They all stood there, staring at the man. No one dared to say a word, the man’s presence alone was enough to leave them petrified. His footsteps echoed throughout the chamber, as he drew closer.

  He stared at the two of them, his eyes focused on Soren. It felt as though his gaze was burning a hole through him.

  Even the fatty looked terrified, his teeth glittering slightly. It looked like he would soil himself.

  ‘I can’t blame him, there’s something about this man that doesn’t feel natural… Something sinister.”

  From the moment he first laid eyes on the instructor, a wave of nauseating fear washed over him. There was no reason for it, no explanation. Was it his appearance? He wasn’t exactly friendly looking, but that alone wasn’t enough to explain the terror building up in him.

  Raising a thin boney finger, he pointed at them.

  “You two, with me!”

  There was no need for further instructions, Soren and fatty followed after him, as they descended a set of stairs leading into the pit. The other weavers watched as they walked to the center of the dirt arena.

  Looking up to face the others, the instructor spoke in a calm callus tone.

  “For seventeen years, I have taught young weavers like yourselves. I’ve watched them grow and develop, guiding them to be better than they could ever hope to be.”

  He straitened up

  “In the more recent years, I have noticed a rapid growth in the number of weavers attending this prestigious academy.”

  His gaze shot towards Soren, lingering for a moment. The same cold expression on his face, but in his eyes was something else, something he couldn’t quite place.

  “This increase has led to a stark decline in quality… So, I’ve taken upon myself to fix this issue.”

  Murmurs ran through the crowd, whispers of confusion and shock were barely audible.

  “This year's test will consist of a combat exercise, each of you will take on another in a fight. The winner will be allowed to enroll, the loser however… Will be removed immediately and prohibited from returning.”

  Many of the students gasped, others stood there silent. It wasn’t long before a few of them cried out in protest.

  “That’s not fair!”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “He’s not serious is he?!”

  Young weavers yelled over each other, their frustration palpable. The instructor simply ignored their angered pleas.

  “Anyone who has a problem with how the test will be conducted is free to leave… But know, you will not be allowed to return.”

  The crowd fell silent. Their defiant pleading was snuffed out in an instant, silence now hung heavy in the air.

  The instructor's face remained emotionless. He turned to fatty and Soren, the two of them stood motionless. They did not protest like the others, the idea of pummeling fatty sounded very pleasant to Soren.

  ‘Who knows, knocking his teeth out might earn me a spot at the top… At the very least, make sure he gets kicked out.’

  Once again, the instructor focused his cold gaze at Soren. It was a strange feeling, even though his eyes were solely on him, it felt like the instructor was looking through him.

  “You two will start us off.”

  Clenching his fists, they both nodded.

  “Understood!”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Walking away from them, he ascended the stairs, joining the crowd. Leaning against the railing, he called out.

  “The rules are simple. You two will fight until one of you either surrenders, or is knocked unconscious… Any use of lethal force will result in a forfeit. The use of any runic artifacts is also prohibited.”

  The two of them braced themselves, carefully watching the other. The anticipation was painful. The room was so quiet he could hear his heart racing.

  “…Begin!”

  Soren dashed forwards, hoping to close the distance as soon as possible.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  ‘If I can knock him on his ass, then it’s over! He never said I needed to win with weaving.’

  In the fatty’s palm two lines of runes wove together from thin threads. Before they finished forming, the ends of the sequences joined together, creating a long line of symbols.

  ‘Shit! He knows how to use sub-sequences?!’

  Soren was suddenly hit with an incredibly strong gust of air, sending him rolling to the ground.

  Cursing, he pulled himself up into a sprint. At the same time, fatty casted another spell, this one however, had three sequences.

  It felt like thousands of tiny razors hit him all at once, the freezing cold wind sliced his skin. Droplets of blood fell from his cheek, the warm blood almost felt pleasant compared to the icy air.

  ‘You have to be kidding! Even the loudmouth is better at casting than me?’

  Planting his feet, Soren fought against the frigid wind. The current was powerful, but not nearly strong enough to knock him down. Fatty had gotten lucky catching him off guard the first time, Soren refused to let that happen again.

  A taunting smirk formed on the pig’s fat face.

  “What’s wrong? Can’t get close… I thought you were supposed to be good at running?”

