William was seated on the ground by the pavilion, waiting patiently, positioned a reasonable distance from the Duke's guards. They had harangued him for trespassing upon his arrival, though he paid it no mind; the further he was from Duke Barrington, the better. Their last encounter had given him a poor impression of the man.

  He hummed a small tune to keep himself occupied as he sat; no song or melody in particular, just whatever came to him in the moment. It was quite relaxing, in a way that he wasn't used to, as though he were relieving a pressure he didn't even know was building up inside his head. It wasn't the musical nature of it that gave him pleasure, rather it was simply the act of expression: a creative outlet that he sorely needed. Not too long later, William was interrupted by the man he'd been waiting for, clad in the same crimson light armour as before.

  Brother Albert spoke, not even bothering to stop as he walked past, his voice no less hollow than the last time, "There is no time to rest, boy. Follow me." William did not even have an opportunity to reply. Not that he would: he had no intention of souring their relationship by talking back. He'd already seen what happened if people got on the wrong side of Brother Albert, and a part of him feared it.

  William jogged over to Albert in an effort to catch up, before following alongside him at a similar pace. "Where are we going, Brother Albert?"

  "You will address me as preceptor for the duration of our arrangement. In answer to your question: we are headed to the eastern edge of the encampment," he replied curtly. William was beginning to find it exhausting to talk to the man; there was a constant mental effort associated with having to analyse his words rather than rely on subconscious emotional or tonal cues.

  They walked on, pace quick, and they finally emerged from the rows of tents. William couldn't help but grin; the sight of the ford never grew tiresome. The calming sound of the water trickling against rocks was like a mental panacea for him, though it was more distant than he would have liked. Still, what a place to train!

  It seemed that Brother Albert - or more likely some other soldiers - had been busy preparing the area: a straw man was positioned on the far end, in front of the grand view of the ford; weaponry off to the side on a rack, seemingly made of iron given their sheen; and a small table with chairs, placed up against the outside wall of a nearby tent. The table had a medley of items on its surface, unrecognisable to William given his distance.

  "From now on, will meet here every other morning for two hours of training, before you join the others." Brother Albert pointed at the ground. "Today will be dedicated to assessing your foundation: your skill with weaponry, hand-to-hand fundamentals, speed, tactics, and most importantly - your Blessing." He counted each of the five points on his fingers as he spoke, as if to emphasize them. "Tell me, boy: have you experience with weapons?"

  The question took William by surprise, and he found himself momentarily flustered. He'd always been drawn to swords, and as a child had imagined himself a sword and shield wielding knight. In reality, he'd never even held a real one: Axton always made them do their drills with wasters. No other weapon had called out to him, and he'd never had opportunity to wield them regardless. He answered truthfully, "Only with a shortsword, Preceptor."

  "Hmm," Albert hummed. He moved over to the weapon rack as William watched on in silence, and slid his hand over each armament before finally lifting a sword. He turned and threw it to the ground in front of William, before grabbing a longer sword of his own and positioning himself a foot or two from the boy. "Ready yourself."

  William picked up the sword as instructed, and took care to enter the stance he'd been taught: he bent his knees and leant forward, holding the sword in his dominant hand in front of him. He looked up at Brother Albert in an unsure manner, but the man gave no indication of... well, anything. He was utterly unreadable.

  Albert took a step forward and struck at William from overhead, so fast that William barely even registered the movement; the glare of the sun reflecting off of the metal his first real warning. William swung his own sword up to meet Albert's blow in an act of pure instinct, awkward and clumsy, and managed to block the strike. His wrist was twisted at an awkward angle, but he held on with a wince, his ears ringing from the sound of clashing metal. He pushed upwards as best he could, causing the swords to disengage, and went on the offensive with a series of swings. They were wild, forceful, and haphazard: all easily parried and blocked by Albert, who made no attempt to capitalise on the innumerable openings William was making.

  Finally, in a desperate act of frustration, William went for a decisive blow. He leant back, packing his sword with all of the strength he could muster, and swung it at Albert. The man pivoted gracefully, and William's attack whistled past him. William stumbled at the unexpected absence of a target.

  Albert spoke, "Enough," signalling the end of the spar. The man lowered his sword and took a step back, once more levelling an uncanny stare at the boy in front of him.

