Stage Two existed for one reason: to strip sorcerers down to their fundamentals.
No cursed techniques were permitted. Reinforcement was allowed, but capped and monitored by the instructors to equalize physical ability across participants. Strength, speed, and durability—all brought to the same baseline.
What remained was skill.
Hand-to-hand combat. Weapon handling, if one chooses to specialize. Those who relied too heavily on their techniques would be exposed here.
The training grounds were divided into five areas, each overseen independently. Partners were rotated as needed. Instructors maintained their own office hours—any student could approach them for additional instruction, drills, or corrections.
I stood on my assigned mat, reinforcement settled tightly through my body. Regulated. Equalized. The same baseline as everyone else here.
Weapon racks lined the edges of the area. Wooden blades dulled by years of use—short swords, daggers, longer weapons meant for reach.
I chose a pair of short swords; I could feel Tomogui picking them as well.
They fit my hands well. Close-range weapons. Fast, easy to handle.
My partner was already there.
He was older. Taller. Longer limbs. His posture was loose, but not careless—balanced in a way that suggested familiarity with movement rather than raw strength. He adjusted his grip on a wooden blade with absent ease.
'He isn't a newcomer in stage 2, he has probably been here for a while'
He glanced at me once, probably surprised he was assigned to spar a little kid.
"Begin when ready," the instructor said.
Immediately, we both approached each other, I kept a tight stance, perhaps rigid as we got closer.
I eventually moved first. A slight dash and low slash.
He sidestepped cleanly.
I followed with a thrust, which he redirected by kicking my arm away. Every exchange ended the same way: my attacks were being snuffed out before I could even do a follow-up.
He wasn't rushing.
Minutes passed, with this continuing, me throwing attacks, and him nonchalantly blocking everything.
"If I can't spar with someone strong," he said quietly, eyes still on me, "my training's going to slow down."
There was no contempt in his voice. Just honesty, and that pissed me off even more.
I rushed forward again. This time too fast.
I tried to force the exchange—stepped in deeper than I should have, compensating for the difference in reach. He redirected my attack once more before raising his arm high.
'He is gonna go for my head, I just have to dodge this and counter attack him' My thoughts slowed down to a crawl.
I began pouring all my thoughts on how to perfectly dodge this attack and attack him, while also leaving him no time to dodge me.
These thoughts were very briefly cut off, as his knee which I stopped paying attention to slammed into my diaphragm
The impact wasn't heavy.
It didn't need to be.
All the air left my lungs at once. My body folded before my mind caught up. I dropped to the mat, hands scraping against the surface as my breath refused to return.
I tried to inhale. Nothing. My chest burned. My vision began to narrow.
That was when I noticed his gaze.
Not angry.
Disappointed.
Something twisted in my chest—hot, ugly.
'Of course.'
I was shorter. My reach was worse. My body hadn't developed yet. Anyone my age would struggle against someone built like that. Even with equalized reinforcement, physical structure still mattered.
'That had to be it.'
I dragged air back into my lungs in short, painful gasps, forcing my body to respond. The instructor called the match.
"That's enough."
My partner stepped back immediately, already resetting. He didn't offer a hand.
I sat there, breathing slowly now, replaying the exchange.
And the excuses began to fall apart.
It wasn't just reach.
His footwork had been tighter—short steps, always just outside my range. His stance never collapsed, even when I pressured him. The way he defended himself, he wasn't just reacting he was predicting my attacks.
'My timing was sloppy. My movements were telegraphed. My composure broke the moment I tried to force the fight.'
I clenched my hands against the mat.
He beat me because he was better.
Across the grounds, faint but steady, I felt Tomogui's presence. Focused. Engaged. Sparring elsewhere.
I pushed myself to my feet, chest still aching.
'Even in my first life, I never fought anyone; did I expect to be some combat genius'