Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

cannot comprehend how he moves so fast. Seasons upon seasons of training shouldn’t make a man move so fast, let alone the few fortnights of schooling I’ve endured. I continue to turn in place as the Master dances around me. A quick jab in my ribs, then at the back of the knee forcing me to drop, and then the Master is immediately in front of me and slaps me in the larynx. I gag and wish for the humility to stop. The other classmates are looking on. They wouldn’t dare taunt me because the disciplinary measures to follow are not worth it. But I know they’re all laughing inside. The Master is making me look like an imbecile.

“Break!” Master Stormwood calls out.

“Sir?” I reply curtly, followed by relentless wheezing. This sparring thing takes a toll on the body. It doesn’t help that we’re in the midday sun without the slightest bit of shade cover. The sparring circle is located between several of the halls out in the open. I would think a demand for shade would be null with the amount of massive redwoods scattered throughout campus, but there isn’t a drop of shade that touches this arena until the Ceruleans take hold of the sun. Of all places, why would they pick this spot for combat?

“What is wrong with you? Are you weak?” he asks genuinely.

Most men would ask the question mockingly, but the Master seems truly concerned. His compassion is unfitting for both his role and his eccentric appearance. And it only makes me look weaker in front of my peers.

“No, sir,” I reply, reluctant to let my guard down. “I’d rather not chat while we’re sparring, sir.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does it make you angry?”

“No, sir, I simply prefer not to talk while in combat. It seems to be common sense to me that sparring and talking don’t go hand in hand.”

 “Ah, common sense…it is just that. Common. It is the common way of doing or thinking and often results in man not thinking at all. Common sense is an excuse for not communicating. Common sense is an excuse for poor assumption. I am above that. We are above that.” His arm swings out to his entire class. “Nothing makes me irater than a man trying to mock me by saying ‘it’s common sense’ because common sense is for the mindless. If you want to achieve anything better than average in this world, common sense is not the way to get you there. Now, what about this?” He slaps me in the face and knocks me forward with a roundhouse kick to my back. I stumble to the ground. There are a few muffled snickers from the fence line, most of which are coming from the younger novice students. The older students know to keep their opinions to themselves while Master Stormwood is present. I don’t give any of the offenders the pleasure of letting them know I can hear it. Instead, I bounce to my feet and face the Master of Combat once again.

I cannot gauge what his intentions are. Why he taunts me like this. He knows me a tenderfoot in the art of hand-to-hand combat. If only I had Life Bringer with me right now. A sword is a weapon I know and am capable of dancing with. I have no confidence with my fists. I’m ready for this to end.

I have a half-dozen other courses today I must prepare for. Some of them, such as Aeronautics, are way beyond me, and I need any spare time I can find. And besides that, I’m positive, regardless of what I learn in those other courses, they would be far more productive than being taunted and humiliated. I’m beginning to resent this instructor Astor praises so highly.

He attacks again, this time with a decoy jab to the right, which I fall victim to, followed by another jab into my ribs with his left. I know he’s not testing my tolerance for pain because none of his attacks are going to leave as much as a bruise. His sole purpose is to humiliate me today, and I don’t know why. Master Stormwood is going to continue to jab and poke at me until I break. That seems to be his goal, but I won’t let it happen. I need to manipulate the situation somehow. I need to fall.

Master Stormwood bounces from left to right a few paces in front of me, keeping his feet moving. I rush him with the intention of faking an injury. The Master takes one step to his left just as I’m about to wrap him up and tackle him, which leaves me delighted because I don’t want to engage into a wrestling match with this man. However, his quick movements alarm me, causing me to trip over my own feet. As I try to control my balance, I ultimately fail and plummet headfirst into the thornwood barrier. So much for faking an injury.

I push myself away from the prickly fence and feel warm liquid running down my cheeks and into my ears.

“Elder!” His gruff voice exclaims while I lie on the ground with my eyes closed. “Are you weak?”

“No, sir.” As much as I want this sparring session to end, I don’t have it in me to admit I’m done. That I am weak. I wipe the blood from my face with my glistening forearms, one after the other. Each pulls away with a dark red smear. I know my face must look the same, but the pain is gone thanks to my rapid healing. “I’m ready.”

“That may be so, but you are finished for today. You can heal it, no?”

“Err…yeah.” He knows. Is that why he wanted to talk several weeks ago when I made an unforgettable first impression? Because he knows I’m a freak that can mend his own wounds.

“I