  William had been well and truly embarrassed by the man. He was thankful that there had been no audience. How did he counter me so effortlessly? he thought, furrowing his brows, It wasn't even close to fair - I was just a pup nipping at his heels! He knew Albert to be his better, of course, but he had not been expecting his performance to be so abysmal - when sparring with his squad mates, he did relatively well. He was disappointed in himself.

  "It is as I expected: that fool of an officer has done you more harm than good." Albert held out his free hand and William returned the sword to him awkwardly. The man walked back over to the weapon rack as he spoke again, "You possess passable strength and your instincts are surprisingly sharp." He placed both weapons back into their spots, and returned to his place in front of William as he continued, "However, the style you employ is ill suited to you. It relies on overwhelming an opponent with brute strength, lacking any and all finesse."

  William hadn't even been aware he was using a style - he just followed the drills he was provided with by Axton, assuming it to be the standard. Albert's words stirred mixed emotions within him; he had been instructed poorly, and so he could place some of the blame elsewhere, but he could not bring it upon himself to do so entirely. It was still me holding the sword.

  "What can I do, Preceptor?" he asked firmly; the man was here to train him, and William wouldn't let the opportunity go to waste. If he had shortcomings, he'd try his best to fix them.

  "Practice, though in a way that is better suited to you. Officer Axton has instilled bad habits, and we will work to remove them."

  "Won't that take a long time?"

  "Not as long as one might think. The fundamentals of swordsmanship are universal, and you do not have enough experience to have deviated far." The priest's words brought some relief to William, who was pleased to know that he wouldn't remain a lost cause with the sword forever.

  "Now", the priest said, "we will see how you fare without a weapon." Albert cracked his neck on either side, causing William to cringe. There was something about the deep clicks that disgusted him, though he had no idea why. "Activate your Blessing, and we will begin."

  Already? There had been little downtime since the previous spar. Regardless, William grinned: this was much more comfortable for him. He took a deep breath and focused his mind, activating his Blessing. He readied himself, and quietly spoke his usual prayer for unarmed spars. “Eát-hréeig an, ic eé hálsige: l?nan me eín m?gen-spéd, ef án a bert-hwíl.”

  The small pulse that he usually felt when reciting the prayer was absent, replaced instead with an immediate and fleeting wave of dread that emanated from him with invisible force; it rippled the grass at his feet and caused even Brother Albert to take a step back, his eyes narrowed and stance lowered. It was a similar feeling to when he had began to recite a prayer for Sister Isabella. Before William could comprehend the ominous feeling, an undeniable sense of power bubbled up into every facet of his being. He could see a thin film of translucent, prismatic light coating his arms. It seemed oddly familiar, reminiscent of what he had seen from Albert during the meeting with Duke Barrington, though William himself could not recall.

  William kicked off with his back foot and blasted forward, leaving an unnaturally deep gouge in the ground. He appeared before Albert with unusual speed, and the two began exchanging blows, each flowing from one strike to the next in smooth motions, stationary all the while.

  The two continued their frenzied dialogue of punches, parries, counters, and kicks. William took an opportunity to seize an opening, after the careful consideration and observation afforded him by his Blessing: he struck out, his hand flat like the tip of a spear, and slid through Albert's defences to deal a clear hit to the man's throat. Albert staggered back, clutching at his neck with one hand.

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  William felt unstoppable. This was everything he had hoped for and more; if only he had performed this well in his first bout with weaponry. The feeling was utterly intoxicating - his attacks were far stronger than usual, able to match Brother Albert with ease.

  Albert closed the distance between them, and began to attack with new fervour, increasing the pace of the fight, but not enough to unnerve William. They were moving now, as though in some strange dance. He continued to scrutinise Albert's movements and attacks, looking for weaknesses or patterns to exploit, but the man was no longer as open as before. William moved his head back to avoid the man's fist, and he fixated on the fluttering of the crimson robe below the wrist as it passed by. Got you.

  As Albert retracted his hand, William reached and pulled on the priest's sleeve. It took Albert off balance, and gave William his second opening that he took full advantage of to deal another blow. However, this one did not stagger the priest, and William received a blow in return - a miscalculation. He hissed in pain as Albert's fist made contact with his abdomen. I may have been too cocky there...

