CHAPTER 132: THE EXECUTIONER’S PATH

The fifth day of the week began quietly for Noah.

Breakfast in the Gold-tier cafeteria had been simple. Just bread, eggs, and a steaming mug of bitter tea.

He could’ve gotten more, but the allure of the Gold-tier cafeteria had long since faded. He was now used to the abundance.

He ate his meal in silence, ignoring the sideways glances that never seemed to end these days. By the time he pushed his tray aside, the day’s true purpose was already the only thing on his mind.

Today was the first day of personal instruction with the rest of his team under Professor Cecilia.

He rose, fastened his cloak, and left the cafeteria. The academy grounds were still damp from the week’s perpetual rain, the flagstones slick with dew, and the morning air chilly in his lungs.

He passed other students on their way to their own destinations, some chatting loudly, some yawning, but very few going where he was.

The private training halls stood in the eastern sector, separate from the usual sparring arenas.

Made out of stone, the newer building stood square and silent, each one warded heavily to contain whatever training happened inside.

An attendant sat at the reception desk, quill poised over a ledger.

Noah stopped before him.

"Name?" the attendant asked, not looking up.

"Noah Webb," he replied, voice flat.

The man’s eyes flicked to the ledger, finger trailing down the page until it stopped. "Training Hall Sixteen. Reserved under Professor Cecilia." He gestured towards the far corridor.

Noah nodded once and followed the direction. The corridor narrowed, lit with enchanted lamps built into the walls. He found the twelfth door and pushed it open.

Inside, the training hall stretched wide, its walls reinforced with layers of darker stone. Weapons racks lined one wall, though most of the room was empty space, sand covering the floor to soften impact.

Three figures waited inside.

Cecilia stood tall in her instructor’s robes, golden eyes alert even in the calm light. Beside her were two students Noah already knew well.

Arlo Kael, blindfold still tied firmly over his eyes, his posture casual but alert. And Damien Krell, with his new broad physique, his fists wrapped and scarred from repetition.

Cecilia’s gaze swept the room before settling on Noah. "Good. You’re on time."

Noah inclined his head. His shadows whispered faintly in the corners, but he kept his expression neutral.

"Welcome to my hall," Cecilia began, her voice firming into that of an instructor. "Here, there would be no noise, no rumors, and no distractions. Only growth. The three of you are my responsibility now. And so, you will learn as one."

"I watched all your duels in your Duel class earlier this week, and what I saw wasn’t exactly... encouraging."

Her gaze flicked first to Arlo. "Arlo Kael. You fought well, but you were not using the fighting style I procured for you."

Arlo tilted his head. "I wasn’t ready. I want to master its foundation before using it in combat. If I rush, I risk injury."

Cecilia studied him a moment, then nodded. "Cautious. Acceptable. But don’t hide behind caution for too long. Progress requires risk."

She turned to Damien. "And you. Damien Krell. Your growth is clear. You’ve been working your body hard, and it shows. That will serve you well with the domineering style I’ve set aside for you. Keep strengthening yourself. That style demands power, and you’re building the right base."

Damien gave a short nod, pride flickering briefly across his face.

Finally, Cecilia turned to Noah. Her golden eyes softened, but only slightly. "And you. I studied your habits. Your duel. The way you attack. Combined with your affinities and what I’ve heard of your mana capacity, I chose something fitting."

She reached into her satchel and pulled free a scroll bound with a strip of black ribbon. She held it out. "The Executioner’s Path."

Noah took it, unrolling the parchment slowly. The words inside were written in beautiful cursive strokes, containing diagrams of strikes, and notes on the angles and targets.

"It is a brutal style," Cecilia said, her voice even. "Simple in theory, but lethal in practice. Its philosophy is straightforward. Maximum force, minimum time. This style is all about the fastest way to end a fight."

Her eyes flicked to him again. "It is high-risk, high-reward. There is almost no defense in this style. Its defense is offense. You overwhelm, you dominate, and you finish before the enemy can breathe."

Noah traced a diagram of a downward strike aimed at the collarbone, his lips curling faintly. His shadows stirred, whispering in hunger and delight.

"Given your capacity for mana," Cecilia continued, "and the affinities you possess, this style will help you unleash that power in the most efficient way. No wasted movements. No wasted time."

Arlo’s head tilted towards them, expression blank. Damien crossed his arms, watching silently.

Cecilia straightened. "Arlo. Damien. To the far corner. Begin sparring. Keep it controlled."

The two students moved wordlessly, Arlo adjusting his blindfold as Damien squared up across from him. The sound of them exchanging blows soon echoed faintly in the hall.

Cecilia turned back to Noah, stepping closer. "Your training begins now."

She gestured to the center of the hall. "Stand."

Noah moved to the marked circle in the sand, the scroll still clutched in his hand. He rolled it up and tucked it into his cloak.

"First," Cecilia said, "before we delve into the steps of this style, I want you to forget about balance. Forget about defense."

"I’ll put it simply for you. I chose this path, because of what you have to do in the future. This path does not care about elegance. It is about killing. When you strike, you commit fully. There is no half-measure here."

She demonstrated, her body snapping forward in a vicious downward chop. Her hand stopped just short of Noah’s chest, but the force in it was undeniable.

"Your goal," she continued, stepping back, "is to finish before your enemy can finish you. Break their guard, their stance, their will. Do not give them time to counter. Do not give them time to think."

Noah’s lips curved in the faintest grin. It was as if the style had been written into his bones already.

Cecilia raised her chin. "Let us begin."