-- Some time earlier --
A man without name was standing in a slightly more spacious part of the third section. The weather was great, sunny and warm. A perfect day for some training with the sword.
The fact that the man did not have a name was not because some author of a story was being lazy. No, it was because he was an orphan.
He had grown up with his late grandfather, a skilled mercenary. In all his life, his grandfather had taught him the art of combat. Or at least tried to...
As they were the only two around, and the grandfather had never cared about details, he never got around to give him a name. Not that one was needed when they were all alone.
His early life was focused on survival in the wild, combined with combat training. During the teaching from his grandfather, he had actually gotten quite good with the common weapons.
It was just that he was pretty bad with the sword. When he was a little child, due to his grandfather's neglect, he had cut himself on one of his swords. Ever since that day, he had a strong phobia towards swords.
Both the actions of handling a sword and being attacked by a sword always gave a pathetic result. Fumbling and dropping the sword, resulting in injuries that further strengthen his phobia. Freezing when the sword is about to hit, making him a sitting duck in sword combat.
Luckily he had some talents in other weapons, and could as such enroll in the academy after his grandfather passed away. However, he had not thought that they would be so focused on the sword!
Had he known earlier, he would never set even a step inside its premises. To say that they were focusing on swords was actually lenient. The basically forbidden any other kind of weapons.
Although it might not have been that way when the academy was created, in its later years the academy had built up the image of the sword to be the only weapon, and all other being trash.
Even if you were in the most remote place in the academy, you could be damn sure that someone of the warrior section knew if you were using another weapon. And you would certainly be bullied for it for weeks to come.
And as he was dependent on them for food and public lectures, he could only bite together and attempt to overcome his fears, trying to learn the art of the sword.
In such a harsh social climate, there was nobody that was interested in his name. The teachers and the examinator was just regarding him as a pebble by the road.
And the other poor students did not want to know either, because if they could put a name to that face, his suffering might seem more personal... As long as he was just another poor soul that was suffering together with them, they would not be as bothered with his plight.
Was he to die, he was only yet another nameless soul. Were they to know him by name, they would at least be obligated to grief...
After the hardships, almost like nightmares, that the training from his grandfather forced him to endure, his willpower was quite firm. As such he could struggle to face his fears.
That led him to the spot where he was planning to train. Not that it was a new occurrence; he had been trying for years. However, his mind was set at overcoming this hurdle.
He had a good feeling about today. On the way to the spot, he had only cut himself on the sword five times! It was a new record! Last time it was at least eight cuts.
One might question themselves how one could possible cut themselves that much when just carrying a sword. The first thing to pay attention to was that it was a real sword, no dull training thing.
It was actually provided by the academy for free. Newly sharpened too. It was almost as if they wanted the trash to inflict themselves lethal injuries, as they could not just kick them out.
Training swords were looked down upon, and sheaths was a status symbol. You may only use a sheaths if you could handle your sword properly. Until you do, you have to handle it all the time. To get used to it, they say.
That rule caused many `unfortunate` fatalities during the years. But it was somehow for the good of the students, they made sure to convey.
Clearing his depressive thoughts, the man took a stance to begin his exercise. Today he might even break another record! He had a good feeling about it! As if nothing could possibly go wrong!
Due to your residentship, you have been called to an emergency gathering!
Please follow the directions as quickly as possible!
Startled at the sudden popup, he barely managed to avoid getting yet another cut in his hand. Popups were really rare.
Rich people had tools that allowed them to display information from the system, but a poor man as him could never dream of possessing one. As such, he could only see them during events like the awakening ceremony and the examination.
To have one pop up right now must mean that it was really important! His future might even depend on it!
As such, he followed the directions to reach the field that Foo and company was at. After some waiting, he learned that there was an opportunity to properly join the third section. It was the opportunity of his life!
By distancing himself from the warriors, he might be able to pick up proper weapons once more! It truly gave him hope for the future!
His feeling that today was going to be a good day seemed to be correct! If only that persisting nagging from his survival instincts that told him to quickly run away disappeared...
I thought you might like to get a little view of the `training`, so here it is... Or at least a beginning.
And no, I did not just come up with a complex backstory just to justify my laziness of not giving him a name. Who told you that?!
Anyway, interested? If you are interested, give your power stones to the novel. If you think we should just move on, give them anyway!
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