  William dashed backwards to disengage, and he noticed a concerning change: the light that had once coated his limbs was fading, and with it his feeling of strength. As it disappeared entirely he was overwhelmed by a burning sensation in the muscles of his arms, afflicted with sudden weakness.

  Albert had once again closed the gap, but this time was met with far less resistance. William's arms were no longer responding in time, unable to keep up with his intent and perception. Albert landed another hit that sent William sprawling, gasping for air as he hit the floor.

  Brother Albert righted his posture, and straightened his robes. "Impressive. After your performance with the sword, I had expected much less."

  William couldn't make out much of what the priest was saying over the loud thumping of his heart reverberating inside his head. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. Whatever Albert was saying, it sounded positive. The concentration and focus that came with his Blessing dimmed, until it was completely gone.

  He continued to lay on the ground until he had returned as close to normal as he would get, but found that Brother Albert was no longer speaking. He opened his eyes as he rose, confused, and was met with Albert looking at him carefully. There was something behind the man's eyes that stood his hairs on end.

  "Tell me, boy - where did you learn the prayer?"

  William had all but forgotten, too engrossed in the fight and his recovery. "What? How did you-"

  The intensity behind Albert's eyes rose, but his face stayed passive. "Do not play games. Tell me where." A familiar presence began to weigh on William's shoulders, and he felt some panic at the memory of what had happened in Duke Barrington's tent. He tried desperately to activate his blessing as he had that night, but found that it would not heed his call.

  Albert's threat was clear.

  "T-there's an old shrine, in my village - out near the church... It's never had that effect before, I swear it!"

  The pressure continued unabated for what felt like an eternity. William's mind was racing, trying desperately to understand the situation, but all he had was unanswered questions: why did the prayer produce such an effect? Was it because he was Blessed? How was this related to what happened with Isabella? How did Albert know? Why was it so important? Was he in trouble? He couldn't seem to concentrate on any question in particular.

  Albert broke the silence, "You do not know?"

  William felt his heart rate increase, and his chest tighten. He gave a frantic, exaggerated shake of his head in response, barely able to move under the pressure.

  Albert let out a loud exhale, and the pressure dissipated in an instant. His gaze seemed to pass over William, and he levelled a stare up and out into the clouds. "They are Hallowed Words; ancient prayers, from a time long since past. They allow one to commune with the Seraph directly - at a price."

  William's eyes widened and he replied quietly, almost in a whimper, "W-what? What price?" What have I done? It felt as though the floor had opened up beneath him, and he was freefalling.

  "The cost varies, but it is less than the price paid for the usage of a Blessing," he stated. "No intervention from the Seraph is free. It was foolish to have used one in combination with a Blessing: you will likely suffer compounding negative effects."

  William did his best to process what he was hearing, but found it increasingly difficult. Every answer he received raised another question. One question in particular came to the forefront of his mind, and so he spoke, "I don't- what- what is the price, for a Blessing?" It was hard to get the words out.

  A price being paid for a Blessing wasn't something that William had heard of, having spent his life sequestered away from any Blessed; it certainly never featured in any of the stories he had been told. Even Sister Isabella had never mentioned such a thing. If this were true, what price had he paid himself? Had he irrevocably damaged himself, unknowingly? He could think of no obvious impairments, but that only served to increase his worry: what if it is something horrible, some terrible affliction that I do not yet know of?

  "The negative effect after usage," Brother Albert replied, with a raised eyebrow. Even through Albert's stoic demeanour, William could tell that the man believed him a fool for having asked the question - but why? "It is the very feeling you are experiencing now. From what little I know of your Blessing, it should manifest as a prolonged mental fatigue. It can be a shock to the newly Blessed, but it is entirely normal."

  Some of his fears were quelled, but William was no less confused after hearing the priest's words. What is he talking about? William couldn't understand. My mind feels fine. It was a mess, to be certain, but undeniably unfatigued. Come to think of it, he had not experienced anything of the sort at the meeting with the duke, either.

  "My arms ache, but my mind is sound," William said, confusion evident on his face. He tried to raise his arms in a defeated shrug but found that they hardly responded. "Is it because of the prayer, Preceptor? Sorry, the Hallowed Words?"