  He had no choice but to ignore the cruel words, letting anger blind him would only result in his failure.

  Fatty had the upper hand when it came to weaving. Soren had never been good at memorizing the exact structure of runes, he focused more on the art of rune crafting. Along with the constant investigations, he had inadvertently stunted his weaving.

  ‘Just my luck… No! I can’t get in my own head! Sure, he’s got the upper hand when it comes to weaving. But from what I can tell, he’s a gimmick caster.’

  Once the wind let up, he dashed to the side, circling fatty. Rushing in blindly wasn’t going to work, he needed to understand how the sequence worked, hopefully find a way to counter it.

  “Good! I’d hate it if you made this easy for me.”

  Once more a strong gust of wind shot towards Soren, the dirt floor of the arena kicked up as it passed. Soren had been too slow to avoid it. However, instead of hitting him head on, it only hit the left side of his body.

  ‘Gah!’

  The sudden force caused him to spin, landing on the ground with a thud. He scrambled to his feet, once more circling fatty.

  ‘Just now only half of my body was hit… It’s thin!’

  Unlike before, the gust of wind hadn’t hit all of him. When he got close before, the entire area around him had been engulfed with wind. Was it because he was far?

  There had been a third sequence present when he charged in before.

  ‘It was short from what I saw, only a few runes… Maybe wave, or gust. That would leave the other two being launch and air.’

  Memorizing the exact details of a rune was one thing, but recognizing them was far easier. The question now was, how does he deal with him? He could bait out the wind attacks, avoiding them. But once he got close, then what? He would just knock him away again.

  ‘Damnit! If I had my hook then everything would be so much easier… Even If I got close, I still have no way of dealing substantial damage. The fire sequence could do the job if I positioned it right, but the backlash would be detrimental to me as well. It would most likely get me disqualified too.’

  Fatty raised his hand again, launching another gust of air at him.

  Suddenly shifting directions, Soren managed to avoid the wave of chilling wind. Dashing away, quickly shifting his direction each time another spell was cast.

  “Stop running like a coward!”

  Things weren’t looking good, it became increasingly harder to avoid the path of the sequence. Soren was in better shape than most, but running around this much was incredibly taxing on his stamina.

  ‘Come on, think! If I can’t use a sequence to beat him, then I’ll need to use something else.’

  His eyes darted around the arena, searching for anything that would give him the upper hand. But other than the two of them, the pit was barren. If he had his hook he could have used the railings to maneuver around.

  ‘Maybe I don’t need the hook…’

  Even though he struggled to memorize rune structure, he still had an advanced understanding of soul control. Seline had him do plenty of weaving exercises, most of which were meant for battle-masters. Soren could stretch the strands of his soul decently far, though he still lacked the ability to recall them back to his soul.

  ‘Am I really willing to waste that much soul on a gamble?’

  He could feel his energy draining, each passing moment he hesitated made his likelihood of winning smaller. He hated fatty, but did he hate the young weaver enough to spend hours just to win.

  As he weighed his options, the strident voice of fatty called out.

  “I see why your daddy had a hard time catching you.”

  With that the decision had been made. He did hate him enough…

  Thin threads of light began to appear from the palm of his hand, weaving together into a single thin cord.

  Promptly spinning around, Soren ran away from fatty, attempting to clear some distance. He moved as close to the wall as he could. Fatty followed behind, moving surprisingly fast. As he ran, he continued to weave this thin rope.

  Fatty kept sending waves of wind at him, each one kicked up a cloud of dirt, making it increasingly harder to see.

  Nearing the wall, he let the shimmering rope fall to the ground, its end still connected to his hand. Thanks to the cloud of dirt, its presence went unnoticed by the large boy. Just as he reached the wall, another gust of wind sent him to the ground. He could hear the large weavers tired panting from behind him.

  “Give up! Or do you want me to keep embarrassing you?”

  Pulling himself up, he gripped the end of the radiant rope tightly.

  ‘Please tell me he fell for it…’

  As the dust cloud settled down, fatty noticed the long cord of light connected to his hand.

  “What the hell is…”

  Looking down he saw glowing threads of soul wrapped around his ankle.

  “Shit! Shit!”

  A taunting grin appeared on Soren’s face.

  “Gotcha, Piggy!”