his tone flat. "Battle is about kill or be killed. Everything else is unnecessary."
Roderic, standing beside him, immediately retorted. "There is more to it! We battle for our ideals and honour!"
Ballio chimed in nervously. "I think battle is futile. It is always better to talk things out."
Helma scoffed. "Battle is about assessing your foe's power. If they are stronger, you run."
Damara answered with conviction. "Battle is about survival."
Imla spoke calmly. "Battle is a last resort. It is about protecting your future."
Instructor Dranvi listened, his face an unreadable mask.
'Kill or be killed. Honour. Diplomacy. Retreat. Survival. Purpose,' Ashan considered. 'Each holds a fragment of truth, a way to endure. But they only scratch the surface. They miss the core. The true purpose of battle is to shatter the opponent's will. To break them so completely that they are undone, not because they are dead, but because they no longer have the spirit to stand.'
"Does anyone else wish to share their view?" Yessa questioned again.
Ashan's voice was calm and steady. "Battle is about shattering the will of your opponents."
Yessa's eyes locked onto Ashan for a prolonged moment. He said nothing, but the corner of his mouth curled up slightly.
"Enough. I see you all have energy to spare," he barked. "Assume your stances and mirror my movements!"
Yessa demonstrated the basic positions of hand-to-hand combat. Those who failed to follow precisely felt the sharp correction of his fist.
'This is hard,' Ashan grunted internally, his body straining. 'I am seriously lacking in the physical department.' His breaths became ragged huffs.
The combat class continued relentlessly for two hours.
Gong!
The bell finally rang. "Class is dismissed. Practice your stances. Return to the classroom building," Yessa ordered.
As the candidates exited, a loud voice cut through the noise. "Hey, you red-haired bastard!"
It was Dris. Ashan, walking with his team, turned.
"Bastard! What was that about 'shattering your opponent's will'? Trying to act cool?" Dris pushed his way closer, his face contorted with anger.
'Picking a fight,' Ashan observed coolly. 'So, how should I confront it? The answer is obvious. By shattering his will.'
A faint grayish-white light swirled briefly in Ashan's eyes. 'Viksana!'
A flood of information about Dris's life unfolded before him.
"What, are you deaf?" Dris snarled, irritated by Ashan's silence.
"I think you should stop bothering Ashan," Roderic said, stepping forward to intervene.
Ashan tapped Roderic on the back and offered a light smile. "It's fine. Go on ahead. I'll catch up shortly."
Roderic hesitated, but seeing the confidence in Ashan's expression, he relented and led the group away.
"Don't want to be embarrassed in front of your friends?" Dris smirked.
Ashan returned the smirk. "Me? I'm not the one whose mother was probably embarrassed to have given birth. A good thing they abandoned you."
Dris's face went pale. His body tensed. "How... how do you know about that?" he stammered, his clenched fist faltering before it could strike.
"You're still a pathetic loser, solving problems with your fists," Ashan said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Didn't those same fists create the situation that made your parents abandon you in the first place?"
Dris's arm dropped to his side, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Shock widened his eyes. "How did you know?" he breathed out.
"Shhh," Ashan said, moving beside him as if they were old friends. "Let's walk and talk."
"Are you with the House of Sins?" Dris asked, his voice low and hushed as they moved toward the classroom.
"The House of Sins? No. I'm a candidate, just like you. But do you really want to know how I know?" Ashan's tone was deceptively calm, as if discussing the weather. "I must warn you, some knowledge is a hideous curse. It leads to a fate worse than death."
A cold shiver ran down Dris's spine.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, wisely shifting the conversation from the 'how' to the 'why.'
'Smart. I must applaud that,' Ashan thought.
"What can you offer?" Ashan replied. "We are caged here, our lives in the hands of beings we don't understand. I want our team to work together. Our chances of survival are higher if we are united."
'And I will have pawns to protect my life.'
'Is this what he meant?' Dris thought, his mind reeling. 'He defeated me without throwing a single punch. An enemy who knows your secrets is far more dangerous than one who is merely strong. I could report him... but to what end? Our captors' goals are a mystery. Aligning with someone whose immediate goal is clear—survival—might be the smarter move. I can use him and ditch him later if I need to.'
After a minute of tense silence, Dris spoke. "Fine. I'll work with the team." He awkwardly scratched his head. "And... can you explain the notes from the language class?"
The faint grayish swirl in Ashan's eyes faded completely. "Sure. No problem," he said amiably as they entered the classroom building together.
'The sensory overload is a pain in the head,' Ashan thought, lightly massaging his glabella. 'But if this siddhi is used wisely, it is invaluable. The one who holds the most information wins the battle before it even begins.'