  "A lie would be self-evident, boy. Save us both the nuisance." Albert folded his arms, but he remained expressionless.

  "I speak the truth!

  "So be it. The hard way then," Albert stated, and walked over to take a seat on the nearby table. He gestured for William to join him, and began to re-arrange some of the items. As William approached, he saw that the man had moved some clutter and was, to William's surprise, setting up a board game. I didn't think him the type for games. "When you lay in your bedding, unable to receive any healing to dull the headache, remember this: it was your own attempt at deception that put you there."

  He didn't quite see how playing a round of mills would lead to that, but dared not voice the thought: the man's tone had no hint of malice, but his words weighed heavy.

  Albert made an opening move, placing a black peg, and a relatively short game ensued. The priest seemed to be paying more attention to William than the game itself, but still emerged victorious. William had put up a good fight, he thought - he'd never been great at the sort of strategy that these games demanded. It was all a bit too abstract. He had struggled to lift his arms to the board at first, but once they were up onto the table it hadn't been so bad.

  After the final peg had been taken from William, Albert let out a quiet noise of surprise, "Huh." He was wide eyed now, and had been tapping a finger on the table as they played since around the halfway mark. It was unsettling, and uncharacteristic behaviour - at least from what little William had observed of the priest thus far. "You truly feel nothing? No headache, no brain fog or the like?"

  "No, Preceptor. Only my arms." He punctuated the statement with a strained raise of one arm.

  "Swear it."

  William swallowed a lump in his throat and spoke, "By the Seraph, I swear it." He was telling the truth, but there was a distant worry in the recesses of his mind that he'd be struck down where he sat regardless.

  "Hm." Albert's tapping continued, and he lowered his head, deep in thought. William dared not speak, feeling as though he was in a precarious spot: if Brother Albert didn't believe him, or thought him not worth training, would that be it for his path to knighthood? No, even if he doesn't believe in me, that doesn't mean it's the end.

  The man began muttering under his breath, barely audible, but William managed to catch parts, "Swordsmanship subpar... promise elsewhere... could be formidable... Blessing unconventional... hard to persuade them..." The man was clearly trying to convince himself of something, arguing points to a person that wasn't present. It was confusing. Has he not already committed to training me? Is he going to stop, after only today?

  Albert stood abruptly. "You will accompany me to Halbury on the Kalends, upon my return to the encampment. I will see to it that you are discharged from your service to Duke Barrington. I would be a fool to overlook what I have seen merely because of the nature of your Blessing."

  William was stupefied by what he'd heard. "Have I done something wrong, Preceptor?" Was what Albert said good? Was it bad? His mind was being pulled in every direction.

  "No, William. Quite the opposite." Albert shook his head once more. "Perhaps it is our enemies' good fortune that the scholars of the Order do not take up arms."

  All of the thoughts bouncing wildly around in William's head came to a stop. Was... was that supposed to be a joke?

  "Your training is over for the day. From here on out, we shall meet daily so that I may devote my full attention to your training."

  Overwhelming relief quashed the negative thoughts in William's racing mind, temporarily pushing away his confusion, and he visibly sagged in his chair as all the pent up tension released. His face took on a relatively serene look.

  "Take the remainder of the day to rest. Do not make today's mistake again; we have precious little time." Albert turned and walked back into the midst of the camp with hurried steps, leaving William alone at the table.

  He turned to face the calming view at his side. The gentle sounds of the surroundings, and the unfortunate sounds of the camp's inhabitants, seemed to rush back into his ears. He was strangely aware that he had indeed been hearing them the whole time, but was only now cognisant of the fact. There were grey clouds peeking over the treeline, making their way towards him.

  The training had been a mixed bag, but with a profoundly positive end result. He'd made a fool of himself with the sword, but proved his worth when unarmed. He'd displayed the power of his Blessing, but damaged himself with the Hallowed Words. Brother Albert had clearly seen something in him, near the end - he'd said as much, even. Why didn't I suffer the fatigue that Brother Albert was so sure of? Albert had certainly changed his tune after that, even deigning to refer to William by name. A question for tomorrow.

  The events of the past few days could truly be the catalyst for his knighthood and for him training with the Order directly. All he had to do was commit himself fully to the priest's tutelage.