As I approached the classroom where the lesson was supposed to take place, I noticed my classmates standing by the entrance with grim expressions.
Fear and confusion were written on some faces, while others displayed an entire spectrum of emotions—but every single one of them was negative. Already sensing an incoming headache, I walked up to them. Everyone was silent, and standing there in that tense silence was becoming increasingly awkward.
"Did something happen?" I asked, trying to understand what was going on.
The light elf named Keymun touched the shoulder of the student standing in front of him. The boy turned around and looked at him questioningly, clearly not understanding what was wanted from him. Keymun simply nodded in my direction, and the student silently stepped aside, allowing me to see what the entire class had been staring at.
And what appeared before me made me freeze.
Noticing the expression on my face, the students visibly let out sighs of relief. I had no idea what exactly they thought of me, but what I saw made even me wonder whether not running away from this place earlier had really been a good idea.
I stared inside the classroom, where students were lying on the floor, covered in blood. Some had visible bruises and scrapes, while others weren't moving at all, having already lost consciousness. Groans, cries, and heavy breathing echoed from every direction.
Standing right in the center of the room, wearing an openly bored expression, was the professor.
She wore a strange robe split into two halves—one side white, the other black. She was a dark elf, and like most of her race, tall and slender. Her short hair stuck out slightly in different directions, giving her an unkempt appearance that, for some reason, only heightened the sense of danger around her. Her face was elongated, and irritation and obvious dissatisfaction toward those currently lying on the floor were clearly visible in her eyes.
No one in my class wanted to disturb this monster.
I think, just like me, the others had all clung to the hope until the very end that she wouldn't be the one teaching us combat magic.
However, that hope was shattered the moment the professor shifted her gaze toward the door and noticed us.
"All of you pretending, help your classmates leave the classroom and head to your next lessons," the professor said with a predatory smile.
That smile gave me the distinct feeling that what was looking at me wasn't an elf, but a real monster.
After her words, many stufons slowly began rising from the floor and helping those who were too weak to move. Those who were unconscious were thrown over the shoulders of classmates who were only lightly injured or completely unharmed. There weren't many of those, but they did exist.
I watched all of this in involuntary astonishment as the battered stufons gradually left the classroom.
As one of them passed by us, he threw us a look full of genuine sympathy.
"Good luck. You'll need it," the stufon said quietly before walking after his class without waiting for a reply.
I could only nervously swallow the saliva gathering in my mouth.
Together with my classmates, I stepped inside, trying to stay as far from the center of the room as possible. The classroom itself was a spacious hall completely devoid of desks and chairs. Various wooden weapons hung on the walls, ranging from daggers to two-handed swords and halberds.
"Well, well, what are you all so afraid of? You're not little children," the professor asked.
Mockery was clearly audible in her voice. Judging by the expression on her face, she was openly enjoying the sight of the elite class throwing cautious and wary glances at her.
"My name is Ni`lim, and I will be teaching you combat magic. But first, each of you will write on this sheet what spells you possess and indicate your level of mastery, Nil`im said, pulling out a stack of papers from her ring.
As she started approaching us, I noticed that not only I, but the rest of my classmates as well, visibly tensed up.
There was something genuinely terrifying about this professor.
"Don't be afraid, I won't eat you… but I can cripple you," Ni`lim said while slowly licking her lips.
Madness openly swirled in her eyes.
After those words, the atmosphere in the room grew even heavier. I could see several stufons turn noticeably pale.
Once she got close enough, the professor handed the stack of papers to one of the stufons and ordered him to distribute them. Soon, quiet whispers and the rustling of paper filled the room.
When everyone had a sheet in hand, one shared question arose—one that, apparently, nobody wanted to voice.
What were we supposed to write with?
"Are you planning to keep wasting lesson time, stufons?" Ni`lim asked irritably, sweeping us with an angry glare.
"What are we supposed to write with, Professor Ni`lim?" a stufon behind me asked.
Hearing the question, Ni`lim paused for a second in thought.
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to hope she had simply forgotten to give us ink and brushes.
But from the shift in her expression, I immediately realized I was wrong.
"If there's no ink, then only one option remains. Your blood," Professor Ni`lim said with a smile, as if suggesting something completely obvious. "stufons, write with it."
To many, her words sounded like a bad joke.
But unlike the others, I had already grown accustomed lately to injuring my hand to spill blood for various rituals and techniques.
Without wasting time, I pulled a knife from storage and jabbed my finger hard.
Wincing from the pain, I began carefully moving it across the sheet, writing down the names of my spells.
Feeling blood slowly trickling down my finger, I tried not to smear it all over the paper.
Nearby, someone muttered under their breath about how this kind of treatment toward stufons was unacceptable, followed by several other indignant remarks.
But we had little choice. If we wanted to study, we had to adapt.
Once everyone finished writing and handed their sheets back to the student who had distributed them, all that remained was for him to return them to Professor Ni`lim.
Receiving the papers, the professor began reviewing them.
As she read, surprise, disappointment, and—worst of all—open laughter occasionally flashed across her face whenever she came across someone's especially "interesting" sheet.
"So it seems I'm unbelievably lucky that stufon Trey ended up in my course," Professor Ni`lim said gently.
But her smile only made me feel even more afraid.
My classmates threw sympathetic looks my way.
Judging by their expressions, no one wanted to attract the attention of a monster like Professor Ni`lim.
"Good. Everyone, take whichever weapon you're most comfortable with and stand opposite one another," the professor said thoughtfully.
As I walked toward the wall, I considered what weapon to choose.
I was proficient in the Kray Empire's style, but my younger sister was nearby, and she would definitely recognize it if I used my usual weapon and stances.
Coming closer, I began examining the equipment hanging on the walls: axes, war hammers, various types of halberds, bows, and crossbows.
But none of those weapons appealed to me.
Slowly walking along the wall and letting my gaze drift across the racks, I finally stopped at a pair of twin blades.
They were medium-length swords, with strange inserts near the base of the blade where it transitioned into the hilt.
Taking them into my hands and spinning them several times up and down, I concluded that this weapon suited me best.
Although the swords were wooden, their weight felt almost real. Well-balanced, comfortable, with pleasant weight distribution.
There was only one problem.
I had absolutely no idea how to fight with dual weapons.
Returning to Professor Ni`lim and glancing around, I noticed that all the students were already standing opposite one another.
At first, I thought someone else was still choosing a weapon.
But after glancing toward the walls, I realized no one remained there.
Then I shifted my gaze toward the professor and saw her predatory smile.
A chill ran down my spine.
"Good. Since you're standing opposite one another, those on the right will attack. Those on the left will defend. Use both magic and your chosen weapons. Don't think of this as a training match. Imagine the one standing before you is not your classmate, but a real opponent," Professor Ni`lim said as she walked between the students, brushing her hand first along one side, then the other, gradually making her way toward me.
Looking over the class once more, I realized no one was left unpaired.
Which meant I either waited until someone became free—
or trained alone.
At least, that was what I thought.
"And you, stufon Trey, don't have a partner, correct?" Professor Ni`lim asked, studying me closely.
The feeling of her gaze sliding over my body, as if evaluating every detail, was deeply unsettling.
The professor stepped closer and began slowly circling around me, muttering something quietly under her breath.
Even with my enhanced hearing, I couldn't make out the words.
My classmates froze, waiting for Ni`lim to finally give the command to begin training, occasionally throwing me pitiful glances.
"Very well, stufon Trey. Since you have no partner, I'll accompany you. You don't mind, do you? Wonderful. Now then, stufons, begin training," Professor Ni`lim said in a sing-song voice, smiling broadly.
Hearing her words, I wanted to refuse, but bit my tongue in time.
Not knowing how she would react to rejection, all I could do was hope nothing too terrible would happen.
"stufon Trey, summon your servants and let's begin. You'll be defending, and I'll be attacking," Professor Ni`lim said while loosening her shoulders.
Following her order, I pricked my hand with the tip of one of the swords and directed my consciousness inward.
Finding the tormentors, I summoned them.
The orc with the tower shield appeared first.
Following him came two elves: one carrying a curved sword, the other a staff.
Red lines stretched across their bodies, as though blood flowed beneath their skin, while their weapons—the shield, sword, and staff—pulsed with crimson flashes.
"And now we begin. Everyone, fight!" Professor Ni`lim shouted and headed straight toward me.
There was no weapon in her hands.
She walked slowly, her eyes locked on the orc moving to intercept her with his shield raised.
When she was roughly halfway between us—
she suddenly vanished.
A second later, I felt a monstrous impact crash into my ribcage, as though an armored knight had slammed into me at full speed.
Unable to believe what I was feeling, I lowered my gaze, reversed my grip on the blade, and ran my hand over my chest, feeling waves of pain spread through my body.
"First rule in battle: never lose sight of your opponent."
Professor Ni`lim's voice sounded right beside my right ear.
In the next second, a fresh burst of agony exploded through my stomach.
Lowering my gaze, I saw the fist that had just slammed into my abdomen.
Raising my eyes higher, I met Professor Ni`lim's insane smile.
"Second rule: never relax in battle, no matter who your opponent is."
Her voice suddenly came from behind me.
And then I saw the floor rushing toward me.
I didn't understand where the summoned tormentors were.
Feeling unbearable pain in both my back and chest, I slowly began pushing myself up from the floor.
Standing hunched over and trying to catch my breath, I could barely make out my surroundings. My vision was blurred, and instead of the classroom, only vague silhouettes remained before my eyes.
"Third rule: never hope for mercy."
Hearing Professor Ni`lim's voice, I braced myself for a fresh wave of pain somewhere else in my body.
But instead, I felt my arm raise upward on its own before sharply twisting to the side.
A crack sounded.
Then another.
And another.
All I could do was scream in pain.
My right arm hung limply by my side.
The moment I tried moving my fingers, a wave of horrifying pain shot upward from my fingertips through my entire arm.
Not understanding what exactly she had done, I slowly began backing away, but caught my foot on the sword that had slipped from my right hand, lost my balance, and crashed onto my back.
The moment I hit the floor, I let out a loud cry.
My left arm began cracking.
First the fingers.
Then the hand.
The wrist.
The elbow.
The shoulder.
"Fourth and final rule: if you're going to lose, lose on your own terms," Professor Ni`lim's voice sounded directly above me.
A sharp pain pierced my head in the next second.
My eyes slowly began closing.
As my consciousness faded, I kept thinking about the professor's final words.